Radostina is one of the people who believed in Dimitar. Her journey is no coincidence. “I grew up in a Roma family with a single mother.” Her mother was the first Roma woman in their town to become a teacher.
“She changed the role of Roma women,” Chaprazova explains. Radostina, too, faced obstacles. “I know what it means to receive a marriage proposal at 15,” she says. “And to have to save myself from an early marriage by choosing to continue studying.” After university and a period working in public institutions and at the European Commission, she decided to dedicate her career to young Roma people. “The support I received taught me that I have a responsibility: to give something back to my community.”
The foundation’s name comes from ancient Greek. Arete means “be the best version of yourself,” Radostina explains. For more than fifteen years, the organization has been working across Bulgaria through mentoring programs, scholarships, psychological support, and training. “The challenges are many,” says one of the foundation’s tutors. “There are many bright children, but they often lack study skills and motivation. In many families, education is not seen as a priority: it is enough that children attend school, without a real awareness of the value of education.” Radostina shares this view. “For us, young Roma people are individuals with hidden potential,” she emphasizes. “We look for it, we find it, and we develop it.” Over the years, Arete has worked with more than 5,000 young people. Many have gone on to become professionals: teachers, doctors, lawyers, entrepreneurs. “We are not just an organization,” Chaprazova explains, “but a community. A place where you can be yourself without fear.”
From the village to the city
Among the young people supported by Arete Foundation are also Anela and Viktoria. Ani, now an economics student at the University of Sofia, clearly remembers the difficulties she faced during her school years: poorly prepared teachers, episodes of discrimination, and classmates who were often discouraged. “They used to tell us: ‘What are you going to do in a big city? It’s not for you,’” she recalls. She first encountered the organization during a summer camp. “I had no idea what to do with my life,” she explains. “That camp changed everything: it helped me understand the real value of education.” Viktoria—Viki to everyone—also links education to a decisive turning point. “It gave me something that once seemed unattainable: freedom,” she says. “It allowed me to leave the village, move to the city, and stop being afraid. If I had stayed there, I would probably already be a mother today.” Around them are other students close to graduating, with clear dreams for the future: becoming doctors, nurses, midwives. “My father wants me to be well‑prepared and an intelligent person,” Zoe tells us, visibly moved.
The “first” generation
For many young Roma people, going to university means being the first in their family to do so. Chaprazova calls them “the first generation.” “The first to finish school. The first to go to university. The first to achieve professional fulfillment.” This is how a community changes. “Showing real-life examples is one of the strongest motivating forces,” she explains. “When young people see someone like them who has made it, they start to believe that it’s possible for them, too.”
Today, Dimitar walks every morning through the corridors of the University of Sofia. Sometimes he thinks about his old class. Thirty students at the beginning. Only one who made it that far. But he doesn’t want to remain an exception. He dreams of returning to those very classrooms where it all began, to leave in children the same mark that someone once left in him: the certainty that studying can change destiny, can rewrite a life. “When you take the first step,” he says, “you become stronger.” And sometimes that very first step is enough to change everything.