Foreigners solve labour shortage of small coastal community
Immigrants keep Närpes local industry and greenhouses running
By Ritva Liisa Snellman
A bank, a cafe, a pharmacy, and another bank. Then there is a car park, another one, and an empty road.
Where are all of the people who are supposed to live in Närpes?
Population figures published in July say that Närpes is one of the most international communities in Finland, but there is nobody to be seen in the centre - neither Finns, nor foreigners, and there are said to be more foreigners than ever before in the city.
Well, there is a couple exchanging cheek kisses in front of the Logen restaurant.
"Ask Inga. She knows everything about the foreigners", the man says.
Inga Nikula-Sjökvist can be found at Dynamo, a company that promotes business in the area. It is her job to help foreigners moving to the area to integrate.
Inga has had her work cut out for yer. The first boat refugees from Vietnam came in the 1980s, and in the 1990s came Bosnians fleeing the fighting in the Balkans. About ten years ago the ordinary immigrants began to show up.
The numbers have increased year by year, and Närpes is not the only community affected. The story is the same along the whole Swedish-speaking coastal area - the "Bible belt" extending from Kristinestad to Kokkola.
While much of the rest of the country worries how to cope with the looming labour shortage, which has been very real in the coastal Swedish-speaking area: recruiting new workers from abroad has been a way of dealing with the situation.
First to get work were the refugees, and later, their relatives were invited to join them. Then came the Estonians, followed by others from the Baltic region. In addition to Eastern Europe, employers have been looking at Thailand. Many Asians are quite comfortable working with plants, which flourish in the many greenhouses in the area.
Most recently, refugees from Myanmar (formerly Burma) have settled in Korsnäs, which lies right next to Närpes, and greenhouse owners are eagerly observing the situation.
Word of mouth has proven to be the best recruitment tool. Industrial installations and greenhouses in the area are brimming with the sisters, brothers, uncles, cousins, and former neighbours of the first foreigners to settle there.
Närpes is close to the top of Finland's statistics on immigrant populations.
It has also become a model city for settlement of newcomers: with one in three immigrants in the Helsinki region out of work, the unemployment rate among immigrants in the area is just seven per cent.
Inga Nikula-Sjökvist rattles off the figures: "Out of 9,500 residents, 4.2 per cent are citizens of foreign countries. If residents who have acquired Finnish citizenship are included, the figure for those with foreign backgrounds rises to 6.5 per cent."
In reality, there are even more foreigners, as immigrants from EU countries do not figure in the statistics, nor do immigrants who come for summer jobs of less than three months.
What is clear, however, is that Närpes has people from 34 countries.
" Muhamed can tell you what it is like to live and work here. He is Bosnian, and he even has a small Bosnian shop", says Nikula-Sjöqvist, and writes his telephone number on a piece of paper.
When
Muhamed Gutic answers the phone, he is in Bosnia.
He reveals why the place looks so empty: many of the industries in Närpes are closed for the summer holiday; the Finns are at their summer cottages, and many of the foreigners are abroad.
Gutic currently works for Närkö, which manufactures car bodies and trailers. A tenth of the 300 workers at the Närkö factory in Närpes are from abroad.
Ten more Bosnians are coming in August. Metalworkers are hard to find in Finland, and Närko has made two trips to Bosnia to recruit more people, and it is planning a third. Precision recruitment has proven to be the best way to get the right kind of employees. The company goes after friends and relatives of those who are already in Finland.
" Damir can certainly help you", says Gutic, who gives his friend's phone number. "He can show you the shop."
The Bosnian shop is in Damir Kadic's garage on Lövvägen. A small sign in front of it reads "D-M Shop".
The shelves and refrigerators are full of all kinds of goods that are familiar from the old country: sweets, biscuits, canned goods, coffee...
And of course there is air-dried beef, and Bosnian sausage, as well as just the right kind of cheese packed in brine. There is also Faks laundry detergent, which does not have a scent of pine or lemon, as Finnish washing powders often do. "Familiar tastes and smells", Kadic says as he shows the most popular product in the shop.
Vegeta is a seasoning that is not available in Finland, but which Bosnians love.
Damir Kadic is a metalworker by profession, but he is also interested in running a business. The store is currently a hobby maintained by friends, and is open for only two days a week. If business picks up, they might extend the working hours. And why shouldn't it? After all, the closest competition is in Turku.
If it doesn't work out, the two friends will put on a closeout sale, eat the rest of the goods themselves, and think of something else to do.
Industrial workers in many Balkan countries earn an average EUR 200 a month, but in Närpes, wages are many times as high. A truly skilful metalworker can increase his or her gross income tenfold. The earnings of a greenhouse worker is in the neighbourhood of EUR 1,000. Nearly all employers pay more than the minimum wage as set by the existing labour contract, which is EUR 6.65 an hour.
Out of their modest wages, many of the foreigners living in Närpes are putting money aside to build a house in the home country, either as a permanent residence, or for holiday use.
Damir Kadic has also considered building a house in Bosnia, but he decided instead to buy one in Närpes.
He has not yet applied for Finnish citizenship, because he would then face conscription into the Finnish Defence Forces.
"Why should I go to the Army? I know how to handle guns. I had to learn."
At the age of 16, Kadic fled his home near Banja Luka to Croatia. Three years later he came to Närpes, learned Swedish, and went to school. Now he is 31 years old.
He has not been to Bosnia in two years. The house where he grew up is in the Serb area, and he feels that he cannot sleep there. He constantly finds himself listening to possible suspicious noises. It is much more peaceful in Finland.
In fact, it is a bit too peaceful, Kadic says. He misses the hustle and bustle, the hum of people talking, and cafes, where old men sit drinking thick coffee out of small cups. But in Finland everyone just sits at home. Social life amounts to stopping cars next to each other, opening the side windows, and exchanging news.
When he was younger, Kadic would go to Turku for the weekend to seek out the company of compatriots of his own age. A couple of times he got into a fight.
It is not customary in Närpes to shout at foreigners, and Kadic is pleased about that. Still, he is not happy that Serbs have started moving into the area.
It is possible to forget the war, but not its consequences.
In the afternoon, something is happening in the centre of Närpes.
Zoran Peic drives his car to the cash machine.
He is from Serbia, but he has adopted the ways of the local people, by driving as close as possible to any destination.
Peic is a football immigrant. Three years ago he came to play for Tornio. Later he went to Seinäjoki, and now, from the beginning of May, he has been playing for Närpes Kraft.
Peic is pleased with his life. Närpes is a pleasant place, and homesickness does not bother him, because it is easy to keep in touch with his girlfriend via the Internet. Even if his parents might want him to come back, they do not show it.
"They want me to stay here. There is no work in Serbia. Wages are poor, and you can never know when you get paid."
Football has brought him friends, and not only those from the Balkans.
"I haven't noticed any tensions. I am good friends with everybody", Peic says, and invites this reporter along to football practice.
The players of Närpes Kraft arrive punctually for practice - by car of course. This time the foreigners have the majority. Edis Elkaz introduces his teammates. Zoran Peic is already familiar. Vladan Zlatkovic is from Serbia, Miroslav Rajkovic is from Croatia, and Mårten Grandell represents Finland.
Yugoslavia has disintegrated, but in Närpes it is almost back together again, the men say as they do their stretching exercises.
Edis Elkaz has lived in Närpes for most of his life. The story is a familiar one: the family fled the Bosnian war, spent time at a refugee camp, and was allowed into Finland.
Elkaz is a genuine Swedish-speaking Bosnian Finn. He speaks Swedish in the local dialect, and plans to study at a Swedish college. However, before that, he is taking a year off: plenty of football, and perhaps some work. Both are available in Närpes.
The men run back to their cars and start to leave.
"Come see me at work tomorrow", Zoran Peic says.
"There are other foreigners there. Just call Tommy."
The fields of the tomato town are full of large and small greenhouses, but the cluster of greenhouses in the Pjelax field owned by Tommy Sigg is massive. The company's history is part of the business history of Närpes. At the age of just 16, Tommy Sigg's father Helge Sigg built a small greenhouse and started to grow tomatoes. Already then it was a common way for people in Närpes to make a living - at least for those who did not want to emigrate to Sweden.
From its small beginnings, the company has grown into Oy Sigg Plant Ab - Finland's largest producer of seedlings. It delivers seedlings for tomatoes, cucumber, and bell pepper to different parts of Finland, as well as to Sweden and Norway.
The production is so automated that a staff of just 25-30 people is all that is needed. Currently there are 12 foreign employees - six working under a permanent contract, and six seasonal workers.
For busier times Sigg often hires Estonians. Others come from any number of places.
"There are three Vietnamese, of whom one is a former refugee, and two are his relatives. The supervisor is a Croat who originally came here to play football. His sister also works for us", Tommy Sigg explains. "And then there is Zoran, but you know him already."
Zoran Peic can be found next to the sowing machine deep inside one of the greenhouses.
The machine spits seeds into holes punched into rockwool. Peic makes sure that there is just one seed in each hole. Then he puts some vermiculite on top of it to absorb the water, and the next sheet comes from the conveyor belt. Modern tomato seedlings never touch soil in their entire lives, if the operation is in the hands of professionals.
Peic, who has studied business, is somewhat overqualified for the job. However, he is able to put away a comfortable amount into savings, if he lives frugally. Thus, he is able to help his parents now and then. "They wouldn't want me to, but I pay bills in secret, or buy coal for the winter."
He can look for work in marketing when he learns the language. Peic has not decided if he should study Finnish, or Swedish, or both.
It became clear on the very first day that Hungarian is of no use in Finland. Hungarian is spoken in the north of Serbia, and Peic had imagined that he would be able to utilise it, considering that Hungarian and Finnish are linguistically related.*
A true mixture of languages prevails at the Närpes greenhouses.
On the farm of Börje Ivars in the village of Gottböle languages spoken include Swedish, Serbo-Croat, Estonian, Lithuanian, and Vietnamese.
In Pirttikylä, on the road to Vaasa, the selection is even greater: Finnish, English, Bulgarian, Ukrainian, Russian, and Thai.
The garden of Hasse Haka relies on simultaneous interpretation. Hasse himself speaks Swedish, but Marja-Leena Harju from Jurva does not need to be instructed very much. She knows what to do at which point, and explains the phases in English to Daniela Staykova, who translates the message into Bulgarian, which Edin Podbicanin, can understand, although his own language is Serbo-Croat.
Greenhouse owner Ulla Paavola has to be creative in writing instructions for the multilingual crew.
There are more job applicants than Paavola can hire. She has clear principles: those who slack off are sacked, and she will not take people offered by temp agencies.
Paavola feels that there is no going back on internationalisation.
Even the bumblebees that pollinate the plants are imported from Belgium.
The Finnish insects are too aggressive.
Helsingin Sanomat / First published in print 5.8.2007
*Finnish and Hungarian are both part of the Finno-Ugric group of languages, and their similarities are at about the same level as those of English and Sanskrit - both of which are members of the Indo-European group.
RITVA LIISA SNELLMAN / Helsingin Sanomat
ritva.liisa.snellman@hs.fi
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| 7.8.2007 - THIS WEEK |
 Foreigners solve labour shortage of small coastal community |
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