The language barrier means most eastern European people who have come here since EU enlargement take jobs far below their abilities, writes Kate Holmquist in the second of a two-part series

Doing the jobs that the Irish don't need to do any more, thousands of highly qualified people from EU accession states are working way below their potential. A Latvian with a master's degree in physics who ran a computer manufacturing company at home, is today earning €13 an hour on an Irish building site, when the IT industry is desperately in need of expertise. A Lithuanian midwife, who progressed to the level of administrator at home, is today working in a laundry, at a time when the maternity hospitals are crying out for midwives.

The reason that these people and thousands more like them are working below skill? Language. A lack of fluency in English means many of the 69,000 people from EU accession states who have been allocated Personal Public Service numbers since May 1st, 2004 (see table), are doing any work they can find - such as cleaning aircraft, like Minna Harjo, a university student from Estonia. They see Ireland as a living language lab in which to improve their English, while sending a proportion of their earnings home.

But the fact that such a large proportion of the workforce is working below its potential is stunting our overall economic growth, the Economic and Social Research Institute (ESRI) warned in its latest quarterly forecast. It ranked Ireland 15th in terms of quality of life but we could have been far higher up the ladder.

When the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) ranked Ireland fourth in terms of living standards recently (a conclusion that drew gasps of surprise from overstretched commuters), it used Gross Domestic Product (GDP) as a measure. "GDP overstates the economy's well-being because it takes into account the money earned by US companies located in the State - money that then goes out of the country," explains Shane Garett, economist with the ESRI.

The ESRI has used an alternative measurement - gross national product (GNP) per head. Migrants contributed 0.4 per cent to GNP per head. If these people had been used to their full potential, GNP per head would have risen to 1 per cent gross GNP per head in the five years to 2003, which would have had benefits for the wider economy.

Translating economic theory into the lives of real people means going out into the streets and meeting the newcomers.

Iva Lednedjova (22) and Veronika Dudkova (21), who arrived from the Czech Republic a week ago, typify the potential that the economy needs in order to grow. Lednedjova has a master's degree in taxation and European law from the University of Economics in Prague. Dudkova speaks five languages and has an MA in international trade from the same university. They need to find work fast in order to survive financially and pay the rent on the house they share with three others in Blanchardstown. Until then, it's spaghetti for dinner every night and no money to go out in the evenings. Half a litre of beer costs 60 cent in Prague and an astronomical sum here, they point out. And they've been stunned to discover that in Dublin, a proper three-course meal for two costs the same as a new suit of clothes.

Realistically, they'd like clerical work until they have enough work and language experience to get jobs in finance, but they are likely to have to settle for waitressing jobs in the short term. But even if they earn the minimum wage, they will still be making more money than Lednedjova's mother, who is director of the secondary school both women attended. Lednedjova's father is the financial manager of a large company. Dudkova's parents are both teachers.

A generation older than Lednedjova, Aivars Erins (45) is a Latvian engineer with an MA in physics. He's ambitious and wants to improve his English while working as an engineer, but has had to settle for construction work at €13 an hour.

Also newly arrived are two Lithuanians, Marius Pleusky (26), an IT project manager, and his cousin Edgaras Pudziuvelis (23), a lawyer. Pleusky left behind a relatively high-earning job in Lithuania and has a family to support. "I like the Irish people, the weather is nice, we've made lots of friends already in the pubs. We know how to deal with people because we are nice people. Finding the jobs we want will take time, but we need to find work as soon as possible."

Many Lithuanians accept that they will have to work below-skill for the first six months to a year, at least, going way down in status career terms, simply in order to survive here long enough to eventually get the kinds of jobs they are qualified to do. The adventure of being in Ireland seems to offset the boredom of broom-pushing and skip-loading for the moment, but how many stick it in the long-term, only time will tell.

Libor Supcik (34), a Czech with a degree in economics, IT experience and fluency in Russian and Spanish, worked as a journalist on a technical magazine in his home country, where he owned his own house. Here, he is sharing a house with five others in Whitehall and surviving by busking in Temple Bar and working the evening shift in a cold storage warehouse in Dún Laoghaire for €8.36 an hour (€4.60 after emergency tax has been deducted). He is not being paid overtime for Sunday work.

Supcik says he chose Ireland for the clean air, after he heard that smoking was banned in pubs here. "The communication barrier means the Irish get the best jobs. It would be like that in any country," he shrugs. His warehouse job requires little English. He and some Russians and Poles unload and redistribute pallets in zero degree conditions according to the dictates of a computer. "There is no time to communicate," he says.

Also headed for factory work last week was Michael Meyer (26), an ice-hockey player from Slovakia. At home, he worked in an estate agency owned by his girlfriend, Denisa Spirkova (25). He owns properties and a car and his mother is a lawyer. Meyer's ambitions are proof that not all young migrants are seeking career opportunities. A fluent English speaker, he is here to "experience Ireland" and eat his fill of his favourite food - chicken nuggets and chips.

"I will stay maybe six months to one year. I'm not worried about the money. I like travelling and want to improve my English. My standard of living is better in Slovakia - the shops and housing are less expensive. I spent some time in the US, but you need a car there." While Meyers enjoys pubs and finds his fellow 20-somethings "very good", he has been shocked at the behaviour of drunken 14- and 15-year-old girls in the streets. "In Slovakia, this would never happen," he says.

There are also migrants who are here simply to earn money in order to improve their families' prospects at home and the fact that they have to downshift to lesser jobs doesn't bother them.

Tibor Peter Dolkinka (49), who was born in Hungary and has a wife and children in Slovakia, where he owned his own business. Here, he is seeking work as a mechanic, welder or fitter - anything that will pay his children's way through university in Slovakia. At home, he earned €300 a month and here he hopes to make four times as much.

In Newbridge, Co Kildare - dubbed Little Warsaw due to the huge number of Poles who have gravitated there - Arsen Vertanyan (37), a refugee from Uzbekistan with a young family, is working 16-hour days while establishing his Eastern European food shop, which is called Moscow. An experienced sports coach, he initially wanted to pursue community work but when there were no jobs available, decided to become an entrepreneur.

Vertanyan observed the shopping patterns of the migrant workers, who shopped in the larger supermarkets but were frustrated at not finding foods from their home countries. He found a vacant outlet not far from the supermarket most frequented by the east European community and got a grant to buy a shop freezer from Action South Kildare, an organisation that mentors start-up businesses.

The food products he offers include smoked mackerel, salted herring and village pork lion, a Polish speciality, as well as a range of Siberian meat-filled pastas. Vertanyan also sells two newspapers, Lietuvis and Gazet Tabeta, which are published in Dublin, and he is currently exploring the possiblity of setting up another retail outlet in north Dublin.

Mary Keane, CEO of Action South Kildare, says the absorption of new young families into Irish society will be crucial to social stability and quality of life. She sees the accession state migrants as having the same problems as the Irish-born locals - the lack of social infrastructure to provide full, satisfying lives.

"What we're seeing now in Newbridge is reminiscent of the Irish who went to America. The newcomers seem to have their own supportive networks and will work at whatever they can get. In the long term, we have to be looking at building better communities that offer a good quality of life, both for the Irish and for eastern Europeans. I think their arrival here is positive and enriching, since so many are highly educated and qualified."

Integration is smooth, with any tensions resulting not from cultural differences but from the lack of services, green spaces and facilities for children. "It's these things that are causing stress, rather than the mix of people," Keane asserts.

You only have to walk the streets of Dublin and Newbridge to appreciate the new cosmopolitan melting pot that urban Ireland has become. Nearly a year after opening our doors to the new Europeans, it's time to start thinking not just about what the newcomers can do for us in the short term, but how much they could do in the long term if we were to make the most of their talents for all our benefits.