The Real 'Fun' Begins

I had just gotten adjusted to life in my village where I had training. I had a great family and wonderful new friends. I knew how to take the rutiera to Chisinau. I knew where I could run to get in a good workout. I knew the ladies at the convenience store, and I enjoyed Mama Axenia’s shouting across the village. I was used to being endearingly called ‘Catiușa’ (Ka-too-sha). Plus I had the safety blanket of other Americans in my same situation. Now all of that is gone, and I have had to start all over, alone. The last three weeks have been a rollercoaster of emotions, to say the least. But I suppose this is what I signed up for!

I’m living in a village of about 1000, not far from Soroca, a city of about 20,000, one of four Moldovan cities mentioned in Lonely Planet. I am also just across the Nistru River from Ukraine. My village has one paved road (for about a block), three convenience stores, a grade school, kindergarten, town hall, small medical center, a gas station, and a ‘disco.’ It is situated on the top of hill, with amazing views of the rolling hills and forests around. I have to walk down hill from the town hall, where I work, to my house, and I almost always stop to enjoy the view of the valley below and the hills with both forest and farmland rising up behind it. I usually chase chickens down the road or pass a horse or cow just hangin out at the side of the road.

I have been placed with an ONG that was founded with the goal of helping the women of the community to successfully adjust during the transition from a planned economy to a market economy. The organization runs on money from grants, and projects range from community centers to demonstration plots. My role will be in the area of local economic development, but what exactly that will entail is TBD. For the first three months, I am to focus on further developing my language skills and learning as much as I can about the village and its people. This is in itself a challenge.

Reactions to my presence have been mixed. Some are very excited and curious. Others don’t understand how I can possible help, other than to perhaps find some American donors. And still others are simply indifferent. I will have to work on forming strong relationships with those who are glad that I am here, and all the while put out a positive image and work hard so as to convince some of the others that I can be of value.

My new host family is amazing. My mom is an accountant in Soroca, and my host father works in the Czech Republic. I have a host sister my age, who is currently living at home while trying to find work. This is a typical Moldovan family, unfortunately – one working abroad, one who can’t find work despite being well-qualified, and maybe one who is bringing in a little money at home. However, they are warm, welcoming, curious, and patient with me. They made me feel at home right away, and I’m so thankful that they are so helpful with the language. There is extended family dropping by a lot, which is nice. My host uncle is from Turkey, and his daughter, age 10, speaks 5 languages already! She comes over a lot, and never stops talking, which I suppose is good for me. Most host mom works for this brother-in-law from Turkey, who owns a business selling windows and doors. Last Friday I went with my sister to visit my host mom at work. Towards the end of the day, the aunt started up the barbeque, and we ended the week with a little turkish feast. As I sat there in the somewhat sketchy warehouse kitchen, eating strange food with 1.5 Turks and a handful of Moldovans, with no less than 5 languages being thrown about, I thought to myself, this is what I signed up for!

My dad came home this past weekend for a surprise two-week visit. This meant even more visitors than usual, and a whole lot of food. On Sunday I sat down at the table around 1:00 and remained there until 9:00. All sorts of people came by – relatives, neighbors, friends, even the town medical assistant made an appearance. Some stayed only an hour or two, others the entire day. The food was replenished often, and the drinks constantly (czech beer and house wine, can’t ask for any better than that!). There was some roudy singing and lots of laughing.

There are about 10 people who work at the town hall. I have now gotten to know them all somewhat, and have concluded that I will enjoy having them around for two years. My partner is only around once in awhile, as she has another job in Soroca. There is another lady, a social worker of some sorts, who shares the office with the NGO. At first I thought it would be a little crowed with three of us in a 6x6 office, but now I think I am quite fortunate that Doamna Enesia is there. This woman never stops talking! I would be totally bored were it not for her. She takes me around places, shares jokes, corrects my language, and explains things to me. A blessing for sure. And her 6-year-old, Victor, is adorable! Extremely smart, and friendly. We have done his homework together sometimes when he comes to see his mom after school, and I joke that he is my language teacher.

The other people at work are great too. Everyone is constantly going to each other’s offices just to chat and see what has happened in the twenty minutes since they were last there. My birthday was the second day that I went to work, and even though everybody had only known me for a day, they all come together to get me a rose and a few small gifts. I made chocolate chip cookies, and everyone crowded into my tiny office where we ate cake, cookies, and cheese pies, and drank some beer. I was very touched by and appreciative of their kindness.

I have begun to recognize other people in the village outside of work and family as well. Domnul Vasilie, who owns an orchard and exports his apples to Russia, who is always giving me a hard time. Doamna Efimia talks a lot and is very proud of her three boys. Domnul Polițist is ironically the one person in this town who I would pick to cause any trouble, but is in fact the lone police officer. And there is the old man with a friendly greeting as we cross paths every morning. I look forward to getting to know many more!

The school in my village only goes up to grade nine, and the kids don’t get to learn English, only French. So from the first day everyone has been asking me if I wouldn’t mind teaching a group of students English. Now I don’t know the first thing about how to teach a foreign language, and my Romanian isn’t even on par with that of the previously mentioned 6-year old. But apparently neither of these things are a problem for them, so with nothing better to do with my time at this point, I reluctantly agreed. Since I’m already getting tired of the stares from the kids as I walk past the school on my way to work everyday, I figured this could be a good way to get to know some of them and perhaps lessen the strangeness of my presence in this town. When I agreed, however, I didn’t realize that they wanted me to begin that very day. A group of teachers brought me into a classroom with 35 or so 11- and 12-year-olds, introduced me, and then left me there. What?! What the heck do I do now? I hadn’t planned a thing to do, nor had I rehearsed in my head how to say anything in Romanian. But I was able to think on my feet and make it through at least a half-an-hour successfully. I asked them why they want to learn English, and what topics specifically they wanted to learn. I told them a bit about myself, and asked them their names. The first four girls all said, “My name is Doina,’ and I thought, ‘great, they’re already playing jokes on me.’ But in fact, all four of them are named Doina. Excellent, easier for me. I ended, at their request, by teaching them common greetings. As terrified as I was (why do I care what 12-year-olds think of me??), I was quite proud of myself afterwards. And the next day, while returning to work after lunch, Serghei greeting me with a confident ‘good afternoon!’

There are three paved country roads leading away from my village that are good for running. One of them crests a hill and offers a spectacular view of Soroca and Ukraine across the river. The other day I was running on said road and passed an old man grazing his cows on the side of the road. He was still there as I was coming back, and as I approached I could tell he was going to speak to me. I slowed up and stopped my music, expecting a ‘what are you running from?’ or ‘aren’t you cold?’ But I heard something about ‘ran in 10 seconds,’ so being curious, I stopped. He didn’t have many teeth, so I had to really concentrate and ask him to repeat himself a lot, but apparently back in the Soviet era he used to be a great runner and train for hours every day. He said he ran a 3k in 9min 16sec. That’s pretty fast. Then he went on spouting statistics about various Olympics and who could run 100m in under 10 seconds. Then he seemed to become a bit nostalgic. Who knows who I came across that day? He could have been quite the celebrated athlete in his day. I think he was glad to see someone who appreciated running as he did. And I too was glad know that not everyone here thinks I’m crazy.

Well, that's all for now. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!