Well, I’ve been here over 6 months now. Jeepers. February 20th marked the end of our 3 month ‘lockdown’ period, during which we weren’t allowed to leave our sites except for New Years and a two-day language training. Now we are more or less free to come and go as we like. My group (that is, almost all of the 34 of 40 of us who still remain) got together in Chișinău to celebrate our freedom and trade stories. Two of the volunteers who’ve been here two years already were gracious enough to host us at their apartment, and we made delicious food such as Kraft mac and cheese, soft shell tacos, brownies, and raw veggies and ranch dip. Now I probably won’t eat those things again for another 21 months.
The weather has finally taken what I believe to be a permanent turn for the warmer. We’ve enjoyed beautiful sun-shiny days and temperatures in the 60s. This is great for me and my aversion to mud and fading willpower to run in the cold. The other day I was out running without a hat on (gasp!) and an old lady down the street shook her cane at me and yelled at me for running without a hat. I laughed. Then when I was further out in the countryside one of the young men from the village was driving home with his family and honked (a crazy weeooo-weeeoo sound) and waved. I’ve never actually talked to him, so I was glad he recognized and acknowledged me rather than offering me a ride like most people do. The downside to all the sunshine and warmness is that things are drying out – not good for an agriculture-based economy. And if it does freeze again, all the trees that have started blooming will be doomed. So let’s hope for the best. Oh, and another good thing about being warm – my laundry dries in less than 24 hours instead of a week!
I’ve picked up a hobby – crocheting. All of the girls at school have to learn the arts of knitting, crocheting, and sewing, which they do while the boys are out in the field learning boy stuff. The social worker (with whom I share an office, if you remember) is crocheting a ‘summer sweater’ and solicited help from the crocheting teacher at the school, so I decided to go along and learn a bit myself. I’ve picked it up pretty quickly, and I too would like to make myself a little somethin-somethin. We’ll see if I get further than the time I started knitting a scarf....
I think you all know that I love language, which certainly an attractive part of being in the Peace Corps. I’ve started to feel pretty good about where I’m at – almost everyone understands me, and even though I make mistakes and have a funny accent, people love the fact that I’m trying. And then there are the 9th grade punks. I had finally overcome my fear of speaking in Romanian in front of larger groups of people, especially people I don’t know. So I didn’t think anything of holding a short meeting to give some preparatory information to the 9th graders (who I haven’t met before) who were attending the business seminar that weekend. I began speaking and two of the boys in the back burst out laughing. I thought they were having a conversation of their own, so I waited a few seconds for silence to come and began again. They burst out laughing again, and this time it was clear that they were laughing at me. At me! I was like, what? I’d like to see you get up here and speak in English! I had gotten so used to people accepting the way I talk that it was a bit of a shocker for me. But no worries, I let it roll. The little kids like me anyways.
Last weekend I hosted a two-day business seminar for about 20 of the high-school aged kids in my village (fortunately, the aforementioned punks didn’t show up). Four Moldovans came from Chișinău and taught them the basics about entrepreneurship, marketing, management, economics, making a budget, and writing a business plan. At the end of the two days, each of four teams wrote and presented a busins supply and demand. It was some what of a rigorous two days, and I was very impressed with how active and enthusiastic these kids were, and how good their business plans were considering the circumstances. A couple of the 15 year-olds wanted to start up the business now!
Back to the language, I made another boo boo this week, but a really funny one. The words for ‘copies’ and ‘children/babies’ are very close – pretty much the only difference in the accent of the syllables. I tried to tell the social worker that I was going to the computer center to make copies for the seminar. But of course it came out that I was going to make babies. To make it even better, the guy at work who jokes 95% of the time overheard and said ‘What?! Do you have someone to help, or do you need me to come?’ I don’t think he’s going to let this one go for a long time.
Going back to the frettings of my last entry, I’m still racking my brain trying to figure out how I can help create more jobs for the people in my village. It really is sad and alarming how many people have left and continue to leave to find jobs in other countries. While I was at my crocheting lesson last week, the teacher read a few of the essays the kids had written about what they would do if they were president. Almost all the lists started with ‘create more jobs so my mother/father/sister/brother/neighbor can come home.’ Similarly, during Christmas, letters to Santa often began with ‘I want my mother/father/sister/brother/neighbor to come home.’ It breaks my heart.
Last weekend I went to Bălți, the second largest city in Moldova and predominantly Russian-speaking, to meet up with one of my co-directors for the women’s summer camp. We went around to different NGOs that we hope will provide us with speakers and/or informational materials for our camp. After that, we stopped at the piața to pick up some veggies for dinner, and of course all of the vendors spoke in Russian. However, I whipped out my mad Russian skills and correctly understood that the carrots cost 15 lei. Woot. Later that afternoon, we went to the orphanage, where my co-director volunteers every Friday, to play with the kids there. Again most of them spoke Russian, but I wowed them with my ability to ask, what is your name? And to respond, ‘my name is catuișa.’ Woot woot. Also, even though I just met these children, I managed to get four ‘pups’ (pronounced ‘poops’ – kisses) and two hugs!
March 9, 2008
February 15, 2008
Pondering the Meaning of Life (and other things)
This month we also started planning for this year’s Camp TARE, a week-long nation-wide camp for young women ages 18-22. Actually it’s more of a seminar series, covering topics ranging from professional skills to human-trafficking. TARE stands for (in Romanian) Young, Active, Responsible, and Equal, and the word ‘tare’ means strong. I’m one of four directors for the camp, and we’ve got some work to do before July! I’m also hosting a short seminar in my village at the end of February. The topic of this seminar is business for youth. In the village there is absolutely no business curriculum before the university level, so this two-day seminar will give some of the high-school age kids in my village an introduction to economics and entrepreneurship. So I have been preparing for that as well. And of course, English class is always good for some work and laughs. We played Jeopardy this week in order to review what we’ve learned so far, and I’ll just say that I need to work on class-room control, and perhaps next time I should have a better plan for debating who said what first. There was shouting (everyone at once), laughing, jubilation, and even a bit of crying. But overall I was pleased with what the kids have managed to learn up until now.
So I’m learning all about sheep. And I’m actually doing something somewhat useful! One of my partners and I are helping a woman from the village write a business plan to try to win a grant so she can buy another breed of sheep to cross-breed with her sheep in order to increase her overall production of milk. Apparently this other breed lactates a crazy amount. Anyways, from this milk she then makes sheep-cheese, that glorious product that is sold in the ‘brinza barn,’ my favorite part of the piata, as I mentioned in my Christmas entry. So I’ve read a whole bunch of material about raising sheep, and I’ve learned a whole bunch of new vocab, all of which will be extremely useful in daily life, of course. I’ve typed up and organized the entire plan, adding my opinions and advice where needed, all in Romanian! Although it is but something small, this is a start towards making an impact in my community!
When the snow melts, there is mud everywhere. I mean everywhere. Not just a few sticky spots here and there. There is sink-down-to-your-laces-in-thick-brown-gooey-junk-every-step mud. Completely unavoidable. Then why do I have to wash and polish my boots every single night?? My first step out the gate will completely undo all of my hard work and no one will even know that I cleaned them!
So I’ve spent a lot of time thinking lately. Not for lack of things better to do, but because there is a lot to think about. I am constantly plagued by the worries of not accomplishing anything while I’m here. Outside of the capital and a few larger towns, there is virtually no economy. How can we create jobs here so that people don’t have to leave? Of course I can’t solve the problems of the entire country, but even in my village? How does one raise the living standards of this tiny community in rural Moldova? Yes, the land is fertile. But does it really make sense for a village to have 1000 individual agriculture-based small businesses? One thing that the Soviet collective farms had right was the idea of economies of scale. What can a person get with 3 hectares of corn?! Or half a hectar of wheat? And of course there are the complaints of the low prices received for cereals, so why don’t they switch to higher-value crops? And if someone buys another’s land and starts to produce more efficiently, where does that leave the other guy who now has nothing? He can’t exactly just up and get another job. If someone does have the initiative to start something larger, where does the start-up capital come from? Most can’t afford the 25% and higher interest rates, or they don’t have any sort of collateral to offer. Hardly any one has savings of any kind, maybe some euros stashed in a jar, and most don’t even have bank accounts at all. I don’t want to be a grant-writer, but in many cases it might be the only way. But how is that sustainable? So that is one line of thought running through my head.
I’ve also been pondering the questions raised by two recent publications: an editorial in the New York Times criticizing the Peace Corps for not being an effective international development organization because of the inexperience of the young people it recruits, as well as a book, The Search for Bliss, which labels Moldovans as the unhappiest people on earth. As for the former, I have in fact at times felt under-qualified for my job here. But how important are these tangible development results? How important is balancing the first Peace Corps goal of development with the remaining two goals of cross-cultural understanding? And how many other international development agencies are reaching out into remote villages like the Peace Corps is in dozens of countries? How many of these agencies have a model in which the developer becomes of part of the community that he seeks to aid, learns the languages, and really gets to know the people? But I didn’t come here solely for two years of cultural exchange, as great as that is. I came to make a difference in the lives of these people. Some say they don’t need help here, others say they need all the help they can get, and still others say there is no way to help unless you have access to money. While I may not be a development expert, I do bring energy, knowledge of the workings of a market economy, ideas, an open-mind, and yes, some access to money. My time here will not be for nothing. As for the claim that Moldovans are the unhappiest people on Earth, yes, there is a good amount of unhappiness here. I discussed this with my host mother, who said, ‘Of course we’re unhappy! We can’t get jobs and our loved ones are gone!’ But the unhappiest people on Earth? Please. People don't spend their days moping around. In fact, there is much laughter and joking everyday. I see smiles and laughter and happy gatherings all the time here. The author of this book neglected to present both sides of life here. And furthermore, I think any attempt to label the unhappiest people on Earth is futile and ridiculous.
My final ponderings have revolved around my decision to join the Peace Corps, and, I suppose, the meaning of life. Yes, I believe life is preparation for eternal life in God’s kingdom, but what does that mean for me? What is God’s plan for me here on Earth? Is this really where he wants me to be, or did I just think this is where he wants me to be because this is where I wanted to be? And why did I want to be here? To satisfy my own craving for adventure? To avoid having to choose and start a career? To learn a new language? To serve others and fulfill my need for that ‘do-good’ feeling? Yes to all. Is that ok? I’ve asked myself many times what would really make me happy in life, and I always come to the conclusion that, after a strong relationship with Christ, relationships with people are what keep me going in life. Even the worst job I’ve ever had made me happy when I did it with people that I cared about and who cared about me. If it is the case that people are the most important thing to me, why do I keep choosing to leave them? Each place I’ve gone I’ve been incredibly blest to have made new amazing friends, but then when the time comes to leave, it is that much harder to. Is it enough to maintain relationships through long distance? There are so many people who have had an amazing impact on my life, but do they know it? I try to show my appreciation for others, but I don’t think I always succeed. Can I keep going on though life assuming that wherever I go there will be somebody with whom I want to laugh, spend time with, listen to, tell my stories to? And what does it mean to ‘make new friends, but keep the old?’ Everybody always asks me if I miss life in the US. The answer is no. I only miss people.
Alrighty, that is all. I promise to keep it a bit lighter next time!
So I’m learning all about sheep. And I’m actually doing something somewhat useful! One of my partners and I are helping a woman from the village write a business plan to try to win a grant so she can buy another breed of sheep to cross-breed with her sheep in order to increase her overall production of milk. Apparently this other breed lactates a crazy amount. Anyways, from this milk she then makes sheep-cheese, that glorious product that is sold in the ‘brinza barn,’ my favorite part of the piata, as I mentioned in my Christmas entry. So I’ve read a whole bunch of material about raising sheep, and I’ve learned a whole bunch of new vocab, all of which will be extremely useful in daily life, of course. I’ve typed up and organized the entire plan, adding my opinions and advice where needed, all in Romanian! Although it is but something small, this is a start towards making an impact in my community!
When the snow melts, there is mud everywhere. I mean everywhere. Not just a few sticky spots here and there. There is sink-down-to-your-laces-in-thick-brown-gooey-junk-every-step mud. Completely unavoidable. Then why do I have to wash and polish my boots every single night?? My first step out the gate will completely undo all of my hard work and no one will even know that I cleaned them!
So I’ve spent a lot of time thinking lately. Not for lack of things better to do, but because there is a lot to think about. I am constantly plagued by the worries of not accomplishing anything while I’m here. Outside of the capital and a few larger towns, there is virtually no economy. How can we create jobs here so that people don’t have to leave? Of course I can’t solve the problems of the entire country, but even in my village? How does one raise the living standards of this tiny community in rural Moldova? Yes, the land is fertile. But does it really make sense for a village to have 1000 individual agriculture-based small businesses? One thing that the Soviet collective farms had right was the idea of economies of scale. What can a person get with 3 hectares of corn?! Or half a hectar of wheat? And of course there are the complaints of the low prices received for cereals, so why don’t they switch to higher-value crops? And if someone buys another’s land and starts to produce more efficiently, where does that leave the other guy who now has nothing? He can’t exactly just up and get another job. If someone does have the initiative to start something larger, where does the start-up capital come from? Most can’t afford the 25% and higher interest rates, or they don’t have any sort of collateral to offer. Hardly any one has savings of any kind, maybe some euros stashed in a jar, and most don’t even have bank accounts at all. I don’t want to be a grant-writer, but in many cases it might be the only way. But how is that sustainable? So that is one line of thought running through my head.
I’ve also been pondering the questions raised by two recent publications: an editorial in the New York Times criticizing the Peace Corps for not being an effective international development organization because of the inexperience of the young people it recruits, as well as a book, The Search for Bliss, which labels Moldovans as the unhappiest people on earth. As for the former, I have in fact at times felt under-qualified for my job here. But how important are these tangible development results? How important is balancing the first Peace Corps goal of development with the remaining two goals of cross-cultural understanding? And how many other international development agencies are reaching out into remote villages like the Peace Corps is in dozens of countries? How many of these agencies have a model in which the developer becomes of part of the community that he seeks to aid, learns the languages, and really gets to know the people? But I didn’t come here solely for two years of cultural exchange, as great as that is. I came to make a difference in the lives of these people. Some say they don’t need help here, others say they need all the help they can get, and still others say there is no way to help unless you have access to money. While I may not be a development expert, I do bring energy, knowledge of the workings of a market economy, ideas, an open-mind, and yes, some access to money. My time here will not be for nothing. As for the claim that Moldovans are the unhappiest people on Earth, yes, there is a good amount of unhappiness here. I discussed this with my host mother, who said, ‘Of course we’re unhappy! We can’t get jobs and our loved ones are gone!’ But the unhappiest people on Earth? Please. People don't spend their days moping around. In fact, there is much laughter and joking everyday. I see smiles and laughter and happy gatherings all the time here. The author of this book neglected to present both sides of life here. And furthermore, I think any attempt to label the unhappiest people on Earth is futile and ridiculous.
My final ponderings have revolved around my decision to join the Peace Corps, and, I suppose, the meaning of life. Yes, I believe life is preparation for eternal life in God’s kingdom, but what does that mean for me? What is God’s plan for me here on Earth? Is this really where he wants me to be, or did I just think this is where he wants me to be because this is where I wanted to be? And why did I want to be here? To satisfy my own craving for adventure? To avoid having to choose and start a career? To learn a new language? To serve others and fulfill my need for that ‘do-good’ feeling? Yes to all. Is that ok? I’ve asked myself many times what would really make me happy in life, and I always come to the conclusion that, after a strong relationship with Christ, relationships with people are what keep me going in life. Even the worst job I’ve ever had made me happy when I did it with people that I cared about and who cared about me. If it is the case that people are the most important thing to me, why do I keep choosing to leave them? Each place I’ve gone I’ve been incredibly blest to have made new amazing friends, but then when the time comes to leave, it is that much harder to. Is it enough to maintain relationships through long distance? There are so many people who have had an amazing impact on my life, but do they know it? I try to show my appreciation for others, but I don’t think I always succeed. Can I keep going on though life assuming that wherever I go there will be somebody with whom I want to laugh, spend time with, listen to, tell my stories to? And what does it mean to ‘make new friends, but keep the old?’ Everybody always asks me if I miss life in the US. The answer is no. I only miss people.
Alrighty, that is all. I promise to keep it a bit lighter next time!
January 16, 2008
It's Christmas Again
New Year’s Eve in Chişinau with a bunch of the volunteers from my group was a blast. It was by no means glamorous – we ate dinner from the local supermarket, stayed in the cheapest hotel possible, went to the free concert in the central square, and had a dance party in our room. Such is the life on the budget of a volunteer! But we were together and had an absolutely wonderful time. The central square had a gigantic Christmas tree and some live music. The adjacent park was light beautifully, and had a section where people could take pictures in various Christmas scenes. Popular scenes included Spongebob and Patrick Star, a limousine, and giant mice (2008 is the year of the mouse, you know). The little tykes could go on pony rides, or get a ride with Santa on a motorized bed. (??)
On my way in to Chişinău for New Year’s, I stopped in the village where I spent the 10 weeks of training and visited my host family there for a few hours. It was kind of like going home – everything and everyone was familiar. I arrived in time for lunch, and as usual, my host mom was busy in the kitchen, preparing for the evening’s festivities. My sister was home from Bucharest, where she is in her final year at University, my dad was out getting the car washed, and my brother was still sleeping. I sat at the table in my usual spot as my mom filled me in on all that has been going on with them – how her husband is sick but doesn’t want to go to the doctor, how her son has a girlfriend and finally admits it, and how she’s annoyed that her daughter’s boyfriend never talks with the rest of the family. And of course I filled her in on how life is for me in my new home. One by one the rest of the family wandered into the kitchen, and we all enjoyed a wonderful lunch. My mom had saved the last head cauliflower for me because she knows I like it, even though my dad had been wanting to eat it for awhile. That’s when you know you’re loved! They scarfed down the chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles that I had brought, and I scarfed down several clatite (cheese-filled crepes with honey, mmm). The whole time I was there I conversed freely in Romanian, and my mom complimented me on how much better I have gotten! I mean, I was actually able to have a regular conversation with my host dad, something I never really was able to do while I was there before. After lunch we took a family photo, and I headed on my way with the invitation to return again soon.
Christmas (Jan. 7) was a white one. It snowed about a foot, so naturally nobody went anywhere except on foot. That killed our plans to go to grandma’s house, in a village about 5mi away. But of course we had made food for an army over the weekend (which, if we weren’t planning to be home for Christmas, why did we make it?!), so the 8 or so relatives who live in our village came over and we ate all day. I even got adventurous and ate some of the meat jello. The little kids in the village came caroling in pairs or trios, which was so cute! The would yell from outside, ‘Can we sing?’ and my mom would shout back through the window, and then we’d watch them through the window as they sang (or shouted) their little hearts out, all bundled up in their winter coats with the fur around the hoods. Then my mom would bring out the bowl of candy and cookies and give them each one leu (the smallest unit of paper currency). Just after dark we heard a commotion at the gate and saw two large figures walk past the window. Then I heard a man’s loud voice yelling something, and I was sure some other jolly uncle had arrived. But then the door opened, and in walked the village priest, all dressed up in his splendid blue robes with gold trim, the huge gold cross around his neck contrasting his black beard, carrying a picture of Jesus and chanting some sort of prayer. Immediately everyone in the room jumped to their feet, made the sign of the cross (backwards), and formed a line to kiss the picture. I was a bit startled, but joined right in like this was perfectly normal. And then he left. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than a minute. Merry Christmas.
It was nice to go back to ‘work’ on the 9th after about 10 days of vacation. The first morning I spent talking with the social worker about life – problems, love, work, family, the Avon catalogue, hopes, and a variety of topics. I feel like we really connected on a personal level, which is a big step for me, because I so badly want to have relationships beyond the superficial level. After lunch her son came in, having finished school for the day. I adore Victor. I gave him a dollar bill for Christmas, and oooh, was he excited about that! I have the cutest video of him listening to my iPod and dancing and singing along to O-Zone. He’s not afraid to correct me when I say something wrong, ‘Noooo, Kate, not like that!’ And he’s so cute when I ask a question and he thinks about to explain it to me. He likes to play with my hair, and he always wants to sit by me. Yup, I’m so cool. In the afternoon our little town hall community celebrated one of the accountant’s birthday, which had been the day before. These people can throw together a beautiful spread in no time at all! And we had everything laid out nicely and switched offices three times before we finally settled on the accountant’s office. There was much laughing and shouting and singing, and more and more, I’m starting to feel like a normal part of it all. Victor pointed out how my cheeks were a little rosy after drinking the champagne, and his mom and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. Later when we were singing there was one line that I didn’t know, so I just opened and closed my mouth a lot and then sang the last word really loudly. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and caught Domnul Viorel’s eye (the funny guy who works at the town hall) and he gave me a wink and we both laughed.
I really love the school community in my village – both the teachers and the students. The forty or so kids that are in my English class are so cute! There is one boy who sits in the front row who is so enthusiastic. Any time the class is repeating words, he practically shouts, and sometimes he gets a little ahead and instead of repeating with the rest of the class, he is leading and saying the word at the same time as I am. If I ask a question, sometimes he’s so excited to give the answer that he jumps out of his seat a little bit and reaches out over the desk and points with his pencil. If only everyone were that enthusiastic about learning! The teachers are great too. The other day I was walking home for lunch, and all the kids were walking up the road from the valley where everyone goes sledding. There was a group of three boys pulling a sled behind them, and as I got closer I heard a grown man’s voice yelling ‘faster!’ As I passed the boys, there was the phys ed teacher on hands and knees on the sled as the boys pulled him up the hill!! Hilarious! All the ladies who work at the school are wonderful. They all know me (although I can only remember about half of their names) and talk to me like I’ve been speaking Romanian my whole life. I’ve even joined them for sauna night on Thursdays, which is a whole other experience which I feel I cannot accurately describe here, but suffice it to say that I feel welcome.
The holidays ended with the St. Vasilie’s Day on the 13th, and the Old New Year’s Day on the 14th. I went over to my partner’s house again for St. Vasilie’s Day, and we sat at a huge dinner all day, and random carolers came by throughout the day and into the night. I mean, these people are hardcore caroling! One group of women even had and accordion, and we all went outside and danced the circle dance, and then my partner brought out some wine and a big plate of cake and everyone dug in! So apparently they used to celebrate New Year’s in the spring, because it was for blessing the planting of the new crops. So now on ‘New Year’s’ everyone throws seeds at each other and wishes a good harvest, everthing great this year, etc. etc. I was told this, but I forgot, so imagine my surprise when I passed a police car (which had come in from the city) on my way into work, and a policeman got out at threw something at me! I let out a little yelp and ducked and thought, ‘What the &%*# did you do that for?’ But then I saw the little seeds raining down and he was saying something to me, and I remembered. Hehe. I love Moldova.
On my way in to Chişinău for New Year’s, I stopped in the village where I spent the 10 weeks of training and visited my host family there for a few hours. It was kind of like going home – everything and everyone was familiar. I arrived in time for lunch, and as usual, my host mom was busy in the kitchen, preparing for the evening’s festivities. My sister was home from Bucharest, where she is in her final year at University, my dad was out getting the car washed, and my brother was still sleeping. I sat at the table in my usual spot as my mom filled me in on all that has been going on with them – how her husband is sick but doesn’t want to go to the doctor, how her son has a girlfriend and finally admits it, and how she’s annoyed that her daughter’s boyfriend never talks with the rest of the family. And of course I filled her in on how life is for me in my new home. One by one the rest of the family wandered into the kitchen, and we all enjoyed a wonderful lunch. My mom had saved the last head cauliflower for me because she knows I like it, even though my dad had been wanting to eat it for awhile. That’s when you know you’re loved! They scarfed down the chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles that I had brought, and I scarfed down several clatite (cheese-filled crepes with honey, mmm). The whole time I was there I conversed freely in Romanian, and my mom complimented me on how much better I have gotten! I mean, I was actually able to have a regular conversation with my host dad, something I never really was able to do while I was there before. After lunch we took a family photo, and I headed on my way with the invitation to return again soon.
Christmas (Jan. 7) was a white one. It snowed about a foot, so naturally nobody went anywhere except on foot. That killed our plans to go to grandma’s house, in a village about 5mi away. But of course we had made food for an army over the weekend (which, if we weren’t planning to be home for Christmas, why did we make it?!), so the 8 or so relatives who live in our village came over and we ate all day. I even got adventurous and ate some of the meat jello. The little kids in the village came caroling in pairs or trios, which was so cute! The would yell from outside, ‘Can we sing?’ and my mom would shout back through the window, and then we’d watch them through the window as they sang (or shouted) their little hearts out, all bundled up in their winter coats with the fur around the hoods. Then my mom would bring out the bowl of candy and cookies and give them each one leu (the smallest unit of paper currency). Just after dark we heard a commotion at the gate and saw two large figures walk past the window. Then I heard a man’s loud voice yelling something, and I was sure some other jolly uncle had arrived. But then the door opened, and in walked the village priest, all dressed up in his splendid blue robes with gold trim, the huge gold cross around his neck contrasting his black beard, carrying a picture of Jesus and chanting some sort of prayer. Immediately everyone in the room jumped to their feet, made the sign of the cross (backwards), and formed a line to kiss the picture. I was a bit startled, but joined right in like this was perfectly normal. And then he left. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than a minute. Merry Christmas.
It was nice to go back to ‘work’ on the 9th after about 10 days of vacation. The first morning I spent talking with the social worker about life – problems, love, work, family, the Avon catalogue, hopes, and a variety of topics. I feel like we really connected on a personal level, which is a big step for me, because I so badly want to have relationships beyond the superficial level. After lunch her son came in, having finished school for the day. I adore Victor. I gave him a dollar bill for Christmas, and oooh, was he excited about that! I have the cutest video of him listening to my iPod and dancing and singing along to O-Zone. He’s not afraid to correct me when I say something wrong, ‘Noooo, Kate, not like that!’ And he’s so cute when I ask a question and he thinks about to explain it to me. He likes to play with my hair, and he always wants to sit by me. Yup, I’m so cool. In the afternoon our little town hall community celebrated one of the accountant’s birthday, which had been the day before. These people can throw together a beautiful spread in no time at all! And we had everything laid out nicely and switched offices three times before we finally settled on the accountant’s office. There was much laughing and shouting and singing, and more and more, I’m starting to feel like a normal part of it all. Victor pointed out how my cheeks were a little rosy after drinking the champagne, and his mom and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. Later when we were singing there was one line that I didn’t know, so I just opened and closed my mouth a lot and then sang the last word really loudly. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and caught Domnul Viorel’s eye (the funny guy who works at the town hall) and he gave me a wink and we both laughed.
I really love the school community in my village – both the teachers and the students. The forty or so kids that are in my English class are so cute! There is one boy who sits in the front row who is so enthusiastic. Any time the class is repeating words, he practically shouts, and sometimes he gets a little ahead and instead of repeating with the rest of the class, he is leading and saying the word at the same time as I am. If I ask a question, sometimes he’s so excited to give the answer that he jumps out of his seat a little bit and reaches out over the desk and points with his pencil. If only everyone were that enthusiastic about learning! The teachers are great too. The other day I was walking home for lunch, and all the kids were walking up the road from the valley where everyone goes sledding. There was a group of three boys pulling a sled behind them, and as I got closer I heard a grown man’s voice yelling ‘faster!’ As I passed the boys, there was the phys ed teacher on hands and knees on the sled as the boys pulled him up the hill!! Hilarious! All the ladies who work at the school are wonderful. They all know me (although I can only remember about half of their names) and talk to me like I’ve been speaking Romanian my whole life. I’ve even joined them for sauna night on Thursdays, which is a whole other experience which I feel I cannot accurately describe here, but suffice it to say that I feel welcome.
The holidays ended with the St. Vasilie’s Day on the 13th, and the Old New Year’s Day on the 14th. I went over to my partner’s house again for St. Vasilie’s Day, and we sat at a huge dinner all day, and random carolers came by throughout the day and into the night. I mean, these people are hardcore caroling! One group of women even had and accordion, and we all went outside and danced the circle dance, and then my partner brought out some wine and a big plate of cake and everyone dug in! So apparently they used to celebrate New Year’s in the spring, because it was for blessing the planting of the new crops. So now on ‘New Year’s’ everyone throws seeds at each other and wishes a good harvest, everthing great this year, etc. etc. I was told this, but I forgot, so imagine my surprise when I passed a police car (which had come in from the city) on my way into work, and a policeman got out at threw something at me! I let out a little yelp and ducked and thought, ‘What the &%*# did you do that for?’ But then I saw the little seeds raining down and he was saying something to me, and I remembered. Hehe. I love Moldova.
December 29, 2007
Craciun (Christmas)
So this year was definitely the most interesting Christmas that I’ve ever had. I rise as usual bright and early, but this year it is not to run downstairs and see what Santa has left under the tree. Instead I get dressed and head out to the ‘highway’ where I wait about 5 minutes before being picked up by a nice little old Russian-speaking man (yes, I hitchhike on a regular basis, but it is an accepted means of transportation here, and I only do it during the day if there is another woman in the car). We pick up a mother and son in the 4 kilometers between my village and the city of Soroca, and upon arriving at the bus station, I pay the man the customary 3 lei (about 27 cents) and walk the ten minutes to the center of town.
I meet up with a fellow volunteer by the huge Christmas tree, which kind of looks like some high school kids tee-peed it with red and green toilet paper, but is beautiful nonetheless. The two of us then continue on to the internet cafe, which is located in a basement near the town hall, and based on the dim lighting and bass thumping that you hear upon approaching, one could be fooled into thinking it is actually a disco. The teenage boy who works here, who dreams of one day visiting California, greets us in broken English that matches our broken Romanian, and set us up. All of the computers are in Russian, so he sometimes has to help me out when I can’t figure out where to click. Although, to my own credit, I am getting pretty good and sounding out Cyrillic. Anyhoo, I receive a call at 8.30 from my family, who have just arrived home from midnight Mass, and we are able to exchange Christmas greetings. (Side note – I love the fact that I can talk for hours with people thousands of miles away and not pay a dime!)
After the internet cafe we move on to the piata, which is always guaranteed for interesting times. Just outside the piata we stop to admire the sale of chickens. They are all just hangin’ out, not restrained in anyway. Some of them are stuffed inside pungas (rectangular, sturdy plaid plastic tote-bags). Others are calmly being carried away, one leg and wing being held, the other just dangling there. Doo-de-doo. The piata consists of hundreds of little booths with tin roofs all smashed together in aisles with room to almost comfortably fit two people across, but are almost always jammed with five. As much as I want to, I just haven’t gotten used the lack of personal space. Anyways, the piața is divided into clothes/shoes, food, and household items. You can find everything, including live fish, glittery cosmetics, Pantene ProV, Snickers bars, hundreds of pairs of knee-high black stiletto boots, extension cords, underwear, buckets, tiaras with gaudy gems that light up (I pick up one of those for New Years), and random car parts. Really just about anything imaginable. My favorite place is what I like to call the brînză barn, a large covered room with ladies all lined up behind tables with their scales and huge chunks of homemade goat cheese. The smell of the stinky cheese reaches the nostrils quickly, and the sounds of the ladies trying to get us to buy their cheese call out to us – ‘Fetele! Gustati!’ Girls! Try This! At the end of the row is the Unt Om (Butter Man) with his gigantic block of butter (there is no such thing as margarine here). Today he has chocolate butter! As I’m planning to make chocolate chip cookies this weekend, I buy 400 grams of the regular butter. And then I decide to get some of the chocolate butter too; perhaps I’ll join my dad in eating bread and butter with our tea tonight.
We head back to the Christmas Tree to meet up with another volunteer, and as we’re waiting, I hear my name (or rather, the version of my name that Moldovan’s manage to make out – Kait!). I turn and see Doamna Valentina, an active older woman from my village, accordion slung over her back, leading her gaggle of kindergarteners to the cultural center for a little Christmas concert. Viniti cu noi! Come with us! she calls out to me. We follow, but in staying consistent with Moldovan time, the concert doesn’t actually being at 10.00, as was planned. At 11.00 it still hasn’t begun, and we move on. I need to make a copy of my office key, so we head to the shoe-repair shop. The lady there only speaks Russian, but this is no problem. I point to my key, and to the key-copy-maker-machine-thingy. She holds up one finger, and I nod. She hands me the copy and tells me ‘ПЯТЬ’ (pee-at) which I know is 5 because I watch the figure-skating show all the time and hear them read off the scores – 5.8, 5.9, 5.8! I hand her five lei and thank her, СпaСИба (spa-see-ba). I am pretty proud of myself after that one.
Now it’s time to head back to my village and go to work. Kinda weird to be going to work on Christmas. But I have a plan to make it a little more interesting than usual. I pack up my laptop, with a playlist of Christmas songs ready to go, as well as a slide-show of Christmas pics from home. I throw in some candy and cookies, as well as a bottle of champagne, don my santa hat, and head to the primăria. My partner and the social worker are there when I arrive. Merry Christmas! I greet them as I enter. I pull out the laptop and plop down the bag of candy. They tell me that the mayor is not here today. Good, I say, because I have this too, and pull out the champagne. Haha, they say, good indeed! and my partner pulls a huge bottle of homemade wine out from under the desk, while the social worker takes a two-liter of beer out of the cupboard. Haha, they are prepared for my Christmas too! My fellow volunteer arrives from Soroca, the social worker’s adorable 6 year old comes in, and pretty soon everyone from the primăria is crowded into my little office having a grand old time. I impress them with my vast knowledge of the Russian language, as well as my mad caroling skills (I learned the Romanian translation of Jingle Bells). They admire my pictures from home, but aren’t too impressed with Bing’s White Christmas. All-in-all, it is a pretty successful little ad-hoc celebration.
Back at home, I prepare to resume the normal day’s activities. I hand wash some clothes (I can never seem to get all of the soap out!), and I’m sending out Merry Christmas text messages when I receive a call from my partner’s daughter. They want me to quick come over and help them out with something. I throw on my boots and coat and make my way in the dark down the dirt road to my partner’s house, and ten minutes later I am speaking on the phone with a nice old lady in Germany. Turns out my partner and her husband are friends with a couple in Germany, but now that the German couple’s son is away somewhere, they don’t have a translator. My partner wants to call and wish them a Merry Christmas, so my German-speaking skills are called into action. So here I am, Christmas night in Moldova, translating German into Romanian, and vice-versa. Interesting. After the call I try to excuse myself, since my family is waiting dinner on me. Oh no! Of course that is not an option. Now that I’m here I have to stay! My partner calls my host-ma.
I hear the dog barking outside, and in comes a young woman with a little boy in tow. My partner’s goddaughter and her son. A few minutes later, in comes her husband, who turns out to be the goofy guy who works at the primăria. I didn’t realize he was married, let alone had a kid. His wife is very friendly and talkative, 6 months younger than I, and inside I entertain the hope of making a friend my age, even though she is a married woman with a 1.3 year-old. We eat a delicious meal, talk a lot, and while-away the night. It is nice to spend some time with my partner and her family, away from the office. I finally take my leave around 9.30.
Back at the casa, I call one of my best volunteer friends and we exchange Christmas stories and make plans for our New Year’s night in Chisinău (one-day escape from our three month lock down!). We hang up and my family calls me again, 14 hours after the first call and a long day for me, and a good night’s rest for them! This is a wonderful end to a wonderful Christmas. I am able to talk to the whole family, including a few surprise guests – Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Joe are there too, as well as Mr R., my most favoritest theater director. An hour later I finally hang up, and as I lay my head down, I think to myself, despite low expectations, this really was a merry Christmas!
I meet up with a fellow volunteer by the huge Christmas tree, which kind of looks like some high school kids tee-peed it with red and green toilet paper, but is beautiful nonetheless. The two of us then continue on to the internet cafe, which is located in a basement near the town hall, and based on the dim lighting and bass thumping that you hear upon approaching, one could be fooled into thinking it is actually a disco. The teenage boy who works here, who dreams of one day visiting California, greets us in broken English that matches our broken Romanian, and set us up. All of the computers are in Russian, so he sometimes has to help me out when I can’t figure out where to click. Although, to my own credit, I am getting pretty good and sounding out Cyrillic. Anyhoo, I receive a call at 8.30 from my family, who have just arrived home from midnight Mass, and we are able to exchange Christmas greetings. (Side note – I love the fact that I can talk for hours with people thousands of miles away and not pay a dime!)
After the internet cafe we move on to the piata, which is always guaranteed for interesting times. Just outside the piata we stop to admire the sale of chickens. They are all just hangin’ out, not restrained in anyway. Some of them are stuffed inside pungas (rectangular, sturdy plaid plastic tote-bags). Others are calmly being carried away, one leg and wing being held, the other just dangling there. Doo-de-doo. The piata consists of hundreds of little booths with tin roofs all smashed together in aisles with room to almost comfortably fit two people across, but are almost always jammed with five. As much as I want to, I just haven’t gotten used the lack of personal space. Anyways, the piața is divided into clothes/shoes, food, and household items. You can find everything, including live fish, glittery cosmetics, Pantene ProV, Snickers bars, hundreds of pairs of knee-high black stiletto boots, extension cords, underwear, buckets, tiaras with gaudy gems that light up (I pick up one of those for New Years), and random car parts. Really just about anything imaginable. My favorite place is what I like to call the brînză barn, a large covered room with ladies all lined up behind tables with their scales and huge chunks of homemade goat cheese. The smell of the stinky cheese reaches the nostrils quickly, and the sounds of the ladies trying to get us to buy their cheese call out to us – ‘Fetele! Gustati!’ Girls! Try This! At the end of the row is the Unt Om (Butter Man) with his gigantic block of butter (there is no such thing as margarine here). Today he has chocolate butter! As I’m planning to make chocolate chip cookies this weekend, I buy 400 grams of the regular butter. And then I decide to get some of the chocolate butter too; perhaps I’ll join my dad in eating bread and butter with our tea tonight.
We head back to the Christmas Tree to meet up with another volunteer, and as we’re waiting, I hear my name (or rather, the version of my name that Moldovan’s manage to make out – Kait!). I turn and see Doamna Valentina, an active older woman from my village, accordion slung over her back, leading her gaggle of kindergarteners to the cultural center for a little Christmas concert. Viniti cu noi! Come with us! she calls out to me. We follow, but in staying consistent with Moldovan time, the concert doesn’t actually being at 10.00, as was planned. At 11.00 it still hasn’t begun, and we move on. I need to make a copy of my office key, so we head to the shoe-repair shop. The lady there only speaks Russian, but this is no problem. I point to my key, and to the key-copy-maker-machine-thingy. She holds up one finger, and I nod. She hands me the copy and tells me ‘ПЯТЬ’ (pee-at) which I know is 5 because I watch the figure-skating show all the time and hear them read off the scores – 5.8, 5.9, 5.8! I hand her five lei and thank her, СпaСИба (spa-see-ba). I am pretty proud of myself after that one.
Now it’s time to head back to my village and go to work. Kinda weird to be going to work on Christmas. But I have a plan to make it a little more interesting than usual. I pack up my laptop, with a playlist of Christmas songs ready to go, as well as a slide-show of Christmas pics from home. I throw in some candy and cookies, as well as a bottle of champagne, don my santa hat, and head to the primăria. My partner and the social worker are there when I arrive. Merry Christmas! I greet them as I enter. I pull out the laptop and plop down the bag of candy. They tell me that the mayor is not here today. Good, I say, because I have this too, and pull out the champagne. Haha, they say, good indeed! and my partner pulls a huge bottle of homemade wine out from under the desk, while the social worker takes a two-liter of beer out of the cupboard. Haha, they are prepared for my Christmas too! My fellow volunteer arrives from Soroca, the social worker’s adorable 6 year old comes in, and pretty soon everyone from the primăria is crowded into my little office having a grand old time. I impress them with my vast knowledge of the Russian language, as well as my mad caroling skills (I learned the Romanian translation of Jingle Bells). They admire my pictures from home, but aren’t too impressed with Bing’s White Christmas. All-in-all, it is a pretty successful little ad-hoc celebration.
Back at home, I prepare to resume the normal day’s activities. I hand wash some clothes (I can never seem to get all of the soap out!), and I’m sending out Merry Christmas text messages when I receive a call from my partner’s daughter. They want me to quick come over and help them out with something. I throw on my boots and coat and make my way in the dark down the dirt road to my partner’s house, and ten minutes later I am speaking on the phone with a nice old lady in Germany. Turns out my partner and her husband are friends with a couple in Germany, but now that the German couple’s son is away somewhere, they don’t have a translator. My partner wants to call and wish them a Merry Christmas, so my German-speaking skills are called into action. So here I am, Christmas night in Moldova, translating German into Romanian, and vice-versa. Interesting. After the call I try to excuse myself, since my family is waiting dinner on me. Oh no! Of course that is not an option. Now that I’m here I have to stay! My partner calls my host-ma.
I hear the dog barking outside, and in comes a young woman with a little boy in tow. My partner’s goddaughter and her son. A few minutes later, in comes her husband, who turns out to be the goofy guy who works at the primăria. I didn’t realize he was married, let alone had a kid. His wife is very friendly and talkative, 6 months younger than I, and inside I entertain the hope of making a friend my age, even though she is a married woman with a 1.3 year-old. We eat a delicious meal, talk a lot, and while-away the night. It is nice to spend some time with my partner and her family, away from the office. I finally take my leave around 9.30.
Back at the casa, I call one of my best volunteer friends and we exchange Christmas stories and make plans for our New Year’s night in Chisinău (one-day escape from our three month lock down!). We hang up and my family calls me again, 14 hours after the first call and a long day for me, and a good night’s rest for them! This is a wonderful end to a wonderful Christmas. I am able to talk to the whole family, including a few surprise guests – Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Joe are there too, as well as Mr R., my most favoritest theater director. An hour later I finally hang up, and as I lay my head down, I think to myself, despite low expectations, this really was a merry Christmas!
December 28, 2007
Where's the Strawberry?
I believe a few words should be devoted to describing the tv programming here. For one, it is 90% from Russia, and therefore not of use to me. But as that is all anyone watches, that is what I watch, usually staring blankly at the tv and thinking about something else. The main event each weeknight is ‘Tatianas’ Day,’ a soap opera that all the ladies talk about at work and my last host mom loved. She would explain to me how Tatiana Razbeshtina was in love with Tatiana Dakhova’s husband, Sergiu, and stole her baby and said it was hers and Sergiu’s while Sergiu was away in Moscow for nine months so that when he came back he would love her again. Uh huh. The music is very dramatic anyways. There are a few programs that are possible to enjoy without understanding – such as the Russian version of American Idol, ‘Star Factory.’ Or the skating show where well-known personalities are matched up with professional skaters and the pairs compete every week with new creative routines. Or the talent competition to win a million-bajillion rupies, with judges who all seem to be hard to please. I thought the old man wearing pink make-up playing the saw was pretty dang entertaining, but they gave him a definite ‘Nyet.’ Then there’s the show where teams of three wear silver spandex body suits and helmets and have to contort their bodies into the shapes that are cut into a foam wall that comes from behind a curtain and moves toward them rapidly – if they don’t fit their bodies through the shapes as the wall reaches them, it knocks them into a pool. And there is another show where four teams – the US, Russia, China, and Kazakhstan - compete in the most random contests ever. Like wearing huge ostrich costumes and pedaling tiny bikes and then mounting a large spinning platform and trying to knock down baby bottles hanging from ropes with their beaks. What?!!
The English classes are not a total disaster. If I have a little time to prepare, I can come up with something to do for an hour. The kids are so cute and eager to learn. They have real problems pronouncing the ‘Th’ sound, and it is not uncommon for French or Russian words to slip out (being that English is now their 4th language). I don’t know how much I can teach them when the only resources we have are one hour per week, a few pieces of chalk, and a small blackboard, but I think there is some sign of understanding and progress in just two weeks. At any rate, these few lessons are helping me become more integrated into the community.
I went to a two-day conference in Chişinău with my partner. It was about revising the village’s 5 year strategic plan. Because the topics covered were very familiar to me (mission, vision, SWOT, goals, objectives, etc.), I was able to understand almost everything, even though it was all in Romanian at warp speed. I’m really starting to get the hang of it! But then there are days that I feel like I really don’t have it at all. So I suppose it’s time for me to tell about some of my more comical linguistic slip-ups. Back in PST, I mixed up the word ‘fond’ with ‘fund’ and instead of saying ‘I need funding,’ I said ‘I need ass.’ The other day when I wanted a stapler, I kept saying, ‘Unde este capşuna?’ and was met with confused looks. Turns out I was asking where the strawberry was. The word I was looking for was capsator, not capşună. Oops. Or one time I wanted to say that after a year maybe I will know some Russian too, but instead I said I will know Russian after an hour. I was wondering why they all started to laugh. Finally, I was at a restuarant and asked what the placinte (little pasty-like thingies) were stuffed with, and she said ‘curechi.’ To me, this sounded like ‘cu urechi,’ which means ‘with ears.’ Huh? That doesn’t sound very tasty! Turns out curechi is another word for cabbage.
So on the rare occasion that I use an actually restroom (such as during my stay in Chisinau for the aforementioned conference), I always seem to have a problem finding the light. The light switch never seems to actually be located in the restroom. It’s somewhere outside, hidden. I usually just push every button I can see within a 10 meter radius, and more often than not I end up turning off more lights than turning any on. Or sometimes there is a switch inside the little room with the toilet, but it’s actually for the room with the sink, whereas the switch in the room with the sink is for the room with the toilet. The other day at a restaurant I never found a switch at all, and finally just gave up and peed in the dark.
Since it snowed a couple of weeks back, my village and the surrounding land have been extra beautiful. The snow lays a little different on each different plot of land, so you can see the checkerboard of fields on the hills, and the trees have held some snow. The main road in the center of the village has turned in to the sledding hill for the kids, who form chains with their runner-sleds. Unfortunately with the snow came ice, and my walk to work is treacherous. I’ve had a few really close calls, and running is pretty much out of the question unless I wear the hideous bright yellow yak trax provided by peace corps.
So now that I’m actually an official volunteer, what is my typical day like? Well I usually wake around 7:30 and putz around in my room for a bit. (Sometimes I get up at 7.00 and go for a quick 5k.) Sometimes I eat breakfast alone, sometimes with the rest of the family, usually consisting of bread and brînză (goat cheese), sometimes fried eggs and salami, and if I’m lucky, a really delicious oatmeal porridge concoction. I get into work around 9:00, in my little office at the primăria (town hall). I chat with the social worker who shares the office, I study language, I visit some of the other 7 people who work at the primaria, they come to visit us, I translate random things into English for random people, I have language lessons twice a week, I teach English lessons twice a week, and I talk with the people who come in to take out or pay off a loan. (My NGO takes out large credits from the bank in Soroca and then gives out smaller loans to the community members.) Sometimes I have little field trips, such as when I was invited to go to watch the kindergarten Christmas show – so cute! I usually get home between 4-5, and I chat with my sister or dad, and we make dinner (or rather, I try to help make dinner, but usually they just tell me to sit and relax and talk to them). I enjoy dinner because we talk a lot and the food is delicious. After dinner we go into the living room to watch TV (as described above), I usually read (I finished Harry Potter in Romanian and have moved on to a novel in Romanian that I haven’t read in English – I’m really challenging myself!) or I write or play on my computer or learn a few Russian words just for kicks (reading in Cyrillic is kind of like a decoding game!). Perhaps a relative or neighbor will stop by, but usually more on the weekends. At 8ish, we go back into the kitchen for tea and sweets. Well, we girls eat sweets, and my dad eats bread slathered with butter. This is my favorite time of day, along with dinner. It is so nice for everyone to sit together and talk, something that rarely happened at home. However, since it is dark at 5 now, it’s not like anyone has any place else to go. It will be sad when my dad goes back to the Czech Republic and my sister finds a job and moves to Chisinau. But I know that my sister is getting anxious to find work and not have to sit around home all day doing nothing. That is a horrible feeling. So even though I will miss her, I am praying that after the holidays are over, she will be able to find a good job. Getting back to my day, at 9.30 I run out to the outhouse one last time and then retire to my room, where I usually do a body/ab circuit and try not to make too many grunting noises as I exert myself. I read for a bit and hit the sack around 11. So not extremely exciting, but each day is a bit different, and each day there is something worthwhile, be it meeting a new person, or understanding a joke.
Well that's all for now, stay tuned for tales from Christmas!
The English classes are not a total disaster. If I have a little time to prepare, I can come up with something to do for an hour. The kids are so cute and eager to learn. They have real problems pronouncing the ‘Th’ sound, and it is not uncommon for French or Russian words to slip out (being that English is now their 4th language). I don’t know how much I can teach them when the only resources we have are one hour per week, a few pieces of chalk, and a small blackboard, but I think there is some sign of understanding and progress in just two weeks. At any rate, these few lessons are helping me become more integrated into the community.
I went to a two-day conference in Chişinău with my partner. It was about revising the village’s 5 year strategic plan. Because the topics covered were very familiar to me (mission, vision, SWOT, goals, objectives, etc.), I was able to understand almost everything, even though it was all in Romanian at warp speed. I’m really starting to get the hang of it! But then there are days that I feel like I really don’t have it at all. So I suppose it’s time for me to tell about some of my more comical linguistic slip-ups. Back in PST, I mixed up the word ‘fond’ with ‘fund’ and instead of saying ‘I need funding,’ I said ‘I need ass.’ The other day when I wanted a stapler, I kept saying, ‘Unde este capşuna?’ and was met with confused looks. Turns out I was asking where the strawberry was. The word I was looking for was capsator, not capşună. Oops. Or one time I wanted to say that after a year maybe I will know some Russian too, but instead I said I will know Russian after an hour. I was wondering why they all started to laugh. Finally, I was at a restuarant and asked what the placinte (little pasty-like thingies) were stuffed with, and she said ‘curechi.’ To me, this sounded like ‘cu urechi,’ which means ‘with ears.’ Huh? That doesn’t sound very tasty! Turns out curechi is another word for cabbage.
So on the rare occasion that I use an actually restroom (such as during my stay in Chisinau for the aforementioned conference), I always seem to have a problem finding the light. The light switch never seems to actually be located in the restroom. It’s somewhere outside, hidden. I usually just push every button I can see within a 10 meter radius, and more often than not I end up turning off more lights than turning any on. Or sometimes there is a switch inside the little room with the toilet, but it’s actually for the room with the sink, whereas the switch in the room with the sink is for the room with the toilet. The other day at a restaurant I never found a switch at all, and finally just gave up and peed in the dark.
Since it snowed a couple of weeks back, my village and the surrounding land have been extra beautiful. The snow lays a little different on each different plot of land, so you can see the checkerboard of fields on the hills, and the trees have held some snow. The main road in the center of the village has turned in to the sledding hill for the kids, who form chains with their runner-sleds. Unfortunately with the snow came ice, and my walk to work is treacherous. I’ve had a few really close calls, and running is pretty much out of the question unless I wear the hideous bright yellow yak trax provided by peace corps.
So now that I’m actually an official volunteer, what is my typical day like? Well I usually wake around 7:30 and putz around in my room for a bit. (Sometimes I get up at 7.00 and go for a quick 5k.) Sometimes I eat breakfast alone, sometimes with the rest of the family, usually consisting of bread and brînză (goat cheese), sometimes fried eggs and salami, and if I’m lucky, a really delicious oatmeal porridge concoction. I get into work around 9:00, in my little office at the primăria (town hall). I chat with the social worker who shares the office, I study language, I visit some of the other 7 people who work at the primaria, they come to visit us, I translate random things into English for random people, I have language lessons twice a week, I teach English lessons twice a week, and I talk with the people who come in to take out or pay off a loan. (My NGO takes out large credits from the bank in Soroca and then gives out smaller loans to the community members.) Sometimes I have little field trips, such as when I was invited to go to watch the kindergarten Christmas show – so cute! I usually get home between 4-5, and I chat with my sister or dad, and we make dinner (or rather, I try to help make dinner, but usually they just tell me to sit and relax and talk to them). I enjoy dinner because we talk a lot and the food is delicious. After dinner we go into the living room to watch TV (as described above), I usually read (I finished Harry Potter in Romanian and have moved on to a novel in Romanian that I haven’t read in English – I’m really challenging myself!) or I write or play on my computer or learn a few Russian words just for kicks (reading in Cyrillic is kind of like a decoding game!). Perhaps a relative or neighbor will stop by, but usually more on the weekends. At 8ish, we go back into the kitchen for tea and sweets. Well, we girls eat sweets, and my dad eats bread slathered with butter. This is my favorite time of day, along with dinner. It is so nice for everyone to sit together and talk, something that rarely happened at home. However, since it is dark at 5 now, it’s not like anyone has any place else to go. It will be sad when my dad goes back to the Czech Republic and my sister finds a job and moves to Chisinau. But I know that my sister is getting anxious to find work and not have to sit around home all day doing nothing. That is a horrible feeling. So even though I will miss her, I am praying that after the holidays are over, she will be able to find a good job. Getting back to my day, at 9.30 I run out to the outhouse one last time and then retire to my room, where I usually do a body/ab circuit and try not to make too many grunting noises as I exert myself. I read for a bit and hit the sack around 11. So not extremely exciting, but each day is a bit different, and each day there is something worthwhile, be it meeting a new person, or understanding a joke.
Well that's all for now, stay tuned for tales from Christmas!
December 14, 2007
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!
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!
December 3, 2007
I'm Feeling More Like a Moldoveanca
I never know how I manage to get from point A to point B, but somehow I do. Here I am, exactly one year after submitting my application to the Peace Corps, an official active volunteer. I can’t believe it’s already been 11 weeks since I arrived in this country that I will call home for the next 2 years. I have had some amazing experiences and made some incredible friends during the 10 weeks of training.
Some of my favorite memories will be of four of us who have taken to the sport of ‘super-adventuring.’ Basically, this entails exploring the area surrounding our community by either walking or running, with intermittent stops to climb trees, explore caves, hike up the side of ravines, chat with locals, avoid herding sheep or stray cows, jump over ditches (with or without water), or beat each other with corn stalks. These super adventures may last anywhere from 1 to 4 hours, and common results include forehead gashes, mud-caked shoes, burr-covered spandex, and pure enjoyment of the beauty of Moldova’s land.
Getting to know our families has been a wonderful experience as well. We had an American/Moldovan dinner with all of the trainees in my village and their host families. Everybody brought a traditional dish to share, and the Moldovan families organized a few ‘challenges’ for us. The food was marvelous, although some of the American dishes didn’t turn out exactly as planned (ex. one trainee ended up with ketchup lasagna due to his inability to read the russian on what he thought was a jar of pasta sauce. It was delicious nevertheless.) My chocolate chip cookies were a big hit, of course. After dinner, elbows flew during the make-a-placinta-as-fast-as-you-can contest. This involved rolling the dough, adding the potato mixture, and properly forming the pie shape. This was followed by a shuck-the-corn-as-fast-as-you-can contest, in which I came in dead last. However, I redeemed myself when I was the winner by a long shot in the separate-the-corn-kernels-from-the-beans-as-fast-as-you-can contest. We also sewed buttons on to fabric and peeled potatos, in which I again came in last but received a consolation prize for having peeled the potato the most beautifully. The best part of these events was seeing how proud the host parents were of their respective Americans. Each Moldovan host mom wanted her American to win and some found ways to cheat and help. The games were followed by some singing and dancing. One dance was similar to musical chairs, except with partners. Couples dance until the music stops, and then everyone switches partners. The female who doesn’t find a partner has to dance with a broom until the music stops again. This ended up being quite the ego booster for the guys, as we girls fought over them so as to avoid the broom. All-in-all, the evening was a ton of fun.
A little over a month ago, some of us began taking some dance lessons in order to perform at our swearing in ceremony. The instructor was a riot, and pretty strict. Some of the gentlemen in our group had problems hopping on the beat, so he would just count really loudly over and over. And he’d run around adjusting our body parts rather firmly. Most of us were there for the sweet outfits that we got to wear at the ceremony. (See photo). At any rate, the end result was a crowd that went wild. Another cultural bonus was that the ten of us in my village also received some singing lessons. We learned a few traditional Moldovan songs and sang one of them at the ceremony, and the crowd again loved us. The best part was that I could see how proud of me my host mom was. She said I sang and danced beautifully, and we both teared up a little bit when I left for my new village.
Speaking of dancing, I finally made it to a Moldovan disco, twice in fact. Like in Austria, the party doesn’t start until well after 11 and lasts well into the wee hours. I never lasted any later than 2.30, but thoroughly enjoyed the time I was there. The Moldovans have an interesting style of dance - they keep their feet planted and kind of sway the hips and flail the arms about. I’m still working on that. The music is definitely techno, and I’m not sure if it was just at the disco in our village or if all discos are this way, but it seemed as though the dj only has about 15 songs, and they repeat after an hour or so. The girls wear short skirts with tall black boots, and the guys wear striped sweaters that are somewhat reminiscent of Cosby. Good times, good times.
As for the language, it is coming along well. I’m very comfortable with some topics, and less so with others, but I will survive. I’ve been able to start being somewhat humorous in Romanian, and locals do in fact understand what I’m saying. For example, the other day I kidded my host uncle about stealing a microwave from the kindergarten. (He was actually just borrowing it to help make the food for his daughter’s wedding the next day.) Last week we gave 20-minute presentations in pairs in Romanian, and I was able to deliver it without reading every single word off a piece of paper. I managed to find Harry Potter in Romanian, and I’m making my way through it slowly. And at the end of training I tested at the requested level in the language proficiency exam. But I have soooo far to go, because now that I am at site, I can’t speak English at all!
So pre-service training was pretty cool, and I have new amazing friends and families to help me get through the next two years. I’ve had a taste of life in Moldova, and now I’m sent off to experience it on my own. Now is when the real test begins, as I am the only American in a new village. I’ll have stories about that soon!
Some of my favorite memories will be of four of us who have taken to the sport of ‘super-adventuring.’ Basically, this entails exploring the area surrounding our community by either walking or running, with intermittent stops to climb trees, explore caves, hike up the side of ravines, chat with locals, avoid herding sheep or stray cows, jump over ditches (with or without water), or beat each other with corn stalks. These super adventures may last anywhere from 1 to 4 hours, and common results include forehead gashes, mud-caked shoes, burr-covered spandex, and pure enjoyment of the beauty of Moldova’s land.
Getting to know our families has been a wonderful experience as well. We had an American/Moldovan dinner with all of the trainees in my village and their host families. Everybody brought a traditional dish to share, and the Moldovan families organized a few ‘challenges’ for us. The food was marvelous, although some of the American dishes didn’t turn out exactly as planned (ex. one trainee ended up with ketchup lasagna due to his inability to read the russian on what he thought was a jar of pasta sauce. It was delicious nevertheless.) My chocolate chip cookies were a big hit, of course. After dinner, elbows flew during the make-a-placinta-as-fast-as-you-can contest. This involved rolling the dough, adding the potato mixture, and properly forming the pie shape. This was followed by a shuck-the-corn-as-fast-as-you-can contest, in which I came in dead last. However, I redeemed myself when I was the winner by a long shot in the separate-the-corn-kernels-from-the-beans-as-fast-as-you-can contest. We also sewed buttons on to fabric and peeled potatos, in which I again came in last but received a consolation prize for having peeled the potato the most beautifully. The best part of these events was seeing how proud the host parents were of their respective Americans. Each Moldovan host mom wanted her American to win and some found ways to cheat and help. The games were followed by some singing and dancing. One dance was similar to musical chairs, except with partners. Couples dance until the music stops, and then everyone switches partners. The female who doesn’t find a partner has to dance with a broom until the music stops again. This ended up being quite the ego booster for the guys, as we girls fought over them so as to avoid the broom. All-in-all, the evening was a ton of fun.
A little over a month ago, some of us began taking some dance lessons in order to perform at our swearing in ceremony. The instructor was a riot, and pretty strict. Some of the gentlemen in our group had problems hopping on the beat, so he would just count really loudly over and over. And he’d run around adjusting our body parts rather firmly. Most of us were there for the sweet outfits that we got to wear at the ceremony. (See photo). At any rate, the end result was a crowd that went wild. Another cultural bonus was that the ten of us in my village also received some singing lessons. We learned a few traditional Moldovan songs and sang one of them at the ceremony, and the crowd again loved us. The best part was that I could see how proud of me my host mom was. She said I sang and danced beautifully, and we both teared up a little bit when I left for my new village.
Speaking of dancing, I finally made it to a Moldovan disco, twice in fact. Like in Austria, the party doesn’t start until well after 11 and lasts well into the wee hours. I never lasted any later than 2.30, but thoroughly enjoyed the time I was there. The Moldovans have an interesting style of dance - they keep their feet planted and kind of sway the hips and flail the arms about. I’m still working on that. The music is definitely techno, and I’m not sure if it was just at the disco in our village or if all discos are this way, but it seemed as though the dj only has about 15 songs, and they repeat after an hour or so. The girls wear short skirts with tall black boots, and the guys wear striped sweaters that are somewhat reminiscent of Cosby. Good times, good times.
As for the language, it is coming along well. I’m very comfortable with some topics, and less so with others, but I will survive. I’ve been able to start being somewhat humorous in Romanian, and locals do in fact understand what I’m saying. For example, the other day I kidded my host uncle about stealing a microwave from the kindergarten. (He was actually just borrowing it to help make the food for his daughter’s wedding the next day.) Last week we gave 20-minute presentations in pairs in Romanian, and I was able to deliver it without reading every single word off a piece of paper. I managed to find Harry Potter in Romanian, and I’m making my way through it slowly. And at the end of training I tested at the requested level in the language proficiency exam. But I have soooo far to go, because now that I am at site, I can’t speak English at all!
So pre-service training was pretty cool, and I have new amazing friends and families to help me get through the next two years. I’ve had a taste of life in Moldova, and now I’m sent off to experience it on my own. Now is when the real test begins, as I am the only American in a new village. I’ll have stories about that soon!
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