Where is Moldova, anyway?

Well I am officially here and a Peace Corps Volunteer. What does that mean, you ask? Well I wonder the same thing myself, very very often in fact. And I think, no scratch that, I know, many other new volunteers are feeling the same way. The overall feeling after we all got dropped off at our sites is… so this is the Peace Corps...interesting. Things aren’t really peace-corpsy (yes, that actually is an adjective if you are wondering—look it up) right now. We have minimal language—just over enough to express our needs, wants and interests; and have even less real cultural knowledge. I can express what I studied in college clearly, and that I like tea without sugar—but I don’t really know how to tell children to stop running in circles around the table with the authority to have them listen, and I definitely don’t have a good enough understanding of the local government to help my organization restructure itself, or find money for heat.

I can’t mention this particular conundrum (that is going on across the board with new volunteers) without giving props to our LCF’s (think: language teachers, cultural explainers, babysitters, parents, doctors, counselors and friends) who spent 8 weeks with us during training—teaching us the language, making sure we ate, and ate again, finding us when we were helplessly lost (yes, physically lost), teaching us to crack nuts with our hands and putting us on the right busses. While I have never been apt towards languages (10 years of Spanish and I can hardly remember anything right now), I definitely picked up more Romanian than I ever thought was possible due to the Peace Corps methods of immersion and the wonderful lessons and patience of our LCFs. (the only other language I picked up this quickly was Samoan, and the Samoan classes were modeled after the PC methods). So now while I do have a lot of language, it is not enough for the “real world”—outside of the atmosphere of training where people were patient with us, expected our mispronunciations, and laughed with us—not called us crazy foreigners.

So back to life in the Peace Corps. As you may or may not know one of the three goals of the Peace Corps is to provide developing nations with “skilled individuals” to help promote sustainable development, and to exchange ideas and innovate. So in theory we are here to give advice, cheerlead, facilitate and help with some bottom up development. But that is not the case right now-- right now it’s more akin to others helping us—dress appropriately for the weather, find our place of work, get on the right transportation etc. It seems that more so the females than the males are being “taken care of”—are being told how to dress, who to talk to in the community (and who not to talk to), to put on slippers etc… but it switches, because many people here (and local custom dictates that… ) assume that the males cannot cook or prepare food for themselves, or wash dishes for that manner.

An example of the daily life of being a child of the Peace Corps. My friend, whose name will be left out for the sake of protecting the semi-innocent, wanted water one day on his way home from work in his new village. So he stopped at the store and bought a bottle. When he arrived home, his host family was ASTOUNDED that he had a bottle of water in his hands and could not understand how he obtained it. When he kept repeating that he bought it at the store, they thought he was messing up his language—because how could he have done this by himself? But when it all got sorted out they were oh SO proud of him for going to the store by himself. I think he might have been patted on the head, but I’m not sure.

I had a similar but less funny experience when I told my co-worker that I would be late to work because I had to go to the post office. She asked how I would go there alone. I said I had seen it and was sure I could handle it. She then rearranged everyone’s schedule so that someone could take the incompetent American to the post office. My host mother has also gotten into the habit of sending me to the store for things—which I like, because it gives me an excuse to take a walk (which normally isn’t encouraged because of the coldness outside), and an excuse to talk to people. But in the beginning she would send me with a “list” of things to get—and by list I mean a piece of paper with the one thing I needed to get on it. Oh to be 5 years old again.

Also one of my favorite parts of my “work day” is when I leave, at 4:15. Yes, the center closes at 4:30pm but I have a special leaving time so that I can walk home while it is still light outside. And of course I don’t go by myself. Two children, brother and sister, both 8 and 7 years old respectively, walk me home. That’s right, you read it correctly. In the beginning I thought I was walking them home, but I was wrong. They are cute as can be and laugh at me when I walk out of my way to avoid the bulls that roam the street, or make faces at the piles of garbage burning in the road. Problem is one of them has a speech impediment and the other just talks so quickly that I can’t understand anything that really goes on conversationally during our 40 minute walk home. Except that today the girl told me a secret about another girl in her class (lets call her Maria) who likes a boy in their class (lets call him tudor), who smells. And yesterday they held hands at lunch. I guess I shouldn’t be repeating this secret because it was told to me in confidence. But it just helps you understand that kids will be kids anywhere. Or if you are reading this in Romanian, copii va fi copii. J

I know there is work to do here, but this is not the time to do it—how can we help with theoretical and social issues, when we can’t really understand what is going on. Now is a difficult time for a Peace Corps volunteer because we need to be patient, watch and wait. It’s important to make sure we understand more of what is going on before we start jumping into things. So while I’m not “wasting time” as the title of this blog might imply, I am sitting and waiting. One of the most important activities I do on a daily basis here is to meet people. To walk around the town, to let people get to know me.

So more specifically about my “work,” because I know some of you have been less than satisfied with the amount of concrete details I have been providing. Well I am living in a city called Singerei (if you want to look for it on a map of Moldova, its towards the North and it might be spelled Sangerei with a character over the a). And I am definitely playing it fast and loose with the use of the word city. In terms of Moldova, it is a city, because we have the following: More than 1 paved road, a doctor (I’ve heard this but have not seen it), more than 3 stores, a piata, and our own schools. About 11,000 people live here (it’s a really, really long town—with one main street that takes about an hour / hour and a half to walk down that everyone lives somewhere off of—surrounding the cluster of houses is farm land. So yes, I am living in a place that is bigger than Clinton, fear not. What else makes it a city? Well people are less friendly here and more anonymous, although I am still living in a fishbowl and people know I am American before I open my mouth—or people know who I am before I know who they are. I don’t know exactly what gives it away, but the mayor told me he thinks it’s a requirement for PCV’s to have backpacks on them always. That might be it.

In terms of other things—well I had wanted to be placed in a village, but to be honest, almost everywhere in Moldova is rural, although its taking me time to get used to being in a larger place, and not having people approach me—as they did in my last village. The shyness shall be overcame (weird sentences) Here, I share the streets with cars (whose drivers do not believe in speed limits and will not hesitate to run you off of the road if only to avoid one of the many pot holes), horse drawn carriages, cows, bulls, goats, bicyclists, chickens and ducks. If you are for free range animals, this is your place. (I am often wondering how people can let their animals go all over the place—literally—and not have them stolen or lost. Apparently this is a distinctively American thought because when one of the other volunteers asked his host sister about this phenomenon, she told him frankly – why would someone steal chickens when they have their own. Right) Everyday on my way to work I have a face-off with a turkey who likes to hang around the door to the center where I work. It’s interesting, and I win almost everyday. But of course, turkeys can be scary. Especially when you are right next to corn fields – they think they are on their home turf.

My new host mother is a wonderful woman—she is very calm, very relaxing and very pleasant to be around. Unlike my previous host mother she couldn’t care less about my fashion sense, hair style or food preference. She just wants to make sure I am wearing enough clothes and that I eat. Simple enough right? That and she lets me bathe. She also gets worried about me when I’m walking around after dark, which might not be completely crazy, because she already has had one experience with my horrible sense of direction. So while I may have to deal with a slight food pusher, things here are more relaxed, and it seems like it will work out well. Also I introduced her to Franks Red hot on rice, and she loved it—so that sold me, completely. She also teased me about how often I use the words please and thank you. And teasing is definitely the way to peoples’ hearts. It’s just me and her in the house everyday—she has two sons but they both live in Chisinau. The only minor issue is the lack of children in the house, but we will see what happens.

So about my work for real, the supposed reason I came here. Well we have been here for about 3 weeks and I haven’t seen my partner since she dropped me off at my house. Seriously. Isn’t this the romantic Peace Corps experience. Being on your own, in a foreign country… Well almost. If you are not from my Peace Corps readership, Counter Parts are host country nationals native to the village or town that you will be living in. It is their “job” to find you a host family, make sure you know how to get what you need, introduce you around the town, and help you create some sort of job for yourself. They can help you locate resources, and give you insight into local issues. As for me, I think mine has a little bit of absentee-landlordship going on with her organization because she is never there.

The organization is a center for children. What kind of children you ask? Interesting question. It’s hard to answer because it is for all sorts of children—children with disabilities (mental and physical), children who are being abused or neglected, children from poor homes, orphans, at risk children or delinquent children. Sounds weird to throw all these kids into one center right? I know. And its really hard to deal with because they are all different ages, different learning levels, and have different needs. But to sum it up, I think I would say that the center is open to serve children who the public education system leaves hanging either because there are no specialists there, or because there are no physical accommodations for a wheelchair, or because there is no authority to force parents to send their kids to school. I don’t know yet, more to come about this soon. Also, don’t be fooled by the use of the word center. By center, I mean building—much in need of reparations, furniture and center-fication.

What do I do there on a day to day basis? Well right now, not much. I try to speak Romanian so I can learn, and also to provide the kids with some humor and entertainment with my accent and mispronunciations. I dance around with them to Romanian music. And I help with Math, it’s the same in every language almost (except they write equations backwards here, and that threw me off—but I’m recovered now). The cook who works there has made it her personal responsibility to take over where my last host mom left off. So far she has tucked my shirt into my pants at least once a day, recombed my hair and forced food on me. I think she gets personally insulted when I don’t eat everything on my plate, although I try to smile when I do it. Also on Saturday I got talked into going to her house so she can hem my pants so they will be more frumoasa. We will see what happens. Although I work there, because I only have the language of the kids, I get treated like a kid for now. Next week I am going to start teaching an art class at the center which I am super psyched for but for now, my only official job as of right now is to change the date on our “Today is..” sign. You know the type, in like a kindergarten the big picture on the wall that says “Today is _____ the ___ of _______. (day of month).” Yeah, you get the picture. I probably didn’t need to explain that in such detail. But I wanted to, since right now it’s my only principal responsibility at work.

I promise to update more frequently, as to avoid angry emails from Erica, AND having to write really long ramblings in which nothing is said. Until then, I will keep changing the day at work, as the days will keep changing… I will make sure of it.

PS- happy birthday to my babbiest brother, babble! Or better known as Sean. Yeah 14. Someone give him a pinch from me, or better yet don’t, I don’t want him to be extremely taller than me when I return!

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 05, 2006 at 3:17 PM.