Where is Moldova, anyway?

Christmas.

You’d think I’d be entitled to one here. But stupid global warming (clearly not as responsible for yearly fluxuations in weather patterns as I’m making it out to be)—the only time we had snow here so far has been in October. I’m holding out though. What good is cold without snow, and I need some of the white stuff so it feeeeels like Christmas. Two days—it could happen!

People in Moldova celebrate Christmas, most of the population is Orthodox, but they are aligned with the old calendar—and don’t celebrate Christmas until January 7^th. So tomorrow for Christmas eve I am going to head into one of the cities here and attempt to find a Catholic or Baptist church somewhere that I can go to Christmas eve mass at. I’m not going to hold my breath, but that would just make the holiday great for me I think. Other than that, we may try to bake some Christmas cookies—but we will see. I’ve been on the lookout for candycanes, but apparently they are not in season over here.

A brief look at the past week or so. It’s been good, and busy. I’ve been spending a lot of time making Christmas cards with kids, and playing with balloons. I hope I never forget how much fun one balloon can be. The language is getting better though daily communication, but after long discussions my head hurts from all the thinking in another language. I still need an English break, or discussions involving 3-4 people, not one on one.

Everyone here is scrambling to get things done for two reason. One, they have large breaks for the holidays coming up—Anul Nou is a huge one too. And secondly, the financial year ends when the year ends. So there is a lot of business to attend to. I’ve been keeping myself busy attending Christmas celebrations (and the feast of St. Nicholai- Dec 19th) at offices, and going to schools to see their Christmas concerts. Some things are strangely familiar, but in werid ways. Mike (the other volunteer who is in my village) and I were treated to a fabulous lip-synching version of Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas,” which was essentially for our enjoyment because the large majority, if not all, of the audience couldn’t speak English, or understand the song. The three kids even dressed up like Santa. It was cute. Santa here makes lots of appearances, and always has a cane and limps—because he is really really old, doh. But the cane is sparkly, so it’s okay. Also, for my center’s Christmas show I played “Oh Christmas Tree” on the piano, well a borrowed piano for the show. Because apparently that is one Christmas song that translates into many languages, good ole German songs, the words here are “oh brad frumos, oh brad frumos”… good thing I memorized it it in 4rd grade (thanks Tatie, and “We Sing for Christmas”!)

Other than that things are going well. I bought myself a Christmas present. An aloe plant. I was pretty proud of myself to successfully find it and buy it – it’s not at a store, just at a random person’s house. And it’s pretty big, so it was funny walking down the street with it and having people stare at the weird American, who now they mostly kinda of know or recognize. So Dad, I’m gonna have to get some tips on how to take care of it, giving there is very little sun here now.

I hope everyone is having or will have a great holiday season in New Jersey, on the hill, in Boston, in Texas, in the city, upstate, undisclosed parts of latin America, Great Britain, China, California, and so on and so forth. This is the first Christmas I haven’t been in River Vale for in my entire life. Weird. We will see how it goes. (Boys, don’t forget to hang my stocking… and you better make sure it goes in the right place… not the stupid back corner of the fireplace!)

Everyone, I miss you—Have yourselves a merry little Christmas! Home is on my mind…

So life in Singerei is going, sometimes slowly and surely, and sometimes quickly and strangely (not sure if those two conditions are actually parallel or not). I still have the case of my absentee counterpart—but things are getting better with the kids. For now, I have become the math teacher. Math is an international language, right? That’s what I think, too. And it’s something I can actually help them improve with—the kids now just copy equations without having to formulate the answers themselves. Until my big bad, homework assigning, answer erasing self came around and forced the kids to think of the answers (conceptualize), not just copy them. Who knows, maybe someone will actually learn something from me this week?

Also, I taught an art class at the center. I think this is something I want to keep up every week. We started very slow, and maybe it wasn’t such an art class as a craft class. Everyone got to draw and color in a pair of mittens—however they would be if they could wear whatever they wanted. The kids got very into it and a little crazy with their ideas and I loved it—drawing unmatching things, using paint and crayon, making holes in them for extra fingers etc. (this may not seem huge to you, but trust me it is—and this is what I was encouraging). But the other teachers just wouldn’t let it go. Something I have been struggling with when I spend time coloring, drawing or painting with the kids is that the teachers always do things for them. And not just draw outlines of shapes, actually color them in—so that they will be “frumoasa.” I always tell them that the kid can do it on their own (which is the theme of the center—self reliance—it may take a kid who can’t walk a half hour to use the walker to go to lunch, but he can do it himself and he will, and we can all wait—it’s actually very positive theme). But for some reason this doesn’t apply to the arts, which is rather unfortunate, in my opinion. When I remind others that the kids can do it by themselves—they say, well they want it to be frumos. They can’t do it by themselves and have it look this good. Great, just great. I have a feeling this is going to be a neverending struggle… especially since my plans for this week are to draw a scene where none of the things in it can be the color they actually are. Oh yes, imagination folks.

Other than that things are going well here. It is cold, but not freezing. (its colder because the heating is not so great and there isn’t always a chance to warm up—not because its freezing freezing outside). Also very cloudy, I would definitely compare it with Clinton (without the allure of the yellow Beineicke—but not quite where clouds go to die). Also, my fall/winter is missing the very upstate ny nip in the air. Right now, I’m just concentrating on meeting people and learning the language—being here has made me realize how little language I actually know. A miracle happened today and I got the box that I sent myself in September “media mail” aka cheap mail for books. It went by boat and there was no postage affixed to it—it was just placed in a large green military-like sack with a tag that said my address on it. I thought I was kissing my books goodbye, but I got it today December 11^th. Not bad for 11 dollars huh?

Until then, I’m going to leave you with an amusing tidbit. This happened when I was doing my map. It’s a good thing that I had just learned the verb for “to happen” last week, and that it was daylight—or else I would have been really freaked out. But hey, everyone needs to get accused of being a spy once in their Peace Corps Careers. There’s humor in everything right. I think it was funny—in fact, I think a lot of things are funny, and I laugh about them a lot after they happen—usually because I don’t understand them while they are going on! But also, because I like to savor the good moments!

So to set this up, it’s Sunday around midday and I am walking around my site drawing a map for Peace Corps emergency use—how to get from the Capital to my house. And of course, this is Moldova so the map, instead of having street names, is more like—when you see the third soviet apartment block that is tumbling down, not the one that is just an outline and foundation now, but the one that looks like it should be condemned but isn’t- make a right. After driving for a few minutes, turn left at the blue cross (the one with the photographic quality picture of a deceased love one, not just with a name written). Then when you get to the big pile of dirt on your right, my house will be the third house after that on the right, with the bright bright blue gate, and matching well.

Man: What are you doing with that paper? What are you writing?

Me: I’m making a map of Singerei

Man: Why?

Me: I’m a volunteer in the Peace Corps, I’m from America and I’m here too… (interrupted)

Man: I know who you are. I live here. Why would I not know the Americans. Why are you making a map?

Me: It is for Peace Corps

Man: Why do they need a map of singerei? (taking the map) Why do they need a drawing of the church? It’s not frumosa!

Me: It’s an emergency map, in case something happens they need to be able to find me

Man: What’s going to happen?

Me: I don’t know! (getting exasperated). If something happens! (I don’t know how to say “in case of...”

Man: Well they should just ask where the American is. This is a bad map. It’s not frumosa and there aren’t the names of the streets on it.

Me: The streets don’t have names

Man: Yes they do

Me: There is no sign.

Man: of course there is no sign—everyone knows what the streets are named. It’s not necessary to have the sign.

Me: (getting more exasperated) okay fine, what is this street.

Man: (ignoring the question) What’s going to happen that you need a drawing of the church for?

Me: Nothing. It’s just so that peace Corps can find me.

Man: This is not a correct map, Americanca. Write the name of the street don’t draw the church

Me: But Peace Corps might not know the names of the streets cause there are no signs

Man: they can ask someone!

Me: If it is at night there will not be anyone around to ask-- who can they ask at night? (repeating myself to show how serious I was)

Man: What is going to happen at night? What do you know? Is it about America. Tell me. Are you a spy (the word spy was actually said in Russian. I didn’t know what it meant and my neighbor translated it for me later—I just knew enough to know I was done).

Me: I have to go

Peace out!

Sharon (who now also answers to Sharona, Sharone, Sharika, Sharnuntsa, Shara, Runsa, or rika-- apparently)

or in English, "I'm Sorry." I just looked at how long that last post actually was. 2 points if you get through it! : )

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!