Where is Moldova, anyway?

(sorry this post is long overdue, not too funny, and kind of a downer. I blame the aggression in my writing for my lack of ability to run outside—it’s cold!!)

Three tidbits to go along with this cheer:

1) I am now the official coach for a girl’s basketball team. That’s right. Although coach might be stretching it. Yes, I am running practices, but my practices end up looking a lot more like an open gym than like practices. As hard as it is to speak in Romanian, it is even harder to coach a sport in one (how do I say, for example, such complex sentences as “If she cuts through here, pass her the ball and then move towards the hoop—we haven’t learned all that conditional stuff yet). My girls are good though—they now all know the English word “stop.” I wonder how that happened. And also, I spend a lot of time doing other things besides coaching: refereeing (thank goodness for all those years with RV basketball association and for the fact that I may not be able to say “back court” but, I know the hand signal for it), and holding cell phones and jewelry while the girls play. The girls are a lot of fun, and our two practices a week are something I look forward to a lot. Kids in Moldova don’t always have the same organized recreational activities that kids in America have, especially not girls (for example, last week we had to cancel our practice because there was only one basketball at the school, and the boys were using it). While I won’t take Greg’s advice and “cut someone” from my team because they are all over the place in practice (he suggested it would be a good way to share American culture… always thinking my brother), I will spend my time trying to convince the girls to wear sweatpants and sneakers to practice (who can run up and down a court in skin tight jeans and boots? Not me, that’s for sure.) The girls are between 12 and 15 years old and are all really energetic. My only problem comes in the fact that every week different girls show up for practice… oh well, the more the merrier, but I find myself starting from square one again every week. I need to get more aggressive with them though. Just like middle school girls everywhere, they fight, they argue, and they can’t be on a team with so-and-so because of this-and-that. Somethings don’t change no matter where you are.

2) The Post Office! Oye, so this has been a continuing hassle of mine. When you get packages they don’t bring them to your house, they send you a piece of paper that says come to the post office and get your package. Okay, you think, that makes sense, considering the lack of cars etc, right? But what a headache. The post office is only open for package pick up between 9 and 10 in the morning on Tuesday and Friday (sounds like part of the work day to me). And everyone, EVERYONE, in the whole raion (region) who has a package needs to come during these two hours. I used to waste time waiting on the wrong lines, too, because I didn’t understand where to wait—at least now I know where I need to go, so I can stop people from cutting me (this is a common thing here). The people at the Post Office know me, and are nice to me, but when there is a huge crowd.. they can’t stop what they are doing and help me, and they are usually upset—as overworked, underpaid governmental employees everywhere can be. Especially when dealing with such a frustrating situation. So here are my two last blow-ups at the post office (last time I considered rioting, but then I thought it wouldn’t be in line with the PC goals). So, Aunt Maryanne (bless her heart) sent me a box of Chocolate Chip cookies (home baked) as well as the ingredients to bake them again, when I had time (you can’t find chocolate chips or brown sugar here). I knew what was in the package because she told me. So when I got the little card that says “You have a package”, but in Romanian of course, and on it was written the texas address, I knew my cookies had arrived. After waiting 2 hours at the post office, (until 11 am), the guy with the packages—who is supposed to come between 9 and 10, finally arrived. By this time I just want to get my cookies and eat them. After waiting in line, the guy tells me that I don’t have a package and I got the card by mistake. So I take this as fact, and walk out of the post office. Then I run into the cleaning lady from the school where I coach basketball. She asks me what is wrong (clearly I am wearing a disappointed face). I tell her about my box not being there, but as I’m saying this, and I whip out the slip to show her (the slip I think I got by accident, at this point), I realize that they couldn’t have given me this slip by accident because how would they know Aunt Mim’s address. She gets really mad at them and says they are lying to me and that they have no culture (a common way to refer to people who are making you mad in Moldova). She marches me back into the post office and to the front of the line and demands that they give me my box. So, they do. And it is open. So I say, “It’s open.” And they say, “do you want it, or not”. So, of course I say yes… and everything is in it (all the ingredients to make cookies) but not the cookies themselves. What a bummer. And of course, there is no recourse. (although the funny part of this story is that when I showed my host brother the picture of Megan, Tobie and Ivy... he said that Megan is what he thinks Americans look like. He said.. if she walked down teh street people would know she was an American. Maybe its the beautiful curly blond hair... as for me, people sometimes say.. Sharon we know you said you were from America, but we thought South America... its the darker curly hair I think?) And I know that…

the next week, I got a package from Shannon, who (bless her heart also), tried to send me Pirates of the Caribbean 2. When I opened the package (you have to open all foreign packages in front of them.. you know, to make sure you aren’t receiving anything really illegal or really valuable), there was no DVD in it, at all. I told them that the DVD was missing, and they told me “my friend forgot to put it in there when she sent it.” And considered the case closed. And there you have it, an example of the Moldovan post office!

3) I don’t even know what to do at this point with my counterpart. She is never around, but, when she is around, she doesn’t listen to me. I say one thing and she changes it and then goes off on a tidbit of sorts. For example, (this never happened but things LIKE this do happen), I would say. Hello I haven’t seen you in a long time, how are you? Then Counterpart would say, I’m good. Where have you been? Then I would say. I have been at the center. Why haven’t you been at the center? Then she would say… I’m sorry you haven’t been at the center. Yes, circular and tricky our conversations are. I was hoping it was just a language thing, but I’m not sure it is. I’m trying to find a balance with her though. I made a schedule so she would know where I was going to be everyday, hoping that she would reciprocate with a schedule of her own… it never happens. I never know where she is. And when I do see her, she is twisting my words or trying to get me to babysit or teach her daughters (who are lovely, by the way) how to use the computer. While I don’t mind doing either of those things occasionally, she pushes them on me to an unenjoyable level, AND I don’t think she understands that I’m here for the whole community and not just her family. So I have tried to become independent of her, but I’m really frustrated in that she doesn’t even try to include me in anything at the organization. For example, they had a meeting about the upcoming year and she didn’t tell me about it. Why not? Because she knew I had lessons (Romanian) on Monday. Well that is great, I told her, but if she told me about the meeting ahead of time I could have moved my lessons to another day. Oye! I’m trying to find a fine line between being independent and being included… although it is hard for me to be included if there is no one at my center to include me!

This entry was posted on Monday, January 29, 2007 at 12:23 PM.