Where is Moldova, anyway?

So you know by now, if you have been reading my blog, that in September I celebrated my one-year-in-Moldova anniversary. This past week, I marked my one-year-in-my-village anniversary.

It’s hard to believe that I have been living here for a year already: with this host family, with this work, in this community – this has been my life for the past year. While I am not so much in a reflective mood, I can comment on the progress I have made in this past year, not with work, per say, but with treating Singerei, my village, as my home.

When I first arrived here, it seemed so big and unfriendly. It was hard to meet people when I moved here last November because it had just started to get cold, and when it is cold, EVERYONE stays inside. The town felt like a ghost town – even the public spaces (the few of them that exist) such as the bar and the mayor’s office, were essentially abandoned – due to lack of sufficient heating facilities.

For the first three months I felt very temporary – like I was a guest. My host family tiptoed around me, making sure that I was not bothered, and was treated very well, almost so much so that I was a burden to them (someone had to make sure “the American” ate, and didn’t get lost, or get too cold, or get sick, or get on the wrong bus). My work didn’t really put any burdens or demands on me. I just learned, observed and studied my language. Also, I walked around lot. A lot, a lot. For exercise and fresh air, yes, but also to allow people to see me, and to see me again, and then again the next day. I needed them to get used to the fact that I would be here, living here, and was not transitional. It usually took around 3 times of seeing someone, with the normal required “buna ziua” – “good day” greeting, before they asked me what I was doing in their town. And of course, I explained.

Now, I am a regular part of my community. People expect to see me and recognize me. When I go away on vacation or to the capital, and people don’t see me for a few days – they worry. I hadn’t run much last month and many of my neighbors thought I was sick, when really, I was just lazy. : ) It takes me a long time to walk anywhere because people stop me to talk, to chat, to see where I am going. This question that I used to think of as an intrusion, has now become part of my daily life. Answering to other people, and playing into this fishbowl that I live in.

I also feel a part of my host family. I have chores, if that tells you anything about my role in the family. While I don’t participate in the slaughtering of the chickens, I do feed them everyday, and I peel the potatoes. Those are my chores, the potatoes I think are my responsibility, because my host family enjoys how painfully slow I peel them. My host family still respects my space, but I am expected, like all members of the family, to give up my bed and share if we have guests from out of town. Or to stay home and help prepare food for this celebration or that celebration. My host mom likes to remind me to turn off lights… she says I’m addicted to lights. Which I agree with, it’s hard to read in the dark! But her chorus reminding me to turn them off sounds scarily familiar to NJ. As I became more integrated into my host family, I have felt more a part of my neighborhood. Moldova is a very communal society, people help each other all the time.

When the grapes were ready to be harvested, everyone calls on each other, working on one family’s vineyard one day, and another family’s the next. Many hands make light work. I, of course, was expected to come and help this year, where last year, I was more of an observer. If someone needs something from the store, an older neighbor, they will ask me to get it for them. Or I will run down the street after some sugar, a chicken or a pot for my host mom to use for cooking. While everyone in my village won’t recognize me, they will have heard of me, know where I live, and where I work.

The challenges of living here have become less stringent as I have become more adopted into my host family. I’ve forgotten about some of the things I missed: drinking water out of a running faucet, going to the bathroom inside, air conditioning, good heat, microwaves, etc. We make due without. And I know in comparison with many other Peace Corps posts, I have a lot of amenities. (ie electricity and heating – although I think it is impossible to have a peace corps post in a cold weather country without these things, I guess weather does have a huge effect on you, and internet not too far away).

I guess that is my major reflection for the year. The challenges I have found to my everyday life in Moldova are not what I expected them to be. They are not a lack of amenities, or missing American things or foods or customs (although if you ask volunteers in posts more rural than mine, they might agree that they adapted and the lack of amenities doesn’t bother them either). The main challenge for me facing my work and everyday life in Moldova has to do with attitude.

As I’ve said before the Soviet mindset still persists in Moldova. People, having grown up under an oppressive regime, have no sense of agency or self direction. They have a more fatalistic approach to talking about the future and events. It is as if they think they have no say in their future – things just happen to them. This is challenging in two ways: 1) in work, it is hard to get people to work with you, or to be in the same book as you, never mind on the same page. Because they can’t picture the results their work COULD have. And 2) it is hard to explain to people why you are here. While many Peace Corps posts have a history of volunteers and are very open and warm to volunteers, many people look at me and say “why are you here?” – even after I explain to them the goals of Peace Corps and my work. They just can’t understand why someone would pick up and leave America (wonder of wonders) to spend two years in Moldova. And I can’t explain it. I can tell them about our concept of volunteerism, I can explain the want to give back, and the need to explore new cultures – but to them it doesn’t add up.

And, reflecting, this challenge to my everyday existence here probably is the most exhausting thing I face. Am I making a difference here? It is hard to say. A difference on someone’s mindset is a hard thing to bring about, and an even harder thing to measure.

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 18, 2007 at 11:20 AM.