Happy Anniversary to Me

I realized yesterday that I have been in Moldova exactly a year and a half. A year and a half might not be much in the grand scheme of things, but to me it's a pretty significant amount of time. And since I always write about things I have done, I thought it might be fun to make a list of all the things I haven't done for the past 18 months.

--driven a car

--written a check

--gone a full day without speaking two languages

--cooked myself a meal

--worried about my finances

--used a dishwasher or dryer

--scrubbed a toilet (or done any household chores beyond cleaning my own room and washing my own dishes)

--drunk tap water

--played euchre (anyone who knows me well realizes I'm choking back tears as I'm writing this)

--bought myself clothes

--showered two days in a row

--paid a bill

--raked or mowed a lawn (for that matter, had a yard made of grass)

--picked up medicine at a pharmacy

--worn shoes inside a house


The funniest part about this list is that I actually had to think for awhile before coming up with it. These activities may have been things I once took for granted, but I certainly don't anymore!

Count Your Many Blessings

In my naive mind, I envisioned my second year here in Moldova as a seamless succession of good days. I had heard other volunteers gush about how much easier their second year was, and amidst my first year-struggles (learning Romanian, discovering the ins and outs of the Moldovan educational system, figuring out how to consciously teach a language I took for granted, etc.), I imagined that once I reached the midway point of my service, the rest would be smooth sailing.

In many ways, that has proved to be true. Several of the struggles I had last year are gone. But what I didn't anticipate was that this year would come with its own set of challenges: new classes of wildly misbehaving children, new partner teachers who have proven difficult to work with at times, and now a government-imposed H1N1 "quarantine" that has left me sharing crowded classroom space with fellow English teachers who have to try to teach their own group of students alongside mine (as if teaching a foreign language wasn't hard enough to begin with).

And I've come to the realization that year 2 isn't going to be all sunshine and rainbows. Before, when I was waiting for things to calm down, I was impatient for my charmed life to begin and a little disgruntled about all my so-called interruptions. But now I've come to terms with the way things are, and--as a result--I'm a lot happier. I may have a lot of bumps in the road, but I also have a lot here to be thankful for:

--my 11th graders, who beg me all the time to stay in Moldova another year, so they can have me as their teacher until they graduate

--my two host nieces, who grin a mile wide whenever they see me and fight over who gets to sit next to Tanti Katea at the dinner table

--my church, which has happily adopted me into their congregation as their American-in-resident

--my trusty old computer, which functions just well enough to give me the Internet I use to keep in touch with family and friends back home

--my main teaching partner, Irina, who is my closest Moldovan friend and an amazing teacher

--my fellow Peace Corps volunteers, who truly understand the highs and lows that are Peace Corps service

--my daily walk to and from school, which lets me stretch my legs, clear my mind, and feel a little more alive in the process

--my Friday English club students, who speak better English than I do and never fail to make my day better after just 5 minutes with them

--my adopted country Moldova, which has some of the most hospitable and generous people in the world


Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Gripa Porcina

As the swine flu has made its way around the world, I've been resting easy over here in Moldova. One of the advantages of living in a small, fairly isolated country is that things like global epidemics tend to get to you later rather than sooner. So, as I've heard stories from back home in the U.S. of people hosting swine flu parties and researchers scrambling to produce a vaccine, I've thought, "Man, I'm glad I'm in Moldova."

But last week when I was in the capital, Chisinau, for a Peace Corps conference and I started to see people walking around in public with surgical masks, I figured something must have changed. Sure enough, our numbers have started to spike. I wouldn't exactly call it an epidemic, but the panic part is real enough. As a preventative measure the Ministry of Education has prolonged our fall vacation by another week. Pharmacies can't keep up with the demand for masks, and preschools are requesting that parents send garlic with their children to school to be placed around the classrooms for protection (I'll admit, this seems like a strange precaution to my Western way of thinking, but maybe they know something I don't. And at any rate, at least it'll keep the vampires away).

The funny thing is that I'm not worried about all of this--even though I take public transportation on a regular basis, work in a school (filled with children who think washing their hands is non-essential), and fall into one of the vulnerable age categories. I think Moldova has rubbed off on me. Rather than thinking I need to do everything in my power to prevent the swine flu (as if I really can choose whether or not to become infected by a highly contagious virus), I've come to the realization that either I'll get it, or I won't. For those of you germophobes out there, don't freak out. I'm still going to use hand sanitizer and keep my distance from the man hacking up a lung next to me on the bus. I don't have a death wish. I just think you gotta keep it all in perspective. If you don't, then the pigs win.

Job Perks

There are times when my job drives me crazy. The past couple weeks have been filled with headaches of misbehaving children, lack of classroom space, miscommunications with fellow teachers, and dozens of other stressors. But thankfully, my job is also filled with moments of sunshine. Sometimes those moments are poignant. Sometimes they're just plain funny. My 11th graders just took their Unit 1 Test, and as a part of the test they had to write a letter to an imaginary American pen pal (Ben/Julie). The following are a few gems I found hidden among the run-of-the-mill grammatical mistakes.

Dear Julie,
My baby. Did you miss me? I did. [written by--in case you couldn't tell--a boy]

Dear Ben,
Hello! Omg. I have so much to tell you about me. [written by--in case you couldn't tell--a girl]

Dear Ben,
In my free time I love to dance. Nobody on the face of this earth can stop me from moving my feet to the music. That would be like trying to stop a natural disaster.


Did I mention that I love my job?

Cell Phones

This post is dedicated to cell phones. Those of you who knew me pre-Post Corps are well aware that I've never been crazy about cell phones. In fact, I didn't even get my first real one until coming to Moldova (I know, I know--the irony). I hate that they restrict a person's privacy (what if I don't want to be found?). And I hate that people now feel entitled to ignore/annoy those around them by talking on cell phones anywhere and everywhere.

My problems with cell phones didn't get any simpler by coming to Moldova. Upon arriving here, I discovered a couple things about this invention. 1) Few Moldovans have reservations about cell phones. Whether it be a 70-year-old farmer driving a horse-drawn cart, or a 10-year-old student, just about everyone here happily uses them. 2) Cell phone etiquette, while sketchy in America, is practically non-existent here. I have been in teacher's meetings, conferences, and even churches where people not only answer their phones in the middle of what's going on, but they also then proceed to have a conversation.

And of course there is my ongoing battle with my students over cell phones in class. No matter how much I beg, threaten, and confiscate, they just don't seem to understand why I get so upset over this particular topic.

There are many days when I see a cell phone and start seeing red. Or wish I was Amish. But, the truth of the matter is that I can't hate them, at least not completely. Because I too am a cell phone addict. I may be more polite about turning my phone off when I'm in a meeting or keeping my phone conversations short when I'm with other people, but I honestly don't know if I could live without my cell phone. Not only is it the Peace Corps' main method of contacting me (in case of emergency, etc.), but it's also my lifeline to other PC volunteers. If I couldn't stay in regular contact with my fellow Americans, I just might go insane.

So, I guess this post is as much an admission as it is a rant. Cell phones aren't going anywhere, and my dependence on them is also staying put. Thanks to Moldova, I've joined the dark side. Aşa e viaţa.

Going Through the Motions

Yesterday was one of those truly awful days as a teacher, one of those days that made me question my desire to one day have children. My 5th grade class behaved like little monsters (and I'm using monster in the literal sense here) for a solid 45 minutes. And then during my 10th grade class (a new class that I picked up this year), I had to chase down two boys--both a foot taller than I am--who were trying to skip English. By the end of the ordeal, I had managed to disillusion them from their belief that the young American teacher was a pushover, but the effort left me wiped out.

I've learned quite a few things about being a teacher over the past year, but the thing that has struck me most is how truly exhausting it is. If you care about doing it well, you wear yourself out. Not only do you have to worry about planning and teaching effective lessons, but you also have to deal with behavior problems, grades, and a myriad of other challenges that arise during the course of each day. I really am starting to understand why so many teachers give into the temptation of doing a mediocre job, performing the bare minimum and going home at the end of the day without giving another thought to their students.

The truth of the matter, though, is that teaching isn't a 9-5 job. And if you take it seriously, you feel the full weight of responsibility on your shoulders. In a country where so many children are essentially parent-less, having one or both parents working abroad, a teacher's responsibility is painfully clear. Whether we like it or not, we are filling in as caregivers and role models.

A fellow PCV here in Moldova recently told me that one of her 6th grade students tried to commit suicide. Both of the girl's parents are abroad, and she is basically on her own. When I heard that story, I was immediately sobered by the fact that that girl easily could have been one of my own students.

I know just how easy it is to focus all of my energy on teaching the right nouns and verbs, yelling at kids when they act up, and filling in grades in the catalogue. And I'll admit that some days that's all I can manage. But more often than not, I need to strive for a higher standard. My hope is that, in doing so, I'll succeed in being more than just a teacher in name...because I certainly didn't come here to do the bare minimum.

Masa de Pomenire

I've managed to check quite a few Moldovan traditions/events off my list, but a couple still elude me: a wedding, and a funeral. Now, let me be clear about the latter--I'm not crossing my fingers for this one (the more people that stay alive the better). But still, I know that were I to attend a funeral, I would learn a lot about Moldova's cultural and religious values. Even though I haven't yet witnessed how Moldovans bury their dead, I have seen how they remember them. This past weekend was the 4-year anniversary of the death of my host mom's father. We marked the occasion by holding a masa de pomenire, a memorial dinner. Moldovans have such memorial dinners at regular intervals after a person's death (3 days, 1 month, 1 year, 2 years, etc.).

I've heard stories from other PC volunteers who have been to them, and they differ depending on how long it's been since the person died and how old he or she was at the time. Apparently at some memorial dinners, they watch home videos and look at old pictures of the deceased--an awkward thing to be a part of if you're a PCV who had never met the person being remembered (or in some cases, the family who was giving the memorial dinner). Thankfully, the one I participated in was mostly free of awkward moments.

The night before the dinner, I went to our local Orthodox church with my host mom, host sister, and two host nieces. We brought a small "meal" of cake, fruit, cookies, and champagne (first time in my life I've brought alcohol into a church!) as a sort of freewill offering, and the priest prayed a blessing for health on behalf of my two host nieces. I can't say I quite understood all of the symbolism of the event, but I liked that one way of remembering deceased loved ones is by praying for the future of those loved ones whose lives have just begun.

The next day we gathered at my host brother's house for the dinner. It was scheduled to begin at 12, so in true Moldovan fashion, we sat down to eat around 1:30. At the beginning of the meal my host mom passed out a round loaf of bread, a lighted candle, and a towel to each of the people present, announcing that she was doing so in the memory of her father. I later asked my host sister what the significance of the gifts were, and she said that my host mom was wishing us light for our paths, bread to fill our stomachs, and a towel to clean our hands with (I get the symbolism of the first two, but I'll admit she lost me on the last one).

The rest of the meal felt like a gathering of friends. The guests talked a little bit about the deceased, but mostly the conversation revolved around the present. It seemed natural to me, considering it had been 4 years since he had died.

The only real awkward moments at the meal happened--as usual--when my host dad decided to embarrass me by asking me in front of all the other guests if I had found a nice Moldovan boy to marry and if I would like to stay in Moldova. When I answered easily in Romanian, several of the guests proceeded to talk about my language skills and the plausibility of my settling in Moldova. Acting, of course, as if I wasn't there.

The next item I want to check off my list: making it through a social function without having my relationship status brought up as a topic of group conversation.

The Difference a Year Makes

Today was my first day of school. The first day of my second year of teaching in Moldova. I'll admit that I was a little nervous to go back to school after having a three-month summer vacation (although it wasn't really a vacation for me since I spent the whole summer helping train the new group of Peace Corps English Education volunteers). I remembered how nerve-wracking my first couple of months of teaching were last fall, and the thought of going through that again made my stomach turn.

But, after completing my first day of this school year, I've realized something: a year makes a big difference. Last year when I arrived at school on September 1st, I knew almost no one. This year I greeted (and was greeted by) my fellow English teachers, other school faculty, and several of my students. Last year I barely knew any Romanian and struggled to speak on even the most basic level. This year I listened with pleased embarrassment as my partner teacher Irina bragged to a new teacher about how good my Romanian is.

Last year I showed up on the first day of school not knowing which classes I would teach and whom I would be teaching with. Today was no different, but this year I'm not freaked out by it. Last year I felt like an outsider and a foreigner. This year I felt glad to return to my school and my students.

I know this year will have plenty of its own difficulties. For the entire month of September I'll probably have to find out what classes I'm teaching the morning of, when I show up for school. I'll have discipline issues, difficulties in finding available classrooms, and--my personal favorite--endless headaches from trying to follow the impossibly meticulous guidelines for using the Moldovan grading catalogues.

But this year is different. I know what to expect this time around. I'm looking forward to making a few less mistakes, having a little more fun, and feeling a little more like a real teacher. In fewer words, I'm ready for Round Two.

And the Winner Is?

Many of you know about the events that transpired here in Moldova last April. For those who don't, I'll try to give a brief summary. In April Moldova had its parliamentary elections. In such elections (which I believe take place every 4 years), Moldovans go to the polls to select their political party of choice. Each party wins a certain number of seats in the Parliament, depending on how many votes it receives. Since it is the Parliament's job to choose Moldova's president, the party that receives the most votes is the party that gets to choose the new president. So far so good, right?

Here's where it gets complicated. At the time of April's elections the incumbent "ruling" party (meaning the party that has a majority of Parliamentary seats and which the president belongs to) was the Communist party. As strange as it may sound, I live in a former Soviet republic which has a democratically-elected Communist leader. Moldovans are drastically divided on this subject. Many, especially the older generation, support the Communists because they want to retain closer ties to Russia and they want life to regain some of its former, pre-independence stability. The younger generation is anxious to ally itself with the West (i.e. Romania, the EU) and are resistant to any move they view as going "backward."

So when the Communist party won the election in April, tensions which were already running high exploded. Amidst calls of election-rigging, thousands of protesters (many of them high school and university students) poured into the capital city of Chisinau. Things spiraled out of control, with some of the protesters breaking into the Parliament building, setting it on fire and destroying furniture and valuables inside. There were also altercations between police and protesters. Dozens were injured, and two people died.

Although there was no more rioting in the following days, things stayed really tense for awhile. The Peace Corps is an apolitical organization (and we're in countries at the request of their governments), so we volunteers were instructed to stay very tight-lipped about the elections. Knowing that anything I said, regardless of how innocuous it seemed to me, might get misinterpreted, I chose not to write anything about the elections here on my blog. So why am I writing now? For two reasons: 1) Things have calmed down a lot since April. Enough that I feel like I can write about them. 2) Things haven't gotten any less interesting.

When it came time for the newly-elected Parliament to choose a new president, they reached an impasse. Even though the Communist party technically had a majority of parliamentary seats, they didn't have the 61 votes required by the Moldovan Constitution to select a president. So a repeat parliamentary election was called for. A couple weeks ago Moldovans once again went to the polls. Events unfolded differently this time around--the Communists got about 45% of the vote, while the combined total of the four main opposition parties (who have pledged to form an alliance to select a new president) was just over 50%. And this time around there was no protesting or violence. But how things go from here remains unclear.

This election's "winners" are in the same boat that the Communist party was in last spring. They have more seats in Parliament than their opponents, but they don't have enough seats to choose a president. So what will happen if the voting for a new president once again ends at an impasse? I have no idea. I don't even know if the Moldovan Constitution has instructions on what to do for occasions such as this.

The point of this post is not to share any opinions about how things have turned out. Even if I was permitted by the PC to make such statements, I don't feel like I have the right. I'm not Moldovan. Even though I live here and I care deeply about the welfare of this country, I do not have a shared history of struggle and disappointment with these people. And I won't have to live with the long-term consequences (be they good or bad) of the choices made now. I'm not a character in this story.

That being said, I think it's a fascinating thing to feel like I stepped into a history book. Even if I am just an observer, I'm watching the growth of a new nation. Coming from a country that's existed officially for over 200 years, that's a true privilege. And I just want to share a little bit of that experience. I hope you all appreciate it too.

New (and not so new) Pictures

I just uploaded some new pictures to my Picasa Web album (see link on the left). They're a random collection of the photos I've taken between January and July. Happy viewing!

What do animals and wedding anniversaries have in common?

After my last post, I feel the need to go back to my "normal" self. Thus, this post is dedicated to the recent happenings which have made me smile (even if after the fact).

1. Getting a puppy
My host family recently acquired a puppy. Since we already have two dogs, I'm really not sure why. But, not one to question good fortune, I have wasted no time in making friends with Muktar. Moldovans don't tend to view dogs so much as pets (as much as doorbells/security alarms), so I think my family is a little amused at the fact that I'm actually playing with Muktar. Other than his tendency to attack and chew my beloved Teva flipflops as if they are physically assaulting him, he and I get along great. So great that he tries to follow me whenever I leave the house. On more than a few occasions I have made it halfway up our street only to see him happily trailing behind me. After picking him up and depositing him back inside our gate (which he is small enough to slip under), he usually doesn't follow me again.

2. Helping my grandparents celebrate 60 years of marriage
This year my grandparents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. My family decided to surprise them by driving/flying from various parts of the U.S. to Michigan in order to throw them a party. Since I couldn't be there, we set up a video chat on Skype, and I got to talk to my grandparents (as well as about half of my extended family) and wish them a happy anniversary. Using a water bottle as a "glass of champagne," I even made a fancy toast in Romanian. La multi ani, Grandma and Grandpa!

3. Solving the mystery of the phantom smell
A few days ago I noticed a faint unpleasant odor in my bedroom. Thinking it was just my trash, I emptied my garbage can and thought nothing more of it. The next day the smell was back, but I couldn't figure out the source. After returning to my room later that day, the smell was so bad that I commented to myself: "It smells like something died in here!" At that moment I realized what my problem was (don't ask me why it took me two days to figure it out) and set out to find whatever rodent had seen fit to drop dead in my room. Eventually my nose led me to under my bed. After going to my host mom to explain the situation, she came to my room, armed with a broom and dustpan. Together we moved my bed, and she disposed of my little friend. Unfortunately for me, the story doesn't end there. After seeing how dusty it was under my bed (I'm sorry, but I only clean what I can see--what's the point in cleaning things not visible to the naked eye?), she insisted that we give my room a thorough cleaning. Under her direction, I spent two hours moving furniture, dusting, sweeping, and silently wishing I had just asked my host brother for help instead.

...and now for some ranting

I think it's pretty clear that I am a positive person. Anyone who knows me or even reads this blog can tell that I'd rather dwell on the good stuff (or try to find the humor in the not-so-good stuff) than do the alternative. Not to say that my life is full of sunshine and rainbows. I can't tell you how many bad days and moments I've had in the past year. Moments where I was mad at Moldovans for not being as understanding of my fish-out-of-water state as I thought they should have been, mad at my fellow Americans for not acting like gracious guests in this country, mad at myself for making stupid mistakes, mad at America for being so freaking far away, and just mad at the world in general. But bad days happen no matter what country you live in or what your job is, and the last thing I want to do is to play the part of the suffering servant who is demanding that everyone feel sorry for me because I'm sacrificing two years of my life for my country.

The reason for this post is that I find that there is an all too prevalent attitude among Peace Corps volunteers in Moldova (and probably PC volunteers in other countries as well). There are those who come to Moldova, and spend two years (or one year, or however long they end up staying here) complaining. They are quick to vocalize everything that's wrong with Moldova and with their counterparts or students and feel that the demands and challenges of a PCV in Moldova are, frankly, not worth the effort. They are constantly putting down Moldovan culture and traditions and saying how much they miss America and everything it stands for. They are often cynical about enacting any real change here and often feel that corruption and societal apathy are much more powerful than the measly efforts they make toward change.

This drives me crazy. Of course there are hardships that come with being in the PC. Of course our jobs are difficult. Of course change happens slowly. But did we really expect it to be any different? Sure, it'd be great to live in France or Spain, where the culture is more Western and the living standards are more to our liking, but there is a reason why PC isn't in those countries--it's not needed. Poverty is not simple. And development work of any kind is never quick and easy. The part that any PCV plays in helping Moldova in its development will be a small one.

I'll admit that I was one of those who idealized the Peace Corps prior to joining it. I believed in the goals of this organization, and I was excited to be a small part of "changing the world." Cheesy, but true. And I'll also admit, that like every other volunteer who comes to Moldova (or Tanzania or Thailand or wherever), I've gained some cynicism. After all, the PC is a large organization funded by the U.S. government. Of course there will be bureaucracy. Of course there are policies that come from Washington, D.C. that we volunteers in Moldova have to follow even though we feel like they have nothing to do with us. And of course, like everyone else, I've had an identity crisis of sorts and asked the inevitable question: "What am I doing here?"

But the truly successful volunteers I have seen so far are the ones who realize that wallowing in misery doesn't get them anywhere. If their primary project falls through, they create another project. If they are struggling with being accepted at their school, they work as hard as they can to form clubs and reach out to students to prove that they are a valid addition to their community. They try their best to be respectful of Moldovan mindsets (even if they disagree), and they realize that playing the part of the arrogant American walking in to save the day isn't going to get them very far. They get discouraged and frustrated and wonder if they're doing anything significant, but they keep doing what they're doing.

Negativity and cynicism can end up being a self-fulfilling prophecy. If a volunteer becomes so obsessed with what can't be done, they end up becoming paralyzed. They stop caring, and they often stop trying. They might go through the motions of their job, but they often try to get by with the bare minimum. They "hang in there" for their time here, looking at that 2-year mark like light at the end of the tunnel. And in doing so, they miss so many amazing opportunities.

Please don't think that I'm claiming to be one of those Super-Volunteers who never sleeps and who always does the right thing. But I guess the point of this post is that I see the two extremes that volunteers can become, and I know the one I want to aim for. I want to look at the end of my two years here and be happy about what I was able to do, rather than be filled with regret for all of the things I could have done. So I guess this post is a bit of a public challenge to myself. I've got a year left, and I have some work to do.

One Year

One year ago today I boarded a plane to Philadelphia, where I began my Peace Corps career. It's not my style to get sappy and nostalgic, so this post is not going to be full of philosophical musings. But I will say this: one year later, I am truly at home in Moldova. I think, speak, and dream in Romanian, dodge cows and goats on my daily walk to school, and ride quite calmly and un-seat belted (though the latter is not by choice) in cars weaving maniacally through traffic and pot holes. My life has indeed changed.

As is my custom, I have a few stories about recent occurrences. Nothing earth-shattering, but important to me nonetheless. These, just as much as anything else, demonstrate the rhythms that have become my new life over this past year.

The other day as I was sitting at dinner with my host family, I accidentally dropped my fork on the floor. My brother-in-law immediately spoke up to comment. He is a bit of a smart alec, so I figured he was going to say something about my lack of coordination. Instead he remarked, "Rodica's coming home, and she'll want to eat." Rodica is my host sister, and she was at work at the time. My host mom must have seen the "huh?" written on my face because she then proceeded to explain that in Moldova there is a belief that when a fork is dropped on the floor it means a woman is on her way, and she's hungry. If it's a knife (or maybe a spoon? I can't remember exactly), a hungry man is coming instead. As an American who grew up being bombarded with the message: "You choose your own destiny," it's interesting to live in a culture where people have such a strong belief in the power of Fate.

Another recent occurrence involves my outhouse. For all PCV's in Moldova, using an outhouse quickly becomes a non-issue. We forget that in our previous lives the word 'outhouse' evoked images of Laura Ingalls Wilder and the Sears Roebuck Catalogue. There are many different kinds of viceu's (outhouses) in Moldova. We volunteers like to compare viceu's to determine who has the best one (I kid you not). My viceu is definitely up towards the top of the list. Rather than being just a hole in a wooden floor, it has an actual toilet, a tiled floor, and wall-paper. A couple weeks ago my host mom excitedly asked me to come to the viceu so she could show me something. When she opened the door, I saw that my host dad had rigged up a sort of "plumbing," so that a rubber tube coming down from a hole in the ceiling ran into the toilet. Just by turning a spicket, water (that came from a metal tub collecting rainwater on the roof of the viceu) would run into the toilet. So now, rather than using a bucket and water to "flush" the toilet, we have real-live running water. I think that safely secures me at the top of the list for best outhouse in Moldova. I'm quite proud.

The other big recent event was my last day of school. In America, the last day of school isn't usually much to talk about. Students are busy cleaning out their lockers and getting yearbooks signed. In Moldova, that is far from the case. Just as the first day of school calls for pomp and circumstance, so does the last. All of the teachers and students came dressed to a T (for me that meant actually wearing a skirt and heels for once). We teachers received flowers and kisses from students, and there was a grand closing ceremony in the school's back courtyard, complete with speeches, dances, poems, and a releasing of doves. We even had a representative from the parliament, a police officer, and the local priest as guest speakers. Go big or go home.

All of that to say: this past year has been a series of interesting, frustrating, hilarious, and downright bizarre events. And I am SO glad I've got another.

Another Moldovan First

There are certain Moldovan cultural events that every PCV hopes to witness during their 2 years here. One of them is a cumatria (baptism). In the Moldovan Orthodox Church, people are baptized as infants. This is a HUGE deal for Moldovans, exceeded perhaps only by getting married. In a culture that values family so much, it makes sense that these two events are highly revered.

This past weekend, I not only got to go to a cumatria for the first time, I also got to be a part of the ceremony. A child who is getting baptized has several godparents. There are the nanas and nanasa (the main godparents) and also several "lesser" godparents--cumatra. The cumatrii are kind of like sponsors. They are present at the baptism and give gifts and money. They also are expected to continue to have a relationship with the child as s/he grows up. My host brother and his wife decided to ask me to be one of the cumatra for their son. Talk about an honor!

So on Saturday I witnessed my host nehpew being baptised (full immersion--the poor thing was screaming his head off after getting dunked). It was a beautiful ceremony. Then after the baptism we had a party at our house to celebrate. And, boy, do Moldovans know how to party! From 8 pm until 4 in the morning we were eating, talking, and dancing.

Speaking of dancing, those of you who know me (and my lack of rhythm) will be surprised to know that I was out their boogying along with the best of them. Granted, most of my fellow dancers weren't young or hip, but I think this is what motivated me to go for it. I figured if a 70-year-old man could do it, so could I. Most of the dancing was Moldovan folk-dancing (picture people holding hands, going around in the circle and doing variations of the grapevine). At first it was a little difficult to catch on, but by the end I was a pro.

At the end of the night, I was presented with my thank-you gifts: 2 loaves of bread (Moldovan tradition) and a food processor. Not really sure what to do with the latter (or how I'm supposed to lug the thing back to America), but I appreciated the thought. Hopefully one day I'll actually learn how to use it. Or be married to someone who does.

So what is it that you do, exactly?

It occurred to me the other day that my friends and family back home don't know what it is that I'm doing over here. Many of them have the basic details down: Katie's in an obscure former-Soviet country named Moldova teaching English to kids. But that's a pretty vague picture. So, I felt like I should share more about what has been my "life" for the past 7 months.

I teach in a public lyceum (that's British English for "high school," in case you didn't know). Moldovan Lyceums have 1st-12th grades, and students generally start learning English in the 2nd grade. I teach 4th, 5th, 8th, 10th, 11th, and 12th grades. For some of my classes I team-teach with two different Moldovan partner teachers (part of the PC's effort to make a more sustainable impact). This means we plan lessons together and divide classroom responsibilities. I help them improve their English and offer ideas on new teaching methods. And they help me learn the ropes of the Moldovan Educational system (a daunting task in and of itself). In the rest of my classes I teach alone. My lessons are 45 minutes long, and I meet with my students between 2 and 4 times a week. On a typical day I am at school from 7:45-1:30. I go home for a quick lunch break and then have English clubs or tutoring until 4 or 5. The rest of my evening is spent planning lessons for the next day (What can I say? I lead an exciting life).

Because teaching is a truly bi-polar experience, I've compiled a list of "loves and hates" ("likes and dislikes" just doesn't cut it). I think this does the best job of conveying the ins and outs of my school life.

I love when 24 4th-graders yell all at once, "Hello, Miss Kate! How are you?" whenever I walk into the classroom.

I hate when kids don't do their homework and then wonder why I get upset.

I love that, with my older students, I get to use the English language as a means of talking about things like poverty, the environment, and racism.

I hate that when kids act up, there is no principle's office to send them to.

I love when I teach a tough grammar topic, and my students understand it.

I hate that when I discipline students I have to do it in a language that I haven't yet fully mastered.

I love when students that I had started to think of as "hopeless" prove me wrong and show a desire to learn.

I hate that here in Moldova, cheating is a generally-accepted fact, not only among students but among teachers.

I love when my students understand my jokes (especially when I attempt to use sarcasm in Romanian).

I hate when students feel they have the right to disrespect my authority, simply because I'm young, female, and "nice."

I love that my job allows me to work with 9-year-olds up to 18-year-olds.

I hate not having my own classroom (especially because that means I can't put visual aids, student artwork, etc. up on the walls).

I love when my students walk me home from school.

I hate that the curriculum and supplies I have to work with are often dreadfully inadequate.

I love that my job is different each and every day.

Do you speak English?

This post is about the English language. A big shock I know. But I spend about 30 hours of each week teaching it and about 20 hours a week planning lessons for it. It pretty much consumes my life. Anyway, I promise this post won't be about anything boring, like transcriptions or perfect tenses.

Last week my school had their 2nd annual "Miss English Language Contest." Sounds like a beauty contest, right? It was modeled after one (several girls compete publicly for a crown and a title), but thankfully, it was much more interesting and thought-provoking than a beauty contest (in other words, I didn't feel like any of my brain cells were dying as I watched it).

The first year of the contest 5 girls in the 10th-12th grades represented different English-speaking countries and had to present their country's culture (through music, dances, oral presentations, etc.)--and the entire program was done in English. The girl who proved to be the best representative of the English language was the winner. This year they chose entirely different countries (like Spain, India, Turkey), but the English theme stayed the same. In addition to presenting a country, the girls had to act out a scene from a movie and answer some general knowledge questions.

The program was absolutely amazing. The girls had clearly put so much time and thought into their presentations. There were elaborate costumes, complex movie scenes (which included sets and numerous other students to act in the scene), and slide show presenations. Some of them even went so far as to memorizing their country presentations in addition to their movie scene so that it all was done orally, rather than from a script. (If that doesn't impress you, think about how nerve-wracking it is to memorize music for a concert or lines for a play and then think about having to do that in another language.)

I was so proud of my school for hosting such a unique event (I think I can safely say that we are the only school in Moldova to have anything of this kind). And, even though I can only claim 2 of the 8 girls as my own students, I was extremely proud of them as well. As a teacher, of course I want my students to learn English. But soooo much more, I want them to learn how to think outside the box, to be independent learners, and to never stop asking questions. Seeing those girls display so much intelligence, creativity, humor, and enthusiasm--all in a foreign language--was such a rewarding experience for me.

Unfortunately, every day can't be so euphoric and fulfilling, but momements like that remind me why I'm here--and help me get through the days when obnoxious 8th grade boys and ridiculously hard grammar topics make me want to go crawl into a hole.

**If you want to see a few pictures, I put them up on my Picassa album. Unfortunately, most of the good stuff is in videos, and I can't put those up on Picassa.**

Ups and Downs

This has been a rollercoaster of a week in terms of my relationship with technology. Last Tuesday I got high-speed Internet installed at my house. Thus followed 4 blissful days of Skype, email, and online ESL resources.

Saturday morning my computer started to blink the orange light of death, indicating that I needed to plug it in and revive the battery. About 5 seconds after doing so, the converter that is built into my power cord started sparking and smoking. If I hadn't immediately yanked it out of the outlet, I probably would have had to explain to my host family why an electrical fire started in my bedroom.

To my great dismay, there are no DELL products sold in Moldova, so I am at the mercy of my parents to order me a new power cord and ship it via the ever-so-finnicky Moldovan postal system. So, while I have wonderful, high speed Internet and a laptop that works just fine, I have no way of using either. Sigh.

Had chickenpox. Check.

In the spirit of non-plagiarism, I’d like to say that I found this on my friend Kelly’s blog. It’s kind of a life experiences checklist (or reverse version of “I’ve Never”). The bold ones are either ones I’ve done, or ones I felt like commenting on. Kind of random, but I found it entertaining. Enjoy!

●Started your own blog – Hmm, tough one.
●Slept under the stars – Many times at Covenant Acres—one memorable occasion on a water trampoline comes to mind.
●Played in a band
●Visited Hawaii
●Watched a meteor shower
●Given more than you can afford to charity – Not often enough.
●Been to Disneyland/world – Disney World (MGM and Epcot)
●Climbed a mountain – I “climbed” Pike’s Peak in a train—does that count?
●Held a praying mantis
●Sang a solo—Yep. On many occasions.
●Bungee jumped
●Visited Paris
●Watched a lightning storm at sea
●Taught yourself an art from scratch
●Adopted a child
●Had food poisoning—I drank some bad house wine once at a masa (a Moldovan feast, basically) for teachers at my school. Not fun.
●Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty—I visited NYC the week after America invaded Iraq, and security was pretty tight. They let us view it afar from a boat.
●Seen the Mona Lisa in France—Where else would you see the Mona Lisa? Does she travel?●Slept on an overnight train
●Had a pillow fight – My siblings and I were connoisseurs of pillow fights. Kenton and Sarah, remember our sumo wrestling days?
●Hitchhiked—Not yet…but I live in Moldova. I’m sure I’ll get the chance.
●Taken a sick day when you’re not ill—When I was in school, yes.
●Built a snow fort- Oh yeah.
●Held a lamb—I think so. The memory’s a little fuzzy.
●Gone skinny dipping – Gotta love the randomness. We go straight from holding lambs to skinny dipping.
●Been to a Broadway show in NY—Yep! Beauty and the Beast (on my senior class trip)
●Ran a Marathon
●Been in three states at once
●Ridden in a gondola in Venice
●Seen a total eclipse
●Watched a sunrise or sunset – The most recent one I can remember was a sunset over the Gulf of Mexico with my sister Kendra. Good times. :-)
●Hit a home run—In wiffle ball, most definitely.
●Been on a Cruise
●Seen Niagara Falls in Person- I’m from Western NY. I’ve lost count.
●Visited the birthplace of your Ancestors
●Seen an Amish community – When I was in high school I practically lived in one. We had Amish neighbors right down the road from us, and our local grocery store had a hitching post in the parking lot.
●Taught yourself a new language- Currently—Romanian and Russian (but I have help).
●Had enough money to be truly satisfied – Oddly enough, right now.
●Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
●Gone rock climbing
●Seen Michelangelo’s David
●Sung karaoke- Yes. I’m not really a fan.
●Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
●Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant –Actually, yes. Long story.
●Visited Africa
●Walked on a beach by moonlight—Yep.
●Been transported in an ambulance—Yes. But I wasn’t really injured, and I was too embarrassed by the hideous neck brace I was wearing to enjoy it. It wasn’t all bad though. The woman that ran the red light, hitting me and totaling my parents’ ancient minivan, footed the entire bill. And now they have a nice Jeep instead. You’re welcome, Mom and Dad.
●Gone deep sea fishing
●Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
●Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris—What’s with all the Paris questions? How about some more unique ones? How many people can say they’ve been to Moldova?
●Gone scuba diving or snorkeling- Yes to the second. Off of St. Croix. Quite heavenly.
●Kissed in the rain
●Played in the mud – Isn’t that a required part of childhood (as in, they don’t let you pass on to adulthood if you don’t)?
●Been to Grace Kelley’s grave in Monaco
●Gone to a drive-in theater – Yes! The world needs more of them.
●Visited the Great Wall of China
●Started a business—One failed attempt at a lemonade stand…the beginning and end of my sad career as an entrepreneur.
●Taken a martial arts class—A whole semester of Self Defense (aka Tai Kwon Do) at Roberts.
●Swam in the Mediterranean Sea
●Visited Russia—Yep. That’s one of reasons I’m in Moldova, actually.
●Served at a soup kitchen
●Sold Girl Scout cookies
●Gone whale watching
●Gotten flowers for no reason
●Donated blood, platelets or plasma – Yes to the first.
●Gone sky diving
●Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
●Bounced a check
●Saved a favorite childhood toy - My favorite “doll”—a stuffed Alvin the Chipmunk, whose bangs I mutilated before I realized they couldn’t grow back. I love you anyway, Alvin.
●Visited the Lincoln Memorial – Yep.
●Eaten Caviar- No, thanks. I have had goose liver though. Equally disgusting, I’m sure.
●Pieced a quilt
●Stood in Times Square -Yep. It’s really big.
●Toured the Everglades—A few times.
●Been fired from a job
●Seen the Changing of the Guards in London—No, but I have seen the changing of the guards at the Kremlin in Moscow and at the Dolmabahce Palace in Istanbul.
●Broken a bone
●Been on a speeding motorcycle—I guess they don’t think being on a motorcycle is enough of an accomplishment.
●Seen the Grand Canyon in person
●Published a book
●Visited the Vatican
●Bought a brand new car
●Walked in Jerusalem
●Had your picture in the newspaper—Oh, yes. When I was in 4th grade I won a county spelling bee. I was quite famous.
●Read the entire Bible—Only once. It took awhile.
●Visited the White House—Yep. On a 6th grade class trip.
●Killed and prepared your own meat
●Had chickenpox – Yeah. Don’t remember it though.
●Saved someone’s life
●Sat on a jury
●Met someone famous
●Lost a loved one—My grandma
●Had a baby
●Seen the Alamo in person.
●Swam in the Great Salt Lake
●Been involved in a law suit
●Owned a cell phone –Funny story…I bought my very first cell phone here in Moldova. It only took joining the Peace Corps and moving halfway across the world to convince Katie to join the rest of “modern civilization.” Whatever that means. ;-)

A Couple Stories

As is my custom, I’m guilty of waiting too long since my last post. Part of my excuse is that life has been pretty uneventful since Christmas. My days have been full of teaching and planning lessons. Not much to report there. Since nothing unusual or extraordinary has occurred, I’ll have to settle for a couple anecdotes.

Evil, Thy Name Is Mud
Mud and I have always had an amicable relationship. In the past I usually encountered it in places like camp or park trails, when I was wearing sufficiently grubby attire. I never minded getting dirty.

Alas, those days are long gone. For the past month, the weather here has been unseasonably warm. Instead of snow, we have gotten a steady supply of rain. As a result, there is mud everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Only the main street in my town is paved, which means most of my trek to school is on un-paved roads or foot-paths.

This wouldn’t be so bad if I could walk around in galoshes or barn boots. But I live in Moldova, which means I have to be “frumos” whenever I step foot outside my house (for you non-Romanian speakers, “frumos” literally means beautiful, but it’s kind of like “nice”—it gets applied to everything). This means dressy black boots, preferably with heels (I draw the line at stilettos). And to make matters worse, my host mom practically attacks me with a rag and bucket if I don’t clean my boots every day. Never mind that they are mud-soaked the minute I step outside the gate. It’s just not proper to leave the house with dirty shoes.

So, every night I clean my shoes, and every morning I arrive at school with mud up to my ears (I’m exaggerating a little, but you get the idea). The Moldovans, however, manage to arrive virtually mud-free. They seem to have some magic ability to walk on top of mud. I think it’s genetic. Which means there’s no hope for me.

Mud—100, Katie-0

Love Is in the Air
Upon learning that I am 23 and still “unattached”, most Moldovans advise me to find a nice boy and get married before it’s too late (apparently I’m running dangerously low on time). Other than that, they leave me alone to go on my merry single way. So I was beginning to think I might make it through my time here without any serious match-making attempts. I should have known better.

Last Tuesday, I came home from school to find two men from the telephone company outside our gate talking with my host dad. I knew they would be coming to set up Internet at our house, so I didn’t find this strange. When one of them grinned at me and said, “Good evening,” I thought nothing of it. I’m used to people practicing their English on me. I smiled and responded back, “Good evening.”

But then my host dad turned to me and informed me that the young man standing in front of me wanted to marry me. When I started laughing, my host dad replied, “Why are you laughing? I’m serious. Don’t you think he’s good-looking? You should marry him and take him back to America with you.” At this point I realized I had walked into an ambush. The only thing to do was cut and run. Putting on my best “I-don’t-understand-because-my-Romanian-is-still-bad” face, I carefully avoided making any further eye contact with my potential suitor and fled into the house.

I’m safe for now, but lover-boy still has to come back to hook up my Internet. Here's hoping I won't be home!

new pictures

If you go to my photos link, you can see pictures from my trip to Turkey.

Christmas in Turkey

I was going to name this post “7 Days in Istanbul,” but I thought that sounded too much like a movie title (and I’m certainly not Brad Pitt!).

As the title indicates, I traveled to Turkey for Christmas. Getting there was surprisingly easy. On Christmas Eve I boarded a plane in Chisinau and about an hour later I was in Istanbul (my shortest international flight yet). My reasons for going to Turkey were several: 1) I was afraid that if I stayed in Moldova, I would be homesick and depressed. I knew traveling would be a good way to prevent that. 2) One of my best friends, Amy, was going home to Istanbul for Christmas, so it was an opportunity to see her. 3) I got to stay with Amy’s family—if you’re a poor PC volunteer who can’t afford to go back to America for Christmas, staying with an American family is the next best thing!

So I spent seven glorious days in what Moldovans refer to as Turcia. I got to see Dolmabahce Palace, home to some thirty-odd sultans of the Ottoman Empire (and their harems) and the place where Ataturk, the father of modern Turkey, lived and died. I saw the famous Hagia Sophia (unfortunately not from the inside—they were closed that day) and visited the Blue Mosque, another well-known mosque. It was very surreal to stand in a crowd of tourists, quietly observing Muslim men across the room as they kneeled and bowed toward Mecca. As a person who is used to being in Christian houses of worship, it was a sobering experience.

We also visited the Grand Bazaar—endless shops and vendors selling everything from rugs to refrigerator magnets. This was a very touristy part of Istanbul, and I got more than a little annoyed with men pestering me in English to buy something. I wished I could brush them off in fluent Turkish like Amy, who had grown up in Istanbul. As someone who doesn’t like shopping to begin with, it was all a bit overwhelming. But, happily, I got a genuine Turkish scarf out of the excursion.

Another visit was to the Basilica Cistern, a huge reservoir of water below the streets of Istanbul, which had been constructed during the time of the Romans. It was a bit eerie to be underground in relative darkness, but it was beautiful. One of the Basilica Cistern’s claims to fame is its possession of two stone heads of Medusa—one upside down and the other sideways—as bases for columns. No one knows for sure why they were put there. That added to the eeriness.

Amy’s family lives on the Asian side of Istanbul, so I had the opportunity to cross the Bosphorus by ferry on numerous occasions in order to see the sights on the European side of the city. We also visited thermal springs, went out for traditional Turkish cuisine (I’m in love), visited with some Turkish friends of theirs, went to their church (where I learned that there are only a few thousand Christians in the whole country), and explored the neighborhood around their apartment. I knew that I was getting to see much more than a normal tourist would have, and I felt very privileged as a result.

As if learning Romanian (and hoping to start learning Russian) isn’t enough, I also became enchanted with the Turkish language. I spent the whole trip learning basic expressions and sounding out every Turkish word I saw, amusing everyone around me in the process. Amy told me I sound like a Russian trying to speak Turkish—that’s good, right? ;-)

As I knew it would, the week in Istanbul passed far too quickly. It was the perfect defense against homesickness, especially because I got to talk with my own family via Skype on Christmas day. The chance to see a foreign country from the comfort of an American household was, for me, ideal.

And so I have fallen in love with yet another country. If my wallet allows, I have dreams of going back again to see more of Turkey, hopefully in warmer weather. Ah, the things I would do if money didn't get in the way...