A Few of My Favorite Things

My good friend Kristen Fuest reminded me that it’s been awhile since my last post. Which is very true. So, in the spirit of Christmas, I thought it’d be fun to share a few of my favorite things about life in Moldova (NOT raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens):

1) being stopped on the street for directions
As strange as it may sound, here’s why it’s so great: because it means that, occasionally, I’m blending in. It means that, to some stranger, I can pass for a Moldovan. To them I don’t have AMERICAN stamped on my forehead. I look like I can speak Romanian and that I know where the hospital is (both of which happen to be true!).

2) receiving “exact change”
I went to the store the other day, and since the cashier was out of banuţi (coins), she handed me a stick of gum as change instead. I’ve also had people give me candy. You just can’t beat that.

3) new holidays
December 13th is “Saint Andrew Day” in Moldova. I’m not sure what the religious significance is (or whether Saint Andrew refers to the apostle Andrew or another historical Andrew). But I do know that boys go to the houses of girls they like in the middle of the night and steal their gates (yes, steal them). Moldovan gates are huge and made of metal, so it’s no small task. If a girl wakes up on the 13th to find her gate missing, she has to figure out who took it and—according to tradition—give him wine and food in order to get her gate back. She’s also supposed to be his girlfriend. I don’t think the forced dating part is practiced anymore, but the gate-stealing tradition is still alive and well in some villages. Ain’t love grand?

4) the “English” language
I was grading my 10th grade students’ semester tests today, and some of their answers had me practically rolling on the floor. They had to complete noun phrases, such as glass of water, or loaf of bread. One student wrote “slice of toothpaste.” They also had to create dialogues between them and their parents, and another boy wrote: “Mother, I beseech you!” There are definitely perks to my job!

When Teachers Play Hookey

My Moldovan teaching experience has been full of firsts. And now I can add to the list my first strike. When we came back from fall break this past Monday, my school voted to participate in a nation-wide teacher’s strike. The motivation behind the strike—the same as it is for most—is lack of money. Teachers are trying to convince the Moldovan government to increase their salary in order to try and keep up with rising costs of fuel and electricity.

As a PC volunteer, I wasn’t allowed to get involved in any way (for two main reasons: 1. PC is apolitical—we stay away from strikes, protests, elections, etc. We’re here to work with people, not take sides in their politics. 2. PC volunteers don’t receive salaries for working in schools. We get our living stipends directly from the PC). But since no kids came to school this week, this meant that I didn’t teach either. So I ended up participating by default.

As a result, my week-long fall vacation has stretched into nearly two (with the possibility of more days off in the near future if the government continues to be unresponsive). It’s been interesting to hear how the current grievances of Moldovan teachers compare to past ones. Two of my fellow English teachers told me that about 10 years ago, there was a period of several consecutive months that they went without a salary because the government simply didn’t have the money to pay them. And when they did get paid, it was the equivalent of 20 American dollars a month. Moldovan teachers get more than that now, but a Moldovan teacher’s entire monthly salary is still less than what I pay my host family per month for food and rent.

I’ve been asked by several Moldovans if we have strikes in America. What comes immediately to mind is that the kind of strikes that make national news in America are ones in which professional athletes are protesting the fact they’re getting $7 million a year instead of $10 million. In all fairness to them, I’m sure they’re also motivated by the rising cost of living. It takes a lot of gas to fill up a Hummer. Yes, we Americans suffer greatly too.

Speaking of media coverage, my school made it onto Moldovan national news! I’d post the video clip on here, but since that would mean publicizing on the Internet not only the town I live in but also the name of the school I work at, I’m going to opt against it (sorry to disappoint you, all you potential stalkers out there). For those of you who actually know me and who are interested in seeing some shots of teachers and classrooms at my school, just email me and I can send you a link to the video.

Life in 3 Languages

I grew up surrounded by one language: English. My encounters with other languages were few and far between, the most extended one being my three semesters of college Spanish. And then I moved to Moldova.

Now, there are three languages in my life.

Romanian, the official language of Moldova (or “Moldovan,” depending on who you ask), is in many ways the dominant language of my everyday world. I hear it on buses, in stores, on the radio, in the street, at school, and at home—it is my only means of communicating with my host family.

But, surprisingly (or, not so surprisingly, considering my job), English remains a prevalent part of my life. It is the subject I teach five days a week and the focus of three after-school clubs I lead. Every day I am conscious of its pronunciation, its grammar rules, and the millions of possible patterns in which its words can be arranged. In the hallways of my school and in even in the street, I am constantly greeted with an enthusiastic “Hello!” (and, if the person is feeling particularly brave, “Do you speak English?”).

And then there’s Russian--the language that all Moldovans understand and that a large percentage of them primarily speak. It’s the language of most Moldovan television channels and of countless books, magazines, food labels, and street signs. Because many of the students and teachers at my school are Russian speakers, I hear it on a daily basis. Even though my Russian is limited to the most basic of words and phrases (such as, “Good morning,” “I don’t understand,” “Excuse me, where is the bathroom?”), I know the sounds of it well enough that I can instantly tell when someone who had been speaking in Romanian suddenly slips into Russian. And since this happens quite a bit, this is a valuable skill.

I’ll admit that it can be frustrating that my knowledge of Romanian isn’t always enough to get me by (i.e. when I’m at a store in Chisinau and the cashier only speaks Russian, or when I’m trying to decipher the operating instructions of a household appliance which are written in that dreaded cyrillic alphabet). But it’s a fascinating thing to live in a country where the lines between languages are so often blurred.

I recently sat in on a faculty meeting in which I observed a conversation between two other teachers. One of the women spoke entirely in Romanian. The other teacher carried out her end of the conversation in Russian. They spoke like this for several minutes, completely oblivious to the fact that two different languages were being spoken.

And the other day as I was sitting in church, I noticed that the woman to the left of me was holding a Bible printed in Romanian, the woman to my right had one in Russian, and I was sandwiched in between them with an English Bible. A perfect snapshot of my life here.

So, yes, life in 3 languages can be exasperating and bizarre. And sometimes I miss the certainty of knowing that when I open my mouth, the person I'm talking to will understand me. But I like my new life. It's rich, complex, and decidedly more interesting.

This and That

Some random thoughts...

I visited a Russian-speaking church last Sunday (the language divide here affects even Sunday worship). I was invited by the pastor and his wife—they and I have a mutual acquaintance in America. She speaks excellent English and has kindly befriended me since they live fairly close (and by close I mean an hour and half and three bus rides later—public transportation is not built for speed). I really enjoyed visiting their church (it was the first Moldovan church I’ve seen so far where the woman wear pants—I was in heaven!) I was able to sit with a young woman who knows English well enough to translate everything for me. Still, it was completely frustrating not to understand a single word. My Romanian is pretty bad, but when people talk I can usually make out at least some of what they’re saying. Being there was literally going back to square one, and I did NOT like it. I need to learn Russian.

My host mom informed me the other day that I am very well behaved. Not exactly a compliment you’re looking for when you’re 23! Sometimes I get the feeling that she doesn’t quite see me as the independent, self-sufficient adult that I feel that I am. But then I think about the fact that I can’t cook, sew, preserve fruits and vegetables, tend a garden, butcher poultry, or even heat water by myself (the pilot light for our hot water has to be re-lit with a match every time and is such a complicated affair that my host mother informed me she wouldn’t teach me how because she’s afraid I’ll blow up the house—I think she has a point there). It also doesn’t help things that I do crazy, un-ladylike things, such as walk around wearing a backpack and wipe my hands to dry on my jeans after washing them. So unless I start honing my domestic skills, I think I’m destined for eternal adolescence!

This past week I acquired 3 English clubs in the course of a day. I’ll be leading two at my lyceum (5^th-8^th grades and 9^th-12^th) and one with students from the other lyceum in town. That’s in addition to the 7 different English classes I’m teaching in school. Do you think a person can get tired of her own language?

more pictures

It's a happy day, folks! I added more pictures to my Picasa web album (see link to the left of the screen). The PST album has some more, and I also created a new one. Happy viewing!

One Down...

This past week was my first week of school. I feel a sense of accomplishment writing those words, not because I did anything great, but because I survived. And because I accomplished small victories like communicating to the school librarian about the textbooks I’ll need and successfully reviewing past, present, and future simple tenses with my 12th graders. Such accomplishments are significant to me because I very rarely knew what was going on this week, let alone why. Feeling clueless is par for course for any new job. Throw into the mix a completely new set of cultural norms and a language which I don’t really know yet (not to mention the fact that some students and teachers at my school primarily speak Russian, not Romanian), and I was one lost soul.

Somehow I managed to show up to the right classes, do a little bit of teaching (usually with no prep time), and—I think—successfully hide my fear. I also managed to learn quite a bit about education in Moldova. The following observations aren’t true of every school in the Moldovan public educational system, but they are reflective of my own experience:

• There is no set schedule for the first (and sometimes even the second) week of school. Teachers find out in the morning what classes they have for that day and their times. Moldovan teachers have perfected the art of going with the flow.
  
• Students have no textbooks the first week or two of school. This is also often the case for new teachers (myself included). For some classes students have to buy their textbooks.
  
• Unlike many American middle/high schools, students only have a certain class, such as English, 2-3 times a week. There are 6 periods in a day, and school is done by 1:30.
  
• Most students start learning English in the 2nd grade and continue to study it up through 12th grade.
  
• Moldovan teachers get paid by the hour. So the more classes they teach, the higher their salary. My workload will probably be about half that of my fellow teachers.
  
  Here’s hoping that my second week will be just as enlightening but slightly less exhausting!

It's Official

It's official, folks: I am now a Peace Corps Volunteer! What was I the past ten weeks? Only a trainee. The lowest of the low. Even pond scum enjoyed a higher social status. Just kidding! Kind of. Wednesday the M23's were sworn in at the American Ambassadorial Residence. So now the PC claims us as its own. The ceremony itself was pretty cool, albeit boiling hot. We had to sit in the sun for over an hour, and I think it was a pretty hefty accomplishment that none of us passed out!

For reasons not fully comprehended on my part, I was asked to give a speech at the ceremony. Thankfully I was not expected to speak extemporaneously (my apologies to my Speech professor Dr. Stewart--I know he would NOT have approved). I wrote my speech in English, and then it was edited and translated by the powers that be. So all I had to do was practice reading it about a million times and pray fervently that I wouldn't embarrass myself. I gave it, and it went just fine. I don't think I'll be starting a Moldovan public speaking career anytime soon, but I'm okay with that.

Speaking of trying to not embarrass myself, there were tons of press at the ceremony yesterday, and I was interviewed by two different crews. My mind went into autopilot and started spitting out all the Romanian I had learned in class (Moldova is beautiful. The people are nice. I came here because I want to learn more about other cultures, etc.). I do also distinctly remember saying that I love Moldovan food and listing off my favorite dishes. I don't know if my other interview made it on-air, but here is a link to a newsclip about the ceremony. My interview is about halfway through (and if you look really hard, you can see quick snippets of me in the other parts. I was wearing a brown shirt and white skirt). http://www.trm.md/index.php?module=stiri_int&news_id=2891

Try not to laugh too hard, please! ;-)