Nunta Moldovaneasca

I've been to my fair share of Moldovan cultural events: baptisms, funerals, birthday parties, Easter and Christmas feasts--but never a wedding. I was beginning to think that I would leave Moldova without having this particular experience. But, a couple weeks ago, my PST host sister (from the family I stayed with my first 2 months in Moldova) called to invite me to her wedding. So, I went, partied my heart out, and saw a Moldovan wedding (nunta Moldovaneasca) at last. I'm feeling particularly lazy, so I will abbreviate this post into a list of observations I made.

Moldovan weddings are long.
I arrived at the bride's house at 10am Sunday morning and left the wedding at 6am Monday morning. According to my host mom, modern Moldovan weddings are much shorter than they used to be. Her wedding lasted two full days.

Moldovan weddings usually happen in 3 separate increments: the civil ceremony, the church ceremony, and the reception.
The civil ceremony is the actual legalization of the marriage. Usually only the nasi (godparents, who are the main sponsors of the wedding, rather than the parents) and a handful of other witnesses are present for this part. At the church ceremony, only immediate family and close friends come (at the wedding I attended, there were about 20 of us). Most guests are invited only to the reception. In fact, the word 'wedding' in Romanian, 'nunta,' actually refers to the reception. There are other terms used to refer to the civil and church cermeonies.

If you have a fear of public speaking, Moldovan weddings are not for you.
At about 1 or 2 am, the nasi typically walk around with a basket to every table. Each person stands up, gives a toast/inspirational speech to the bride and groom, and announces how much money they are giving as a gift. (Yes, you read that right. Full financial disclosure.) I was one of the last people to speak at the wedding I was at, so I had a good two hours to observe how Moldovans did it and then figure out what my own speech would sound like. I became quite the hit of the wedding by throwing in a comment about how beautiful Moldovan weddings were and that Americans could learn a thing or two from Moldovans in that area.

If you dislike dancing, Moldovan weddings are not for you.
It doesn't matter if you're 8 or 80, skinny or fat, coordinated or not. Everyone dances at Moldovan weddings. At the wedding I was at, we did a lot of the Hora (the traditional Moldovan dance). At one point, the entire wedding collective--all 150 of us--formed one giant circle and danced. By far one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

Weddings in Moldova are a big deal.
In Moldova, everyone is expected to marry (and have kids). Thus, a lot of importance is placed on weddings. When you plan a Moldovan wedding, you are under tight scrutiny. Small, simple ceremonies or elopements aren't an option. The bigger, the more elaborate, the better. As glad I was to be able to participate in a Moldovan wedding, I am very glad I don't ever have to plan one. (That is, unless my host mom gets her way and finds me a Moldovan groom. She only has 5 days left...)

a little bit of randomness

1. I was recently visiting some friends, and the mother asked her 7-year-old son to bless the meal before we ate it. Knowing I would be leaving soon, she also asked him to pray for my safe return home. He bowed his head and promptly asked God to grant me many American entry visas.

2. My host brother, Vasile, (who works for the local police) and his work colleague, Iulian, stopped by our house the other night to grab a bite to eat during their shift. My host mother, never one to miss an opportunity to marry me off, suddenly looked at Iulian, turned to me, and said, "Katea! You're going to a wedding in a few weeks, aren't you? You should take Iulian as your date! He's single. That way he can buy the wedding present, and you won't have to pay anything. He'll even bring you flowers!" After extracting myself from that proposition as gracefully as possible by insisting that this wasn't necessary and I was just going with friends, she dropped the subject. But she then spent the rest of the meal hinting darkly at the fact that one month was still plenty of time for me to find myself a Moldovan husband. Thankfully, Iualian seemed to know what was good for him and kept his mouth shut.

One Month

This past week I was at a family camp organized by the church I attend here in Moldova. It was a wonderful week, filled with the same activities integral to the Christian camps I had grown up with in America (swimming, playing games, lounging in the grass, long conversations with friends, nightly worship services). As the week progressed and more and more people started to tell me how much they would miss me when I was gone, I started to get panicky at the thought of leaving.

All of a sudden, a month seemed like no time at all. Before, when I spent time with a Moldovan friend or went somewhere new, there was always the possibility of seeing that person again, of visiting that place one more time. Now, with a month left, the reality of my leaving became painfully apparent. I'm no stranger to change; growing up, my family moved a lot. As a result, I've gotten quite good at saying goodbye. In fact, most times I'm downright stoic about it.

But this time isn't like all the others. This time there is the real possibility that I will never come back. Not only that, but the life I have here (the language I speak, the culture I live in, the food I eat, and the people I share my life with) can't come with me to America. A profound sense of loss came over me this week, and I'll admit--it scared me. I've never felt anything like that before. All of a sudden, I felt this almost urgent desire to somehow slow time. To make 30 days stretch into 60. I began to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of people I have to say goodbye to, by all I have to let go of.

I'm just now starting to realize how different this goodbye is going to be.

New Pictures

I'm not very good at remembering to bring my camera along when I go places (or for that matter, taking it out of its case when I actually do), but I did manage to take some pictures in the past several months. I finally got around to posting them online. Feel free to check them out by clicking my photos link on the left side of the page.

Because Americans Like to Make Lists

As my time in Moldova is drawing to a close, the nostalgia has started to kick in. But nostalgia or not, I would be a liar if I didn't admit that there are a lot of things I won't be sad to leave behind. So I decided to make a list of everything I won't miss about Moldova. No worries--I haven't suddenly become bitter and cynical. I've also compiled a list of some of the (many) things I will miss.

I will not miss...
● eating soup 4 times a week, even when it's 80 degrees out
● common displays of public drunkenness
● living under a magnifying glass, and all the well-intentioned advice (criticism) that comes with it
● having to discipline my students in Romanian
● widespread corruption
● being asked if I'm married, why I'm not married, if I plan to get married, and would I like to meet a nice Moldovan boy and get married?
● being hit on by male students
● having to keep track of my students' attendance and grades by hand, in pen
● hearing European techno music everywhere I go
● living in a culture where it's socially acceptable for 14-year-old boys to smoke
● being shoved/cut in line as I try to wait patiently at the post office, bus station ticket window, etc.
● spooning with strangers on crowded public transportation

I will miss...
● my host mother's coltunasi, sarmale, placinta, mamaliga, and homemade donuts
● being able to speak 3 languages in one day
● buying 25-cent ice cream
● being greeted by "Hello, Miss Kate!" everywhere I go
● living in such a small country
● walking everywhere
● Moldovan holidays (Moldovans know how to party!)
● being able to travel abroad so easily (and cheaply)
● being able to fit all of my possessions into 2 suitcases
● striking up conversations with random strangers on a regular basis
● getting all of my fruits and vegetables from a garden, not a supermarket
● passing by goats, cows, ducks, and chickens on my daily commute to and from school

**Note: It goes without saying that the people here I've built relationships with are, by far, what I'll miss most. Since I'm sure I'll be writing more about them (in length) in upcoming posts, that's why I didn't mention them here.

When Good Romanian Meets Bad English

So I recently had an article written about me (I know, I know--I'm a big deal). Two other Peace Corps volunteers and I were interviewed because a new Chisinau newspaper was doing a feature on the Peace Corps in Moldova. The article itself is a nice tribute to the Peace Corps, and the other two interviewees and I were able to talk a lot about our experiences in Moldova over the past two years. When the article came out, it was, naturally, published in Romanian. I wanted my friends and loved ones back in the States to be able to read it, so I decided to paste the entire article into Google Translate to see what would happen. Now, for those of you not familiar with Google Translate, it's a program that allows you to type a word, sentence, or--it turns out--an entire webpage in a certain language, and it translates it into another of your choice. As far as individual words go, it's fairly accurate. But if you try to translate more than that, it starts to get sketchy (as my lazy students who try using it to translate entire essays have found out the hard way).

So when I pasted in the article, the result was a much more interesting article than the original. For those of you who are interested in reading it, just go to http://translate.google.com and type in the following url in the text box: http://ziar.jurnal.md/?p=3351. I hope you're as amused as I was.

Brains Before Beauty

When I arrived at my lyceum two years ago, I kept hearing references to a "Miss English" competition that had been held the previous year. I asked my colleagues about it, and they explained to me that "Miss English," which was styled in the format of a beauty contest, was a chance for English-speaking girls in the upper-level classes to compete in various contests requiring creativity, memory skills, and--most importantly--a good command of the English language.

The second installment of "Miss English," which I wrote about in a blog entry last March, was an extravagant affair. Eight different girls competed, each of them representing a different country (presenting information about the culture, showing national dances and costumes, and even preparing a national dish for the jury to sample). Each contestant also had to answer a series of trivia questions and perform a scene from a movie of her choice. All of this, of course, was done in English.

When those of us in the English department started planning for this year's "Miss English," we decided to do it a little bit differently. We narrowed the field of contestants to five girls, none of whom had competed in "Miss English" before. And in place of countries, we gave each girl an American/British holiday (namely, Valentine's Day, Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas). In addition, each girl was given a script of a fairy tale (written by yours truly) to act out, but with a modern-day twist. We chose Little Red Riding Hood, the Princess and the Pea, the Snow Queen, Cinderella, and Snow White.

So as the second semester got underway, two of my partner teachers and I began to prepare in earnest for "Miss English." I was flattered to be so involved in the planning process this time around, especially since I got to show off my creative side by crafting the modern-day renditions of the fairy tales. But as "Miss English" approached, my stress level sky rocketed. I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off, helping not only with the general planning but also helping Larisa, one of my students and a "Miss English" contestant, prepare.

Each of us English teachers was responsible for overseeing our respective students to help them with pronunciation and translation, and to keep tabs of their overall progress. Larisa had always been one of my stronger students, but this year she started to shine. When I asked her if she wanted to participate in "Miss English," I had no way of anticipating the result. She threw herself into it, telling me that she didn't really think she had any chance of winning, but she wanted to have fun and to make her friends and classmates proud. What most impressed me was her self-motivation. Not once did I have to prod her to practice more or to stay on top of things. She organized her own rehearsals, tracked down a slew of classmates and other random students to participate in her presentation, and spent countless hours assembling costumes and drawing and painting posters and pictures to use as visual aids (including a Halloween mural literally the size of an entire wall).

Even though I was excited to see Larisa's presentation take shape, I was becoming more and more disgruntled with the planning. It seemed to me (and it might just be because I am a slightly anal American) that too many things were being left to the last minute and that there was no possible way that everything would come together in time. In addition to that, "Miss English" was postponed on three separate occasions due to scheduling conflicts and sickness. By the time last Monday arrived, I was past the point of caring about how well it would turn out. I just wanted the stupid thing to be over with.

Somehow, miraculously, the program turned out beautifully. It was two hours long, which compared to last year's 3+ hour performance, was a welcome change. Other than a few minor technical glitches, things went smoothly. Our festivities hall was full, and even though a good portion of the audience didn't really speak English, there were enough decorations, music, and humorous elements (such as opening our show by having four of my 6-foot-tall 9th form boys dressed in drag come onto the stage, pretending to be "Miss English" contestants) to keep them entertained.

I watched proudly (and slightly nervously) as Larisa performed each of the elements of her program. As she introduced herself and gave her presentation about Halloween, Larisa talked to the audience as if they were a few friends sitting in her living room. Her English was clear, and she spoke so effortlessly that I almost forgot that she was speaking memorized lines. After a rousing performance of Cinderella (where she displayed some serious acting chops), it was clear that she was the crowd favorite. Still, I wasn't quite sure who our jury (comprised of two former "Miss English" contestants, two teachers, and my school director) would pick. When they said her name, the hall went absolutely wild. Larisa's face was priceless. She was utterly and completely shocked. When she came forward to give a brief acceptance speech, it was clear that she still couldn't believe that she had won. She spoke slowly into the microphone, trying to find the right words in English. And when she thanked me for all I'd done, I smiled so hard my face hurt. Who needs the Oscars when you've got "Miss English"?

Paşte

I decided to dedicate my latest blog entry to Easter. Even though this holiday has come and gone, Paşte (as Moldovans call it) is by far the biggest holiday of the year here. And, just like Christmas in America, its celebration extends over a period of time much larger than a single day. So, a bit belated, here is my take on it all:

Pre-Paşte
Preparations for Easter start several weeks ahead of time. Just as many American Christians observe Lent, most Moldovans also "ţine post" (keep a fast) in the weeks leading up to Easter. Those who are serious about their fasting refrain from all animal products during this entire time. The handful of Peace Corps volunteers who manage to stay vegetarians during their stay in Moldova--a feat in and of itself--love this time of year because all kinds of soy products start appearing in markets and grocery stores. Moldovans also work hard to make everything "frumos" (beautiful)--putting fresh coats of paint on fences, benches, and trees, clearing fallen branches and leaves, and scouring clean every square inch of their homes (thus my host mother's recent cleaning rampage). The last couple days before Easter are the busiest for Moldovan women, who are baking and cooking as if their lives depended on it.

Paşte
The truly devoted are at church all night long on the eve of Easter, but most people get up around 3 in the morning to take baskets of pască (a sweet bread made only at Easter), colored eggs, and various other foods to be blessed by the priest. Sunday morning I woke up at 2:30 (never again will I complain about having to wake up early for an American Easter sunrise service!) and accompanied my host mother and sister to church. By the time we arrived, the yard was already crowded. We joined the silent line of people and stood huddled over our Easter basket, trying to stay warm. Almost an hour later, the priest finally emerged from the church. As he made his way down the line, he doused everyone with holy water. After that, we made our way back home.

I napped for a couple of hours, but I was woken again at 7:00 for our Easter feast. Moldovans, celebrating the end of their fast, go a little crazy on the meat. As I stared at the table before me, I saw mounds of ham, beef, chicken, fish, salami, and racituri (rooster jelly). Almost as an afterthought, there were a couple dishes of pancakes and potato salad placed along the edges of the table. Present at my Easter feast were only the immediate members of my host family, but many Moldovan families travel to visit relatives on this day. Even those who are working abroad will come home at Easter time to be with their families.

After I dutifully stuffed myself with meat, I went to the Baptist church in my town (which I frequent most Sundays) to see how the non-Orthodox celebrate Easter. Their service was actually quite similar to an American Easter service, and I found myself thinking of the Easter traditions I had grown up with.

Post-Paşte
Perhaps my favorite part of Moldovan Easter is that the celebration doesn't stop on Easter day. Starting with Easter morning, Moldovans replace their usual greeting of "Buna ziua" (hello) with the phrase "Hristos a înviat!" (Christ has risen!). For the next 40 days, they answer the phone, wave to their neighbors, and greet colleagues and friends with this phrase. As a response, the other person must say, "Adevărat a înviat!" (He has risen indeed!). Then, on Ascension Day, they greet each other with the phrase "Hristos s-a înălţat!" This marks the end of the Easter Season.

Coming from a culture so saturated in commercialism that even religious holidays have become excuses to buy needless "stuff," I must say that I wholeheartedly love the Moldovan approach to Easter. And no, I didn't miss the Easter Bunny one bit.

Good/Bad Riddance

A couple of weekends ago, my host mother approached me with a look of motherly concern. I've learned that in such situations, I'm usually about to be the recipient of a well-intentioned lecture. Sure enough, she proceeded to tell me that when she was in my room the other day watering the plants, she noticed I wasn't being vigilant enough about keeping it clean. She then outlined for me step-by-step what I needed to do in order to meet her expectation of a clean room. Now, I make no claim of having a spotless room. But in my defense, I make my bed every day (which I've done faithfully for the past 2 years--by far my longest consecutive streak in that area), I keep my books and papers fairly organized, and I vacuum on a regular basis. So even though I decided to keep her happy by scouring the corners and crevices of my room (when it comes to my host mother, resistance is futile), my internal self was not so obliging. In my mind I rebelliously waged verbal battle with her, arguing that even if I were living in squalor, it was my right to since it was my room. Furthermore, when I returned home this summer, I planned to start leaving my room in whatever state I wanted to because I am, in fact, an adult. So there.

Fast forward to this week. It was early evening, and since I had gotten most of my lesson planning done for the next day, I decided to take a break by playing with my host nieces, Viviana and Sorina, aged 4 and 3 respectively. Their current favorite pastime with Tanti Katia is to learn English. So upon request, we settled down to learn colors. When our electricity went out a little while later--one of the joys of living in a developing country--we sat in darkness, singing songs in English (another thing they get a kick out of) and waiting for the power to come back on. A little later my host dad wandered in to keep us company, and feeling inspired by the sight of me with the girls, gave me a 10-minute monologue about how it was his sincere wish for me to find a good husband and have well-behaved children. He said that he and my host mother thought of me as their child, and one day, just like them, I would have children of my own to look after. As I sat there smiling at his earnestness and at the "Moldovan-ness" of the whole evening, I realized with a pang of sadness that I wouldn't have too many more days like that one.

I find myself increasingly thinking about the fact that my time in Moldova is almost up. Some days, when I'm sick of being treated like a 13-year-old, that's a comforting fact. Other days, when I'm listening to my host niece Sorina belt out "Heppy Bursday tooo youuuu" at the top of her lungs, I don't want to leave. The question is--am I still going to be so torn 4 months from now? I can't help but think my life would be a lot easier if I could just make up my mind one way or the other. Sigh.

Hai la Hora

The inspiration for this post comes from my friend Alicia, a fellow PC volunteer who recently showed me the music video for the song "Hora Din Moldova." I have heard this song dozens of times over the past year, thanks to its success in the 2009 Eurovision song competition, but I had never before seen the video. What is Eurovision, my clueless American readers want to know? It's basically Europe's version of American Idol. I can't even begin to describe how hugely popular it is on this side of the Atlantic. Last year Moldova made it to the final round of competition and ended up taking 14th place, out of 42 participating countries. That was a huge feat for our little country.

Upon seeing this video, I immediately fell in love with it. In only three minutes, it gives the viewer a colorful taste of Moldovan life, focusing specifically on Moldova's national dance--the Hora. As you can see in the video, the Hora is a group dance that kind of looks like a circular grapevine. The footwork can get a lot fancier, though, depending on the music and the skill of the dancers. If the video makes it seem like Moldovans will burst into dancing anywhere and at any time, it's because they will. All they need is a little bit of music and an energetic person to yell out the first "Hai la hora!" ("Let's do the Hora!"). I've done the Hora at welcome ceremonies, birthday parties, Hrams (village/city days), baptisms, picnics, and even at a disco crowded with teenagers. One thing I can say for certain about Moldovans: they know how to dance.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTeZlfs2NVY

Thinking Like a Moldovan

There are many things I love about Moldovan culture. One of my favorites is their propensity to share food. When Moldovans have anything edible or drinkable, even gum, they will never fail to offer a portion to those around them--no matter how much (or little) they have. It would be unthinkable for them to do otherwise.

The other day I had a free period, so I was chatting with Ana, one of my 11th grade students who was on bell duty (in my school there is no automatic bell system--students take turns camping out by the bell for a day with their cell phone and ringing the bell at the appropriate times, or not so appropriate, depending on the accuracy of their cell phone clocks). I then decided that I was hungry and wanted to walk to a nearby store to buy myself a snack. When I got to the store, instead of buying a Twix, which was my original choice, I opted instead for Peanut M&Ms. It occurred to me that Ana would probably like a snack too, and it would be easier to share M&Ms then a Twix. So I went back, and we resumed our conversation over a bag of M&Ms.

The purpose of this anecdote is not to paint myself as this perfect example of selflessness. The reason I'm writing about it is because, after that experience, I had a realization about myself. The pre-Moldova Katie would have bought the Twix without a second thought, and when walking past Ana, kept it hidden safely in my pocket until I had reached the teacher's room, where I could eat it in privacy. It wouldn't even have occurred to me to feel guilty about this small act of selfishness because, according to my American mentality, what's mine is mine. I earned it, and it's my right to use it (or eat it) as I see fit. Now, after living in Moldova for over a year-and-a-half, I'm embarrassed by such a mindset. I'm grateful to the countless Moldovans who have helped me see that generosity isn't any less meaningful, just because it's done on a smaller scale. Current Katie has no desire to return to Pre-Moldova Katie. I don't want to be the person who looks for excuses not to share. I want to be the person who always chooses M&Ms over Twix.

Ups and Downs

It's been almost 2 months since I last wrote in my blog. I usually manage to write an entry every 2-3 weeks, so I apologize for getting so far behind. I've had good reasons for not writing, though, so I'll share them...and try to tell (as succinctly as possible) what's been going on the past couple of months.

No Place Like Home
At the end of December/beginning of January I surprised my family by coming home for a visit. Other than my parents, no one knew I was coming. I was able to surprise all of my siblings, several friends in New York, and my extended family members in Michigan. In order to get home by Christmas, I had to survive a 10-hour bus ride to Bucharest, an overnight stay in the Bucharest airport, a somewhat panicky layover in Rome after I was informed that due to an overbooked flight I was on standby, a 9-hour flight to New York City, and another stressful layover in JFK while I waited in vain for my baggage to arrive, almost missing my final flight to Rochester (I seriously felt like I was trapped in a bad Christmas movie). But I arrived at my house at 11pm Christmas Eve, and the look of utter amazement on my siblings' faces as I walked through the door was worth all of the stress and frustration of getting there.

I had wondered beforehand what it would be like to be back in the US after a year-and-a-half away. I had become so accustomed to my new life in Moldova that I had a hard time imagining what it would be like to re-encounter my "old" life. It ended up being a lot less stranger than I anticipated. With the exception of jet lag, it only took me a couple days to feel at home again. I was able to see most of the friends and family that I wanted to, and even saying goodbye to them was relatively easy because I knew that I'd be coming back in the summer. When I returned to the Rochester airport 2 weeks later, I was ready to head into my home stretch of Peace Corps service and meet my final semester of teaching head-on.

Loss
In some ways, I hesitate to write the second part of this entry. Due to the public nature of my blog, I usually shy away from getting too personal with my writing. But I also want to be honest about my time here, and everything that happens to me (or to those around me in my community) is a valid part of my experience in Moldova.

A couple weeks ago, something profoundly tragic occurred in my school: a student killed herself. Although she wasn't in my section of English, she used to come to my afterschool English club. I also taught several of her classmates. When I heard the news, I was in complete shock. She was the last person anyone would have suspected of suicide. In fact, I would have described her as a girl who loved life. She was vibrant, outgoing, excelled in all her classes, and had an amazing sense of humor. I took it for granted that she was as happy as she seemed to be.

The week that followed her death was a trying one for our entire school. Teachers and students alike struggled to come to terms with what had happened. I was often at a loss for what to say and how to act. Trying to give comfort to grieving people is a daunting task in and of itself, and it's made even harder by having to do it within the context of a foreign language and culture. I felt especially burdened for my 11th form students that had been her classmates. Perhaps more than anyone else, they were the ones who had experienced the deepest loss. And all I could offer them was my willingness to sit with them and listen (but, as people wiser than me have pointed out, sometimes that's the best thing you can do).

Throughout the past week, I learned a lot about how Moldovans react to death. Not only did I learn about their customs and perceptions, but I also witnessed how those at my school coped with such a tragedy. This was never a cultural learning experience I wanted to have firsthand, but I did. And I can say without a doubt that this has been one of the most profound moments that I've had in Moldova. I have been so grateful to be a part of a school community that has grieved so openly and honestly, all the while supporting its members who were hurting the most.

I never could have anticipated what forms they would take, but I knew that my two years here would have their share of dark moments. Now that they've come, my prayer is that I will be able to share the peace and hope that I've been given with those around me. It doesn't seem like much, but it's all that I can do.

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.