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.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
...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.
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.
Monday, June 8, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
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.**
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.**
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
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.
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.
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