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!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
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?
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?
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, September 7, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
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.
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.
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