Glod si ceata

Pictures from our first and only snowfall in early November

So, I feel like I am living in 1500s London. The past week or so has been nothing but mud and fog. This is how fall in Moldova is, and perhaps I will be looking back on this time wistfully once the deep cold of winter sets in, but for now the impending frostiness sounds great because all the mud will freeze. I have gotten great use out of my pair of brown dress pants this week.

This is one of the great things about teaching a non-traditional subject in the schools. I only have each group of kids once a week, so if I wear the same thing it doesn't really matter. Some of the other teachers seem to do the same thing. Our Russian language teacher is known for wearing the same sweater all week, and the I have never seen the Physics teacher without his signature suit coat. It sure saves a lot of time doing laundry.

The kids do it too, based on their class schedule for the day at least. I am sitting in on Russian lessons with the fifth graders and I know exactly what each and every one of them will be wearing for Monday morning classes. They have gym class that day so they all show up in track suits., all perfectly clean and pressed, but always the same.

This is part of the winter ritual it seems. Rotating though a different sets of clothes, many of which you use every day. I have my school set, which is the most formal, though I do at least pick a different dress shirt every day. Then there are my sports clothes, which I use for bball practice in the afternoons, or when I go running. Then there are the “house clothes”, which I use once I get my wood gathered for the evening fire, and my bucket of water to heat up for my “bath”.

Basket ball practice with my 8th grade team, and an AIDS lesson in school.
Thanksgiving having just passed with all its associated craziness, it is kind of nice to have settled back into the routine of things. We did Turkey day in the capitol, with a grand gathering of all the volunteers. We rented out the ball room of one of the hotels, and borrowed their kitchens to whip up a traditional feast. With ex-pat guests from the Embassy, Moldovan PC staff, family and friends, we had quite a group. Nearly 300 this year.

I happily distracted myself in the kitchen for the day, and with a gang of others, successfully roasted up fifteen, twenty+ pound birds with all the necessary trimmings. I can still smell the garlic and cranberries in the clothes that I haven't managed to wash yet.

Other than all that excitement, things have been plugging along here like normal. We are still doing health classes in my school, and I am working on convincing my partner teacher that yes indeed she will be ready next year to go it alone. Hopefully they will keep the subject once I leave.

I am coaching basketball again as well. The program has spread to three teams this year, and hopefully will continue to grow once I manage to get some local teachers involved. We got a grant from the Embassy last year to buy some sports equipment, so the kids are much more excited about things this time around. They also finally fixed the gym floor so we don't have to worry about falling through all the time.

It really is sad to see all that they used to have here, and the condition it all is in after years of being neglected due to lack of funding. They hadn't bought new sports equipment in 6 years. It is just crazy. They don't even teach half of what is in the curriculum for many subjects, mostly because they don't have the books or the materials.

I am trying to help with all that as well, and am working with various groups to try and teach them about grant writing. It is slow going though, as most just want a hand out, and don't realize that all the villages that get funding for major projects have done so by meticulously planning and searching for aid. They are also picky about who they put in charge of things and keep an eye on where all the money goes. Corruption is a major problem, and frequently a set of text books turns into a new car for a school director or a house addition for a mayor.

Our soon to be roasted birds practice their synchronized "brining".

There was a flame written in a major publication last year about the “incredible waste” that Peace Corps represents. It stated that most of our communities would be better off just receiving the money that it costs to support a volunteer for two years. I of course was livid when I read it back then, but now see the truth in an even stronger light. Hand outs just breed dependence, and don't really teach folks how to pull themselves up from the mire. Especially here, in a post soviet country where there almost seems to be a continuing backlash against communism which prevents folks from taking part in civic projects. I really feel they do need a catalyst for the outside to spur them on to do more than complain. Plus, if a group of folks have trouble getting a grant proposal together, how are they going to get major infrastructure projects accomplished. There are certainly folks in the villages capable of the work, but on a grass roots level things are a bit lacking. Thus an organization like PC comes in to help fill in the gaps, not just in funds, but in knowledge. I can't say that we are all perfect, or that we are even successful in achieving our goals, but I feel it is a darn sight better than just throwing money at the problem.

Moldova is indeed a poor country, GDP $880.00 (the extreme poverty line is $876.00). While things are certainly better here than in Africa, rural China, and the war torn middle east, they still aren't making much progress. The sad thing is that this country isn't ahead of where it was 20 years ago. It is behind. I get ticked at Moldovans all the time for complaining about how poor they are, especially taking a look at all the things they have access to and comparing in to conditions in third world countries. I have to realize their perspective though. Twenty years ago they had street lights, paved roads, functioning hospitals, state sponsored vacations, solid educational systems, and typically a personal monthly financial excess (granted, this was partly because there was nothing to buy). Thus, it is indeed depressing to look at their crumbling infrastructure and realize what this place used to be. It wasn't perfect, but where on this planet do you really find perfection.

This point was really driven home when I went to visit a former student at his boarding school last week. His mom is a colleague of mine, and they invited me along for the trip. His school is still impressive, but not nearly what it used to be. The dorms are 1/3 full, where they used to be overflowing with international students. The “great” conditions they touted for the students wouldn't even pass health code in the states. Not a single toilet has a seat in the bathrooms, and most of the water and electrical systems looked on the verge of collapse. Everything was neat and tidy as could be, and painted over to hide the years of neglect, but a sense of sadness and loss surrounds the faculty and facilities. I'm sure he will receive a good education there, but it makes me wonder what would be possible if they had the money to really do right by their students.

Thus, I am rapidly closing in on the end of my service, and just now realizing what it is that can be done to help people find their bootstraps. Too bad we can't all realize all the truths and realities when we first arrive in country. The time remaining feels too short.

imi place

So over the past few weeks a variety of things have occurred that have ticked me off and just created a general bad mood, a specter if you will, hanging over my experience here in Moldova. I won't go into the laundry list, but rather would like to push aside the relatively few people and events that have made my life difficult, and focus instead on the things and people here that I appreciate and enjoy.
This has been on my blog "to-do" list for quite some time, and I can think of no better time but the present to reminisce about all that is good here.
One of the first things that comes to mind is the custom of saying "buna ziua", which literally means "good day". While not completely obligatory, it is standard custom to give some sort of greeting to the folks that you know while ambling through the village, and even to the folks that you don't know. Some may find it somewhat tiring or trite, but I like the idea of a social construct that makes you look even strangers in the eye, acknowledge their existence, and bid them the best in their pursuits for the day. It is a heck of a lot better than getting the middle finger from someone while driving on the highway to work.
Fresh fruits and veggies are another positive facet that comes immediately to mind. I simply cannot express how amazing it is to step out of my house to a collection of six varieties of grapes that I can nosh on. Just here at the house we have apples, pears, plums, cherries, raspberries and strawberries. I have a great memory of returning home this summer, road weary from my slog back from Chisinau, and upon entering the gate, climbing a cherry tree with my host brother and snacking away until we simply couldn't fit any more in our stomachs.
My old host family that I stayed with during training used to bring cauldrons of raspberries into the house. We are talking about 2-4 kilograms of raspberries at a time, which we would simply down by the handful.Absolutely amazing. When asked by locals to compare countries, this is one point that I frequently bring up as being a strong point for Moldova. The fruits and veggies taste 10 times better here. I simply have never had a bad tomato in Moldova, while in the states I have lost count of the number of mealy, tasteless ones I have encountered.
True, the winter and spring are a bit lacking in freshies, and that is where the American system of shipping and refrigeration triumphs. In my eyes though, that brief period of wanting just makes the summer and fall and the sweeter.
Another thing I like is the genuine small town folks who will go out of their way to help a relative stranger. I can't count the number of folks who have given me free rides into our regional center. There is one guy who doesn't even live in our village who has treated me to several "taxi" rides, not only taking me to the town where I wished to go, but to the very doorstep I was seeking. The pinnacle of generosity was witnessed in this domain a few weeks ago while I was waiting in a neighboring village, trying to hitchhike back home. A gentleman I had met merely once stopped by the side of the road to ask how life was treating me. He then turned his vehicle around and drove me back to my village for free, even though he was headed in the complete opposite direction. Some may look at this as a small favor, and true it was merely 8 kilometers, but keep in mind that gas costs the same here as in the states, and your average teachers salary is less than $1000.00 a year.
Many of the other things I find to be nice sort of depend on perspective, but are pleasant for me none the less. A good example of this is the lack of street lights in the village. While this does make things difficult sometimes, and to reflect on the cause of this is a bit sad (mostly a lack of money for the bulbs and electricity, as the fixtures are all in place, rusting relics of the soviet period). I absolutely love the fact that I can see most of the stars in the Milky Way. One could argue also that people get along just fine without buring up all the extra kilowatts. In a similar vein, it takes a very long time via public transit to get to my village, and thus to other modes of transportation. I never have to deal with the noise and pollution of such conveniences though. I heard a plane fly over our village once in the 18 months I have been in Moldova, and it dawned on me what an unusual sound it was in this setting, we simply don't have the noise pollution here that is present in the city. The air is noticeably cleaner as well.
I can wax poetic forever, as those who have been subjected to my diatribes well know, but in short, I just wanted to say that no matter what amount of "baliga" you have to wade through in life, there are always positive things to appreciate if you just take time to recognize them.

Din Picate?

Pictures from the "Swearing In" of group 18. On the left, some of the new volunteers showing up their predicesors with their dancing skills, and on the right, my fellow MC Sam and I dressed to impress.
So, I feel that volunteers go through several stages in their service. The first is the “will I make it” stage, which starts before you even leave for the country, and lasts through training and the first couple of months at your work site. During those months, you enter the “I am useless” phase, where you believe that your fledgling language skills and lack of understanding of what the heck you are doing makes you a worthless bit of US government hardware. If you convince yourself that you can make yourself useful to the folks around you, then you enter the “why isn’t everything going the way I want it” phase, where you learn all the local intricacies of getting things done, and how the pace of things differs from what we are used to in the states. Once you have gotten all that under your belt, you enter the “I hope what I am doing is useful” phase, and the “oh my god, what am I going to do after this” phase. This can be intermixed with the “I will never get all of this accomplished” phase, or the “isn’t this over yet” phase, depending on your outlook on the world and how well you get along with the folks in your village.

There are of course many other mini phases and periods, such as the “do I really have to eat this” phase, and the “it’ll be warmer tomorrow” phase, but for now my brain is processing the experience in the aforementioned groupings.

Since the whole idea of Peace Corps is to essentially make itself obsolete, we are all kind of hoping that the programs we work with and the projects we initiate will be carried on. We always talk about sustainability of a project, and whether it will exist once the volunteer or ambitious local who started it moves on. In a way we are looking for a legacy. Not really a monument in our honor, or a plaque on the wall, but at least the feeling that everything you did won’t crumble to dust or be forgotten once you hop an airplane back to the states.

Thus I had a good shot to the gut today walking home with my assistant school director, somebody that I respect, trust, and consider a friend. She wasn’t being mean or cruel, just honest, exactly how a friend should be.

She had asked me about my host mother, who is also a teacher but works at the high school. I explained that she had lost many of her teaching hours because “Health Education” wasn’t being taught this year. She didn’t seem surprised by this at all, so I made the observation that probably most schools without PC volunteers were not teaching Health Education. She disagreed at first, but I countered by questioning if she though that it would have been taught at our school if I were not working there. She acquiesced to that point, nodding that most likely it wouldn’t have been added to the schedule without my presence. I decided to go a step further, and ask what she thought about next year, after my departure. Without missing a beat she said that the course would probably be dropped. We both immediately thought of my partner teacher, who of course will be without a job, and both remembered a conversation earlier that day where she joked about going to Moscow to look for work like so many other people from our village.

Those who have kept up with this blog since the beginning (all three of you), remember perhaps the last major shot in the gut we got for our program. “Life Skills Education” was made into a core subject last year, after much struggling and effort by PC volunteers and their partner teachers amongst a variety of players. Due to objections about some of the themes touched upon in the course it was struck from the list after about a month of classes. It was temporarily reclassified as optional while they decided what to do about things, but was dumped officially at the end of the year.

This year it was re-branded as “Health Education”, and again placed on the list of optional courses. We still don’t know what the fate of the course will be, but as there are no texts, no guide, and no curriculum, there really isn’t much for folks to object to.

I of course realized that the course would not be taught in every school as it was at the beginning of last school year, but I was hoping for a majority at least. The fact that it was dropped completely at our village high school I feel is somewhat telling though, as were my assistant director’s statements.

This brings me back to those “phases” I was talking about earlier. I had hit the “never get this all accomplished” point, but now am starting a backslide into the “I hope what I am doing is useful” phase.

I do realize that I may be overreacting a bit, but the combination of my own suspicions and a friend’s candid comments wrapped things up quite nicely. There is of course the chance of a huge policy reversal, or at least the chance that the schools we work with will continue to embrace the concept even after our departure.

It begs the question though of where to spend my time and effort. Do I throw myself into a program that I suspect is soon going to come to an unceremonious end, or do I focus on all the other bits that may lead to more long-lived results.

If this were a side project it would be an easy decision, but as it is my primary work responsibility it is something rather important. Not to mention that rampant alcoholism, a high percentage of teenage smokers, alarming human trafficking rates, and a blossoming of AIDS in eastern Europe all point to the necessity of giving the kids here a bit more education than they have been receiving.

Photo of the first bell ceremony at my school. 9th grader carrying a 1st grader through the crowd ringing the ceremonial "clopeţel"

In support of fighting for the program I came here for, I have come up with two big things to keep me going. The first is the simple fact that health education has been in a state of limbo here for a number of years, and it’s acceptance has moved in fits and starts. This may just be another bump in the road. As my experience with transit here has taught me, you can survive bumps in the road, even big ones and really big ones. We never know what the next year will bring, and the better a program we can develop, and the more people we can train to do the job all the better.

Two, and this is a good catchall motivator for all my pursuits as an educator, is the fact that we don’t really ever know who we are teaching, and what they will grow up to be. So, for arguments sake, we say that health education goes out with a whimper next year. That basically means that the only effect my two years of teaching will have had will be the knowledge imparted to a couple hundred students. What if we argue even further, and say that one of our classes prevented a young girl from getting trafficked, or prevented some kids from getting AIDS in their college years. You can even fantasize that one of your kids will grow up to be the next Thomas Edison, Madelyn Albright, or Gandhi. I mean, somebody was Einstein’s math teacher in grade school. Maybe you aren’t the person that gives such a person whatever it is that makes them so special, but if a first aid lesson inspires a kid to dream about med school, then all the better.

Some might think this is a bit absurd, but I guess it falls into the philosophy of doing the best you can because you never know what the effect may be. Nothing ever got accomplished without trying, so I guess we should give it a go this year and hope for the best. At the very least I will have fun (be embarrassed) again trying to teach 7^th grade girls about puberty without the proper pronunciation and vocabulary.

Back from my writing hiatus:

Despite what many may think, summer is a busy time for school based volunteers. Yes indeed we do get a break from classes just like the kids, but that just means that our time is freed up to be consumed by all the things we couldn’t accomplish with the burdens of school hanging over us. So, after a summer camp or four, frantically running around my village chasing grants, moving to new digs, baseball practice, meetings, trainings, ceremonies, and all the other stuff, here we sit on the cusp of a new school year. (Oh, I did sneak a wee bit of a vacation in too, longest I have ever been on, and still too short).

So, before we launch into a new school year, I thought I would share a few observations I was treated to over the summer. I had actually started to write about these chance meetings and conversations several times, but life intervened and I didn’t succeed in getting it all down on paper.

Last week though, I was in Chisinau, and experienced my first truly anti-American sentiment during my time here. Typically Moldovans have been very open and welcoming, and I have received nothing but blessings and kind words when they find out, much to their surprise generally, that I am not a Romanian with bad grammar, but actually from America. True, there have been the drunken old men that insist that I am a spy working for the Pentagon, as well as the people that screw their faces up and give me the “you're nuts” look when I explain that I don’t really get a salary for working, but by and large folks have been really positive.

So the other night came as a bit of a shock when, as leaving our office building, several rowdy locals began shouting, “Yankees go home” from their apartment balcony. They mixed in a few other choice expressions that they probably picked up from the latest Adam Sandler flick, or perhaps MTV, but their chorus was fairly consistent and unwavering.

We cast it off as juvenile taunting that was more than slightly vodka infused, but it does make you think what people would say should their polite and hospitable façade be retracted.

While traveling to work in another village this summer, I had one such opportunity, though unfortunately not from an actual Moldovan. This gentleman was a missionary from Ukraine, and spoke nearly perfect English. He picked me out as America by the fact that I have a beard (very un-Moldovan), and the fact that I had a conversation in English on my cell phone before boarding the bus. He struck up a conversation, and gave me what I felt was a fairly honest dose of his opinion on Americans and on the Peace Corps.

The conversation started by his inquiring what religious sect I was on assignment for, as most outreach programs do tend to be religious based here. I explained that I wasn’t a missionary, but rather worked for a branch of the US Government. He countered, rather rapidly actually that I actually was a missionary of sorts, depending on one’s perspective, just perhaps not of the religious ilk. I had to give him that point. Despite the fact that we try to respect the values and ideas of host countries, we are still here on a primary mission to challenge the status quo, to imbue new ideas to the populace. One could argue at first that we are merely trying to teach scientific things such as AIDS prevention and agricultural techniques, but we also are doing things such as challenging gender roles, social norms, and family values. Even talking about democracy is proselytizing in the eyes of some people, depending on how far you want to take the semantic argument. We are talking about possibly changing the whole social structure, and introducing new ideas into the values system, kind of like many religions do. I don’t agree with his point of view 100%, but I can sure see where he is coming from.

As I was reeling from begin called a missionary (not that there is anything wrong with that), he tossed me another curve ball, explaining that the US was in the middle of a campaign of “empire building”, drawing correlations to the Romans, the British, and even the USSR. He argued that we Americans are not going about it in the traditional sense though, by taking over areas and enslaving the population (thank god), but rather through cultural and social takeover of the developing world. His nonchalance at this comment was somewhat heartening, as he stated that he didn’t really think that this was a bad thing, but one of those “great power, great responsibility” situations. He seemed to be very pro democracy, and was very proud to be Ukrainian, espousing many things that he felt were going well in his home country, and great consternation that the same changes had not swept across the border into Moldova.

Unfortunately I can’t do our full conversation and his observations justice due to the gap in time since this occurred, and the fact that I was staring out the window half the time trying to be sure I got off in the right place (I had never been where I was going). Generally though, it was very interesting to be given a new and rather blunt perspective on America and the imprint we are leaving on the rest of the planet in our relentless pursuit of democracy (oil?).

On a more disturbing note, I encountered a chap in the railway station while on vacation. He actually started off the conversation by asking for money. I tried the best dodge in my book by explaining, in the local language and in a mode as ungrammatically correct as possible, that I didn’t speak the local language. Unfortunately, he simply switched to English and began a rant on America, assuming at first I guess that I was British, or perhaps Australian.

I didn’t enjoy this conversation nearly as much as the insightful banter I had with the Ukrainian chap. This guy was an EU citizen, and went off on a rant on how American was a war mongering state. I nodded my partial agreement, but tried to explain that not all Americans were in support of military action in response to world troubles, and that many in fact were not in support of the chain of events that have led to the current sad state of affairs in the middle east.

Unasuaged he bantered on , warning me of the readiness of the EU states to go to war with America WHEN we invade, not IF, not “in some weird delusional alter universe there might be such a possibility”, but “WHEN”, to quote him directly. I tried countering his arguments again, with some points about economic and cultural ties, and the fact that such action would basically spell the end of the world. He was unmoved, and continued his rant, luckily momentarily drowned out by the conductors call to board my train. I politely excused myself and shimmied on out of there. Granted this guy was a bit unhinged, but one wonders about our projection to the world that would give this relatively young man such an impression, especially since he is a citizen of a country we are currently allies with, and have never been to war with. Are we really that scary that people could possibly believe that we would invade Europe?

I’ll keep you posted. Time to get back to prepping for school.

La vacanta

Well, I just realized how pathetic my blogging has been of late. I haven't posted anything in the past month or more, and I really do have stuff I wish to pass on. The main problem is that all my free time is taken up in travel. I get these great mini vacations, of 4 to 6 hours all the time, it just so happens that they are on a bus taking me somewhere in Moldova.
So, the recap.
We finished the school year with much fanfare, graduating our 9th graders. Yes they are indeed graduates, as 9th grade is the last obligatory year of school in the great MD. Most kids go on to high school or college though, or perhaps a technical school. My older host brother for example(well, not really older than me, just old enough to not be in the house) has just finished college, and will be headed off to University soon. It is a different system than the US, but seems to work just fine, giving kids more choices in their education.
Once school ended I began the summer sprint. I have been working to help the newly arrived volunteers adjust to life in Moldova, teaching health in other villages, helping out at the new summer camp in my village, and prepping for lessons for English camp, which was a blast, and all too short.
I am about to be kicked out of the computer lab where I am working, so I will sign off, but I just wanted to let everyone know, who might actually still be reading this thing, that I am still alive and kicking, and I hope to get off to a new season of pictures and posts once I get back from vacation. (Yes, I am indeed on vacation, and I actually do have my camera back...wooo hooo).

Ce să fac?

Academic Honesty is the underlying theme of the summer camp I am working at this year. Yes, a bit of a stretch I feel, even if it is an academic camp. It should be fun to try and work this into my lessons on environmentalism and health!! Maybe I can squeeze it in when I teach them arts and crafts!A random Moldova shot. Horse cart in the forgound and Mac truck in the backgroud.

Why such an esoteric theme for the time when students actually get a chance to escape from the drudgery of school? Well, because what we Americans would refer to as “cheating” is rampant here in Moldova. Even in my class, which is an optional, ungraded course, the kids talked and copied from each other during the entire end of semester quiz. They looked at me like I was nuts when I yelled at them for cheating, and then decided I was worth ignoring as my partner teacher started to give them the correct answers. So much for using the quiz as a tool to gage what they had learned.

After this delightful experience, in which I almost left the school out of protest, I let the issue drop and concluded that this was one of those cultural battles that I simply did not have the time to tackle. The chemical addictions of my 7^th graders seemed like a slightly more pressing issue. Thus I ever so pleasantly avoided the issue until it was so rudely broached in our planning sessions for our camp.

Responsibility for the camp is divided between three entities, with Peace Corps Volunteers filling a third of the counselor positions. The rest of the staff is composed of Moldovan teachers and students. Thus our “theme of the year” discussion nearly dissolved into an international incident as we Americans asserted our ever so “correct” viewpoints. I will readily admit that we were a bit boorish in our posturing, and while there is a more refined concept of academic honesty in American educational institutions, we cannot put our students up on a pedestal. Folks still cheat in American, the difference is simply that it is generally understood that it is unacceptable.

This is the important point here. For most Moldovans, cheating is not an issue of moral contempt, but rather an accepted academic tradition. Most folks in my village couldn’t even really give me a word for the concept; they simply feel that the kids are copying from each other, which isn’t really that bad in their eyes. It’s like borrowing a cup of sugar from a neighbor. I know this for a fact because the teachers help their students do it. I have seen the technology teacher download encyclopedia entries, remove the reference notations, put a student’s name at the top, and then print it off for them to turn in to another teacher. My host “mother”, whom I hold in great esteem, generally does her son’s French essays and homework. She explained that he never really was that good at it, and she doesn’t want him to get a bad grade.

Back at the camp-planning meeting, after a particularly poorly worded comment by an American, I attempted to sooth the crowd with an observation. We are essentially looking at the difference between a collectivistic society and an individualistic one. While I realize that the issue is much more complex than this, it seems like a valid point. While we the uber competitive Americans compete to be at the top and to beat our peers, the Moldovans it seems look at it more as a competition against the system. My host mother has explained that the testing schemes here are too hard for the kids, and that if teachers didn’t help them cheat, then the students would all fail. My comment that at some point this would have to happen if they wanted the system to change went completely unheeded. She thinks the system will never change no matter what they do or say, and thus they have to do what they can to overcome. It is eerie how much this is a metaphor for life in general in a formerly communist country, both in the Soviet times and the present. No matter what stage in life you are at, taking a look around, it seems like the only ones that are getting ahead are the ones who are willing to be a bit morally flexible.

While our camp-planning meeting ended on a largely positive note, one could easily sense that feelings had been hurt. The Americans were riled up, because we had finally been able to vent the frustrations we had experienced in watching our kids trounce all over our moral sensibilities, but getting no backup from the Moldovan adults, and the Moldovans were hurt because we had lambasted their educational system and children. That and I feel that it is a bit difficult to hear that what you have accepted as a norm in your life is morally reprehensible in someone else’s eyes. It should be an interesting camp experience to say the least.

Fast-forward a bit to today, and I find myself in even more of a pickle with this issue. I have discussed this topic with my host mother, chiding her a bit for her indiscretions. She knows my opinions, and she knows that the last volunteer who was here told me to run and hide on the day of the senior English exam, because they would corner me and pressure me to do the kids exams for them. Thus I had been planning to take a little vacation on that day, and as luck would have it I actually honestly can say that I am occupied, as I will be traveling to the capitol to greet the next round of incoming volunteers.

I was completely ratted out though, and I now am looked at as a prick for not being willing to show up to “help” the students of my village pass their exams. My host mother and the village English teacher think that I am just making up excuses, selfishly withholding my knowledge to the detriment of their sons and daughters. Possibly ruining their chances for getting into university. I wish I was exaggerating, but this is what I am getting from the pleading looks and muffled comments of the faculty. As corrupt as the educational system is here, as with just about any other government entity, I don’t know how much of a stretch this dire straights evaluation is. Grades are commonly bought or garnered due to political influence or a family’s social status. I have even been told by Moldovans not to trust a doctor under 40 because they probably bribed the schools to get their license, whereas older docs where subjected to the rigorous soviet educational system. A bit dated perhaps in their knowledge, but at least they studied when they were in school.

So here I am...the prick, not having a clue how to talk my way out of this one. I have explained that I feel no matter how bad the system is, we cannot as educators promote a system that tolerates cheating because we are essentially saying the you can do whatever is necessary to achieve what you want in life, even if it is dishonest. As you can imagine, my moral high ground doesn’t compete much with a mother’s vision of her child working in the fields because they couldn’t get into a good university.

You would think that it was all solved though, I will be out of town...end of story...I can’t help them cheat. That was what I thought too until I was sent what is claimed to be only some “sample” questions to prepare the kids for the test, and a phone call begging me to write up a few examples before I leave. Curious though that my study examples aren’t needed until the night before the exam. Ce să fac?

Can you see the stars?

So a warning to the parents out there with their youngins away from home, this entry is a bit bittersweet.

For the past month or so, I have been on the run every weekend, either for the basketball tourney, or for a business jaunt into Chisinau. Today I stayed in bed reading until almost 9 though, and then got up to go play in the kitchen. Split Screen Sadness by John Mayer was on repeat as I made breakfast for my host family this morning. Granted, he isn’t Lennon, but even less deified artists can sometimes hit on the perfect words for the moment. I’m a sucker for song lyrics. I don’t know how I can be so blasé about poetry in general, but hang on ever word in a good song

A little back-story before I give you the lyrics that kept my brain mulling things over all morning. My family has a great tradition of keeping track of each other in little ways. I always liked how the homepage on my parent’s computer popped up with the weather reports for the various locations of their far-flung boys. No matter where they were. My location of course constantly changing up and down the Atlantic seaboard.

Before leaving I gave them a CD with this song, and the following lyrics “I check the weather wherever you are, cause I want to know if you can see the stars tonight”.....
While I never really had the access to the internet that would permit checking up on everyone, many a night in the woods or standing on a ship, I would look up and wonder if my family and the many friends I have been so fortunate to spend time with could see the same wash of iridescent pinpricks that I was marveling at.

Maybe there is something about the stars, and the ability of their light to touch so many. I remember being constantly frustrated in college by the street lighting, and not being able to see the heavens. Perhaps the reason for my irritation was that my connection had been severed. That may be a bit to mystic a thought for most folks, but as reality is really just our own interpretation of the world around us, I like to think that this connection exists.

So, to all my friends and family, from the Pacific Northwest, to the Midwest, to the Florida Keys and on up the whole Atlantic coast, I miss every darn one of you, and I can’t wait to see you in a year and a half (or sooner should you be flying to Europe any time soon). I know I am horrible at keeping up with folks, but if you haven’t heard from me in a while that doesn’t mean you are forgotten, or any less important in my life’s history.
If need be, check out the first stars of twilight back in the states. They are the ones that are slipping towards the horizon here whenever I take the early morning bus into the capitol, or head out for my run a dawn.

Fish roe crusted peanuts!!!

Yes, you read that right, I noshed on these delectable tidbits the other day walking to basketball practice. You would assume that so haughty a gastronomic endeavor as this would be a specialty item at an expensive store in the capitol city center. Nope, the local market in the middle of my village. The same place that really only stocks TP, Mayo, Chocolate, carbonated beverages, and alcohol. The cost was only about 40 cents too, what a bargain!
I didn't really pay attention to the packaging , not that the Russian letters emblazoned in yellow would have really helped me make the split second decision between the nuts or a sack of slightly sweet cookies that have been sitting in an open box for the past.....Who knows how long.
I have been studying the Russian alphabet for the past couple of weeks, so after I inspected the strangely coated yellow gobs in the packet, I figured I would at least give reading the label a try. I thought I understood, and the taste confirmed it, they really were the delicacy they claimed to be. Good thing I like fish eggs.
I spoke in my last entry about the things that I am thankful for, and I take this concept up again for a moment this week. I am thankful for my education...and for my experiences.
They say that education is the progressive discovery of your own ignorance. I wholeheartedly agree, and put forth that life experience is the best form of education. I won't insult the numerous tombs of knowledge that I have perused in my relatively short life, but nothing like experience can really open your mind.
I never had an appreciation for being illiterate until I came here. There were times that had been exposed to foreign language, but normally it was only a fleeting encounter, and had relatively little bearing on my life. Now though, as I go grocery shopping, and search for the necessities of life, I am constantly confronted with strange tongues. Shopping here has a much more international flavor, with products coming from almost every country in Europe. Thus the sugar comes from Germany, the baking powder from Poland, and a lot of other stuff from Russia. There are labels below the products from time to time, but a lot of times they are in Russian.
Not only are the words unrecognizable, but the letters themselves are as well. You can typically decipher something that is written in German, French, Spanish...etc. Russian though is another animal, with random weird (to me) symbols, mixed with familiar symbols that don't mean the same thing as they do in Latin script. One symbol is actually described as a "martian spaceship landing". Thus it is quite a humbling experience to be an educated (moderately) person, and not have a clue what flavor the bag of chips are on the shelf. Pictures don't always describe what is actually in the package.
Equally humbling is having to get a translator when I do computer repairs, because I can't understand Cyrillic error messages. Thus this (socalled) comp whiz can't fix a darn thing without a 12 year old at my side.
Thus, through experience, I have gained a minor glimpse into the life of an illiterate adult. Something I feel I would not have understood without living abroad. I also feel I understand a bit more of how difficult a situation this can be. After a week or so of studying the alphabet, I still make a multitude of errors, and I am moderately bilingual. Imagine how it would be for someone who has never read in their entire life.
Thus thanks again for everyone who has participated in my education. Multumita tie (thanks to you)...parents, grandparents, brothers, family, friends, teachers, coworkers, students, authors, museum curators, musicians, filmmakers, random strangers....and anyone else I may have failed to mention.
Mergeti in paci.

Thankful

Cathedral and bell tower in the central park of Chisinau

First off, a big thanks to all those who came to our aid for the basketball project. We started the season this week, with our home team earning a respectable 1 and 1 record in the first day of the tournament. We certainly aren’t the best out there, but my boys played hard and they played clean. I have been harping on them all year to play by the rules, and regardless of the behavior of the other teams, and the less than perfect refereeing (we volunteers were the refs), they stuck to their word and played like gentlemen. We still have our hopes to go the championships despite the loss, and we are definitely the dark horse “country” kids, with mismatched shirts, ripped shoes, and only five on the squad that made the 3-hour journey to compete. Regardless of the outcome, we have had and will have fun. Thanks everyone again for your support. Without the donations my team wouldn’t have had the funds to make it there, and this tournament really means a lot to these boys. I will keep you posted on how we do, and will put up some pictures once I get my camera back.

As for the rest of life, it just keeps marching on. We are still waiting on spring, which is ever so slowly ambling our way. We have had two false starts thus far, the last one being last weekend when all the snow finally melted, only to be greeted on Monday morning with 8” on the ground. It snowed at least a little bit every day this week before finally turning to rain on Friday. We were teased with sun and snow today, the sky failing to make up its mind, but at least it was dry enough out to put a few clothes on the line.

This of course means that I actually did laundry this week, a major event. Only the third time this winter. I have to admit to being largely spoiled here. Despite the fact that we don’t have running water in the house, we did have a jerry-rigged washing machine. My host mother suffers from fairly constant hand pain, thus prompting her to scrimp and save a few years back to acquire a LG Automat. This modern device doubles as a counter in the kitchen, and typically had been fed by a hose connected to a cistern in the attic that we filled as needed.

When the decision was made to go whole hog and try to get running water in the house, the hoses from the cistern were severed and the water system hooked up. This lasted a week, and was subsequently destroyed with the hard winter freezes.

We only heat two rooms in the house regularly, and the “bathroom” is definately not one of them (bathrooms in a house without running water make great closets). As the water system was surface mounted there, when the –20 days started to show up the system went rock solid, with ice creaping down the lines to the pump that we thought would be safe below ground level. As I haven’t done laundry for two months, you can imagine what the fate of our pump was.

Yesterday, haveing realized that I was wearing my last t-shirt that didn’t smell completely funky, I resigned myself to a morning of prune like hands. Not a horrible experience, though not my idea of a rip roaring good time. I have certainly washed things by hand before, but normally it is a pair of socks or a dress shirt that I really need the next day. I have never really washed what one would consider a “load” of laundry by hand.

Why have I decided to absorb some of the valuable electrons and disk space of the world wide web with this wonderfully mundane information? For the simple fact that it is another chance in life where I have gotten a window into the world outside of my pampered existence.

Most Americans of my generation have largely never had to deal with the daily rigors of life that are avoided by our modern conveniences. While I have adapted fairly easily to dragging buckets of water into the house for our needs, and relying on our constantly attended fires as a sole source of heat, this really didn’t stray that far from my experience of living out of a canoe for two years. Even for my 30-day wilderness expeditions I had the chance to come back home and chuck all my soiled stuff in the machine and forget about it. Two hours plus of dragging water around, heating it, scrubbing and twisting before finally trudging out into the snow to hang stuff in the weak winter sun certainly gave me a new perspective on the term “housework”. The grayish pond that remained after my final rinse didn’t really inspire much jubilation either. I certainly have a great deal more respect for my host mother and her stories of washing all the clothes for a family of four by hand.

Thus, I have had a mini day of thanksgiving on the coattails of St. Pat’s day. I am thankful for all that I have had, what I currently have, and whatever hardships I may be blindly protected from in the future. Even though I am “going Moldovan”, I still realize what a charmed existence I am living here, with no real worries about the expenses of life, a complete sense of job security (not like I can be fired), families on both sides of the pond that take care of me, and the ability to basically meander down whatever path I feel like pursuing in the name of lending a hand to the people of my village.

Making banana pancakes

My life here seems to be punctuated by sprints into the capitol for meetings and events. I began my service by saying that I would need to be dragged in kicking and screaming. While this has largely remained true, I underestimated the number and strength of the hands that would be dragging me.
Thus, I am reveling in the fact that I am in the weekend straddling a span endcaped by long bus rides. For two weeks in a row I completed the ritual of getting up at 3am to catch the bus in, and I will again be venturing forth into the darkness five days from now. One may question why I am whining about the opportunity to go where there are hot showers (ok, showers), different foods, and people that speak more than two words of English. Truthfully though, I much preferred getting up at a leisurely pace, making banana/pecan pancakes, drinking non dehydrated coffee (thanks for the care packages folks), and talking with my host family till 10 in the morning. A little language studying, and then off to what will hopefully be our first Saturday basketball practice.
Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing the other Americans at the office in Chisinau, commiserating about food drowned in sunflower oil, and being nagged about why we won’t take vodka shots at school at 9am. Perhaps it is only now, due to time and monetary constraints that I am tired of the city (which can be very expensive), but I truly do enjoy the fact that I didn’t do any packing this week. I may also be in such a mood due to my adventure to my regional center yesterday, which was capped off by a return trip aboard a bus built for 20, but carrying close to 60. Sardines, in fish or human form never really smell that great, even in sub freezing temperatures.
I also may just need a break from the reality of last weekend, in which I was in the city to say goodbye to a good friend whom I realistically had just met. This past week the other volunteer living in my village decided that he had eaten enough “placinta” (no that isn’t a misspelling of birthing “leftovers”, it is the Moldovan term for the filled fried dough the constitutes 50% of our caloric load, potatoes being the other 50%). Thus, with bags packed, and goodbyes said, he hopped aboard a Boeing with its’ nose pointed towards West Virginia. Though not before we had a few excellent meals in the city, and many discussions about “Why?” and “What now?”. Thus, by breaking the piggy bank for foods you can’t get in the village, we were able to bring some form of closure to his experience, and he was able to say goodbye to the rest of the volunteers. He heads home for a few months rest before another foray to a foreign land. He leaves behind more of an impact than he is willing to accept responsibility for. “Maladets” Jay, best of luck in the future.
Though I have become accustomed to goodbyes, with the weird and transient existence I have had, I realize more and more every day the value of connections that we make, and how little in common is really necessary to start a friendship. I value very much the friends that I have made in my short time here, and am not looking forward to that final meeting in Chisinau 18 months from now.
Off to study and then play a little b-ball.

Help for our basketball league

Howdy folks,
Just a quick posting that I had hoped to get up a while ago. Below is a blurb about the basketball league that is organized here by PC Moldova. We have a team here in our town, and are hoping to compete when the season starts in March. As we are one of the most far flung towns in the Republic, this is a very important grant for us. Just transport for my team to the city for competition would cost ~560 lei (roughly $50). Not that bad until you consider the fact that the monthly salary for a starting teacher here is almost the same amount.
My guys have been practicing since late October, even showing up over the winter holiday break, and are really excited to compete. I believe very deeply in the value of school based athletic programs, and consider this one of the most important projects that I am involved in. I know my academic career would have been much different without the chance I had to participate. Even if you pledge $5 that is huge for us. This is almost the round trip cost of transport for one of my players. No amount is too small.
Also, if anyone is interested in donating equipment to the league, let me know. We could always use more balls, pumps, replacement nets...etc.
.Just as a side note to how these grants generally work. This program is not simply a handout to the schools. Normally the benefactors of a Peace corps Partnership grant need to contribute 25% of the cost of the program (our actual costs for the B-ball league is ~$9000.00). Communities pay an entrance fee, and also make in kind donations. This may include gym time, coaches salaries, and utilities costs for facilities. Programs such as this are created in hopes of being pilots, urging greater participation and activity creation in the future. Once it is has been shown that a program can be successful, people are more willing to start similar organizations. Keep reading for details on how to donate.

From the B-ball grant flier.

The Peace Corps Basketball program was started in 2004 with the general purpose of giving kids in grades 8-12 who do not otherwise have a chance to play organized sports a chance to play several organized basketball games. This year we have 24 boys teams and 18 girls teams signed up to play. The will to play exists, but the money for transport does not. For this reason we seek external funding; to assist with the cost. We realize this is no small feat, paying to move 420 kids around a country the size of Maine to play a few basketball games is expensive and we can’t expect any single donor to fully fund such a project. What we do ask, is that people give what they can; $10, $20 or $30 dollars toward the total project cost of $6,108. We sincerely appreciate any contribution you can offer.

How to Donate:
1. Go to www.peacecorps.gov
2. **Click on **Donate Now*** (left side of the screen)
3. **Click on **Eastern Europe and Central Asia***
4. *Scroll down to “M” for Moldova*, you should see the basketball grant there.

New Years take II

Anul nou pe vechi (The old new year).

10 year old boys, dressed in grandma drag.... this is what I was greeted with when I went to visit my old host family in the central part of the country. Sounds kind of strange until you think about what kids in the states do for Halloween. Also just like Halloween in the states, kids run around from house to house, knocking on doors and getting treats from the neighbors. There were no ghouls or vampires, just kids dressed up as “babushkas” (grandmothers) and Santa. Later on the older boys from the village came around to each house to sing, reciting wishes of health and success for the New Year. They also receive treats, but with the addition of wine and a “colacul” which is a round, braided bread used in Moldovan celebrations.
It was nice to return to my training village. After a summer of sweating it out, literally and figuratively, learning language and sitting through lectures, it is nice to return and feel obligated to do absolutely nothing, save eat and drink “vin de casa”. My spot at the table has changed, and I am sleeping in the kid’s room now, but that just kind of makes it all seem even more like home. After a summer with me as a blundering mute, my family is well trained in my idiosyncrasies, including my eating habits. Luckily, unlike during most other visits to Moldovan homes, I am not constantly pressured to gorge myself into oblivion. They know I am aware there is more food than I can ever eat, and that if I want something I just have to ask.
I get to help with the cooking and dishes without a fight (the whole “guest” thing lasts about five minutes with them), and wind up making “sarmale/galuside” (stuffed cabbage leaves, the word used for this dish as well as the pronunciation varies depending on your proximity to Ukraine or Romania). They are delicious, though I shy away from drowning them in “smintina”, the ever-popular liquidy sour cream that takes center stage in Moldovan cooking (along with sunflower oil). I also get the treat of “moshdae” and “mamaliga”, the former a simple mix of oil, vinegar, and caramelized onions with garlic, the later a semi-solid corn mush that is presented as an overturned half-dome, and then cut with string. You grab a hunk of it, smash it on your plate, and mix it with whatever else happens to be for dinner. My former host father and I are the only “moshdae” connoisseurs, and thus happily and greedily absorb most of that. It is fun now that I can actually sit and understand the conversations that are taking place around the table. The admonishments lathered upon my nine year old host brother, and the teasing of my 17 y/o host sister about boys she is interested in, and her sprucing up for the “discoteca” tonight.
It is also interesting to note that despite the fact that I can understand and talk with them now, they fall into the old habits of the summer. I am politely ignored in conversations, not at all in a rude way, just the fact that in the past I hadn’t a clue of what they were saying. My former host mother also has the habit of explaining everything about my life to visitors and family, despite the fact that I am perfectly capable of doing so. This being obvious due to the fact that she wouldn’t know any of the info if I hadn’t told her. Questions directed at me are thus handled by my public relations manager, and I just get to sit around and listen and absorb.... just like this summer.
So, I hung out at my old house, ate well, and went to visit my surrogate grandparents, whom I am convinced are the happiest people in Moldova, and despite their age, some of the most beautiful people I have encountered. It is amazing what a decent smile can do for a person, especially in a land of down turned heads and scowls. I also got to have a couple of snowball fights, wrestling matches, and sample this year’s home made wine, something that doesn’t exist in my current village, despite the relatively small geographical difference (said somewhat tongue in cheek considering the 8 hour bus ride between the two villages). My host grandfather actually had crafted a very nice house white, a far cry from the sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet, purple “red” wines that abound. The only problem was that my sampling was done at nine in the morning.
No major news to report from them except for the fact that my former host dad is just weeks away from heading off for two years to Portugal. Due to the abysmal job market, most Moldovan adults will work abroad in their lifetime, this being his 5th foray out of country. He is going legally though, and thus will be able to return for visits. It is still sad though. I finally get a chance to talk with the guy, and it ends up being very likely the last time I will talk to him. The reality of almost half the nation being abroad is something that was reconciled a long time ago in my head, but this is the first time I have known somebody on this end of the excursion. Previously I had only experienced the happy homecomings or the dull ache of somebody absent. The anticipation of someone disappearing from our lives seems the hardest part to deal with.
I took the bus ride home, and then commenced dreading the first day back at school. Not that it is that bad, I just was enjoying the partial lack of scheduling, and not having to do lesson plans. All in all though, despite my reluctance, the first week went rather well, and very quickly. Only eighteen weeks to go till summer vacation. With the temp hovering around –20 right now, I am hoping those weeks keep trucking along. “Pe curind”