Well, now that it looks like the snow has begun to melt and the sun is gracing us with its presence for a few moments more with every passing day, I suppose I can now reflect on a winter in Moldova.
*Insert hopeful spring-is-coming dance here*
For those of us volunteers who come from the northern part of the US winter is not a terribly big deal, an inconvenience, yes, a big deal, puh-lease. So, I was enjoying the 'mild' winter, waiting for the dreaded snow and cold that volunteers who have lived here longer promised would come. Well, it came. It waited until February but mother nature made sure we had our fair share. I just think of her sitting up wherever it is she sits laughing her rear side off at all of us suckers having to deal with it. Thinking about it now the accumulation wasn't that great. All in all we probably got about 5 feet taking into account melting. I'm not saying five feet is a lot of snow, I'm just saying its a different sort of experience getting snow in a developing country than it is getting snow in my beloved NH. In NH, we have snow plows that happily chug along all night long making sure our drive to work is as simple and safe as possible. In Moldova, the sun is the snow plow. Driving to work in winter means going to the car 10 minutes early, starting it and blasting the heat. Walking to work in winter means bundling up in about six layers of clothes, strapping barbed webs on the bottom of ones boots before making the 2.5 mile trek to work. No, winter at home is not equal to winter in Moldova.
Some people have come up with interesting ways to deal with the cold of winter. My personal solution includes a base layer of spandex/polyester that never is removed from my body. Other volunteers have their ways of getting through a bitterly cold day. One of my favorites is a volunteer who made the smart investment of buying a Turkish heating blanket that she lied down under the sheets of her bed. She fondly refers to the blanket as her Turkish boyfriend...talk about getting hot under covers. The bus system, too has an interesting approach to heating. I was shocked when I hoped on a bus to get a ride to the station in my town and realized after I got on the bus that it was being heated by an open-flame contained fire. No, I don't think that would meet the safety regulations in the US. But hey, what says adventure more than worrying about exploding going over a bump on the road?
The two main heating systems in Moldova are both gas and wood burning. The stove used to heat the home is called a soba, many homes still rely solely on this heating system. Gas is available but, is imported from Russia at a high premium and is often more expensive than most families can afford on their salary. This brings new light to my dad's strict 65°F policy. Pff, 65° that's tee-shirt and shorts weather.
Fair warning, the following refers to the bathroom situation. Great, well you have been warned. But, before I end my post I figure it wouldn't be complete without a mention of the outhouse in winter. Now, if you are fortunate volunteer like myself, you have indoor plumbing that has held up in these long winter months. Some of my friends are not so lucky. This leads to what we like to call the poop pyramid, a frozen mass of fecal matter that must be gone at with a long solid object so that the hole does not run over.(You are welcome for that visual ;) ) Also, the small room can become quite slippery if you don't have perfect aim when it comes to #1, which I don't. Let's just say any part of my body falling into that hole, that isn't meant to be going into that hole, is one of my worst nightmares. And there you have it, a short glimpse into some of the differences between the happy porcelain thrones we have at home, and the bathroom situation in Moldova.
Here is to hoping that Spring is near. Martsisor is a Moldovan holiday on the first of March signifying the start of spring. You give a ribbon pin with a red flower and a white flower to all the people in your life. It is symbolic for a bountiful and blessed coming season. I have stocked up on my ribbons, let the pinning begin!
All for now,
Happy Leap Year everyone :)
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Host Daughter
One of the similarities that spans across all of Peace Corps is living with a host family. Every volunteer, that I know of, spends at least the first few months of their service with a host family. Many volunteers choose to stay with their host family their entire two+ year service creating a bond that not many people will ever get to fully understand. Today, I will explore this unique sort of relationship with you.
As a host daughter I have lived with three families. One family during my training, one family at my first site, and now my host family at my permanent site. These families consist of host country nationals willing to open their homes to us Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs).
When I arrived at my first family, my training family, they quickly ushered me in to the house, set me up in my bedroom, and shut the door. I was confused, am I supposed to stay here? This was my first night in Moldova, I didn't know any Romanian, and the one greeting they had taught me on the bus ride to the village I had already forgotten. I quietly opened the door but, stayed in the room reading a book. One of my host sisters walked by the room, I looked up and smiled, she shyly smiled back and proceeded to close my door. For the next week I would try and leave my door open. As a previous resident assistant I know that leaving your door open invites community building, and even though I couldn't speak the language I could awkwardly smile, and that's better than nothing, right? Every time I opened the door a member of the family would come by and quietly shut it. I wondered why they were doing this. I wondered if it was my fault, if I wasn't trying hard enough. A few weeks in, and my door still being shut, and my confusion mounting, I mentioned it in one of my classes. Surprisingly I learned, that in the host family training the families are taught that the biggest difference between Americans and Moldovans is our need for privacy. They were taught that above all they were to allow us to have alone time, to not disturb us if we were in our rooms, to let us live the way we are used to in America. So, my door was being shut because my family was nervous they would be disturbing me if they spoke to me, or entered my room. After learning this I couldn't help but laugh, they would shut my door and I would get up and open it. They must have thought I was crazy, playing this weird game of cat and mouse with my bedroom door. I quickly learned the phrase "I want to keep my door open", their confusion was lessened when I added "I like seeing you". It was a small oddity in our relationship that was easily resolved but remained as a funny adjustment cork you would never experience in a hotel or hostel, a unique quality of a host family.
To the families back home in the US, you should sleep comfortably knowing your loved one is being well taken care of. Less than a week after I moved into my permanent host family, my host mom was referring to me as her daughter. And, as a daughter I am held to the same responsibilities as any member of the family. I am to tell host mom when I am leaving, where I am going and when I am returning. I am bundled up in the cold like a person entering the great abyss of Siberia. I am scolded when my rubber rain boots are found with snow crusted on the heel because "Brittany, those are not appropriate winter boots. Your toes will freeze and they will have to cut them off". I am given the parts of the chicken that 'the Americans like'. I am coached along at dinner parties by my host mom, who is the only person in this country who somehow understands my Romanian and I hers. Life with a host family quickly allows you to create a unique bond, a mutual understanding, and face a challenge with great reward.
But, at the end of the day these families are opening their entire lives and hearts to allow us volunteers an opportunity to live a life in line with their culture. Other than a meager stipend, all these families have to gain is the constant presence of a person who is often confused by everything, and stumbles around the language and community until they are able to find their own unique grip.
For us volunteers who enter these homes we are reminded of the innate good of mankind. We are shown the beauty of a new culture through the eyes of its people, and from these experiences we gain so much more from Moldova than we could ever hope to give in return.
As a host daughter I have lived with three families. One family during my training, one family at my first site, and now my host family at my permanent site. These families consist of host country nationals willing to open their homes to us Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs).
When I arrived at my first family, my training family, they quickly ushered me in to the house, set me up in my bedroom, and shut the door. I was confused, am I supposed to stay here? This was my first night in Moldova, I didn't know any Romanian, and the one greeting they had taught me on the bus ride to the village I had already forgotten. I quietly opened the door but, stayed in the room reading a book. One of my host sisters walked by the room, I looked up and smiled, she shyly smiled back and proceeded to close my door. For the next week I would try and leave my door open. As a previous resident assistant I know that leaving your door open invites community building, and even though I couldn't speak the language I could awkwardly smile, and that's better than nothing, right? Every time I opened the door a member of the family would come by and quietly shut it. I wondered why they were doing this. I wondered if it was my fault, if I wasn't trying hard enough. A few weeks in, and my door still being shut, and my confusion mounting, I mentioned it in one of my classes. Surprisingly I learned, that in the host family training the families are taught that the biggest difference between Americans and Moldovans is our need for privacy. They were taught that above all they were to allow us to have alone time, to not disturb us if we were in our rooms, to let us live the way we are used to in America. So, my door was being shut because my family was nervous they would be disturbing me if they spoke to me, or entered my room. After learning this I couldn't help but laugh, they would shut my door and I would get up and open it. They must have thought I was crazy, playing this weird game of cat and mouse with my bedroom door. I quickly learned the phrase "I want to keep my door open", their confusion was lessened when I added "I like seeing you". It was a small oddity in our relationship that was easily resolved but remained as a funny adjustment cork you would never experience in a hotel or hostel, a unique quality of a host family.
To the families back home in the US, you should sleep comfortably knowing your loved one is being well taken care of. Less than a week after I moved into my permanent host family, my host mom was referring to me as her daughter. And, as a daughter I am held to the same responsibilities as any member of the family. I am to tell host mom when I am leaving, where I am going and when I am returning. I am bundled up in the cold like a person entering the great abyss of Siberia. I am scolded when my rubber rain boots are found with snow crusted on the heel because "Brittany, those are not appropriate winter boots. Your toes will freeze and they will have to cut them off". I am given the parts of the chicken that 'the Americans like'. I am coached along at dinner parties by my host mom, who is the only person in this country who somehow understands my Romanian and I hers. Life with a host family quickly allows you to create a unique bond, a mutual understanding, and face a challenge with great reward.
But, at the end of the day these families are opening their entire lives and hearts to allow us volunteers an opportunity to live a life in line with their culture. Other than a meager stipend, all these families have to gain is the constant presence of a person who is often confused by everything, and stumbles around the language and community until they are able to find their own unique grip.
For us volunteers who enter these homes we are reminded of the innate good of mankind. We are shown the beauty of a new culture through the eyes of its people, and from these experiences we gain so much more from Moldova than we could ever hope to give in return.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
White Winter
A blanket of snow has covered Nisporeni.
It is cold.
It is winter.
My bed looks warm and inviting.
Good Nigh...Zzzzz
It is cold.
It is winter.
My bed looks warm and inviting.
Good Nigh...Zzzzz
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