Close of Service

This is a photo from my last day at the youth council. Near the top, you can see my friend Alina holding the homemade "yearbook" the youth made me. As of tomorrow, I am forevermore a "Returned Peace Corps Volunteer." 

I've spent the last three days saying farewell to my life in Moldova. Rather than attempting to duplicate my two years of service now, I encourage readers to use the sidebars on the right side of this page to browse through my posts on youth development, my community, and Moldovan culture. This blog is my story as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Republic of Moldova. It exists to help promote Peace Corps' third goal of mutual understanding. If I've done my part, at least a few readers will have learned about the generosity, warmth, and beauty of the people that I shared about through this blog.

Please let me also recommend a few of my favorite moments in service to readers who happen to stumble across this page after I've stopped writing. 

[+] A Moldovan Wedding

[+] World AIDS Day 2010

[+] A local fundraiser

[+] Youth taking control of their futures

[+] A campaign completed

To those readers I personally know (or may be related to!): Thank you for your support! I can't wait to see you all soon and share more about my amazing host country. I'll probably be like folks in the video below, so be ready!

To the readers I am not personally acquainted with, thank you for reading. Please continue to leave your comments and help make this space a conversation!

La revedere!

Backyard Barbecue

At the last minute, I decided to host a cookout for American Independence Day. Doina (left) came to help me skewer teriyaki veggie kebabs and whip up a batch of homemade marshmallows. Thanks to a care package I recently received, I also served up smoked salmon on toast. I am happy to report that at the end of the night, two lonely marshmallows were all that remained. Since the kiddos made themselves miserable with sugary indulgence, they simply couldn't bring themselves to finish the last two nuggets of gooey goodness. 

My host mother couldn't understand why I wanted to host a party outside, and spent the afternoon fixing up the dining room just in case I changed my mind. Thankfully, by evening, she understood how much backyard barbeques really are better than indoor parties. Most of the neighbors stayed late into the evening, sipping wine, eating until only those two marshmallows remained, and socializing, despite that fact that the celebration fell on a Monday night.

Just when my host Mom started bragging about how this adopted daughter learned all the Moldovan customs for parties (meaning I arranged the food in a frumos or "beautiful" way and served up at least one dish containing mayonaise), I failed miserably. I was trying to offer people beverages. There was a table covered with house wine and beer that the neighbors brought with them, but no one was drinking any. 

"Melissa," said my neighbor, shaking his head, " you can't 'offer' people things. You have to give it to them!"

He's right. For the past two years I've sat on the receiving end of whatever my insistent hosts managed to put on my plate or pour in my glass. [Hint: always too much.] So, I picked up a stack of cups and a bottle of wine and made the rounds. For those that didn't want wine, I came back with beer. For those that didn't want beer, I came back with vodka. Finally, for the kiddos, carbonated water.

Making a spectacle of myself in this way garnered cheers and encouragement from my friends and neighbors, plus approval in the "like that, yes, good" statements from all sides of the fire. 

The next day I was riding a city bus and I heard my neighbor's voice. Perhaps she saw me before I saw her, but the sentiment is the same. I recognized her voice because she was telling another woman about this great party she went to the night before. This American girl served the most delicious kind of fish and cooked vegetables on the grill instead of meat.

I.LOVE.MY.NEIGHBORS.

High school graduation and prom

Rather than having a prom and graduation ceremony on separate occasions, the local high school orchestrates a one night affair to take care of both events.

In the school's auditorium, 94 graduates received their diplomas in front of their friends, families, and teachers. In Moldova, classes are divided up into small groups based on their track of study. For instance, classes 12-A and 12-B are "humanists" and 12-4 are "realists," which is a more science-based course load. Class 12-C is pictured above, receiving their diplomas from their homeroom teacher. After each class received their diplomas, they presented a few poems or songs. The homeroom teachers also spoke about their students, wishing them happy trails. 

After the ceremony, students, teachers, and even a few parents made their way to the fanciest wedding hall in town. I suppose technically, it's a "banquet hall," but everyone just calls it a wedding hall since that is the most important event in Moldovan culture. Here, Doina and I are waiting to go into the party. The flowers I'm holding were given to me by a graduate I don't even know. Practicing her English, she said, "We thank you for coming to our [high school]. Thank you very much." I reciprocated in English, congratulating her on her graduation. Later that night, my new acquaintance came in handy when looking for a friendly face in the hora circle (see video).

Like at Moldovan weddings, there was feast accompanied by live music, hora dancing, and a generally good party all night long. This video is a perfect portrayal of the night. 

I.LOVE.THE.HORA.

Recipe: Spicy Carrots

Spicy carrots/marinated carrots/sweet carrots are pretty much a staple in Moldova. You can buy a small package of them for around 8 lei (~$0.80). They are a delicious, sweet, and tangy side dish to any meal. Recently, my Ukrainian neighbor Tatiana taught me to make them from scratch. I promise you it takes no more than 15 minutes to make a whole kilogram of this wonderful deliciousness. By popular demand, I'm posting the instructions here. 

Step 1: Peel and grate your carrots. This particular grater was a gift from Tatiana, you can find them at any piata/market. What makes it unique is the squared form it gives to the carrots as you grate them.

Step 2: Heat the carrots in an oiled pan. Of course, our Moldovan friends will pour a centimeter of oil in the pan and call it a splash, but take control!  This goal here is not to cook the carrots per say, but soften them up a pinch. 

Step 3: Remove the carrots from the heat and put them in a large mixing bowl. Add as much pressed garlic as you can handle, salt, sugar, and vinegar. For one kilogram of carrots, I used two big pinches of salt (opa!), one tablespoon of sugar, and two tablespoons of vinegar. But Tatiana pretty much said, do whatever you like! I think you could also use garlic salt/powder easily too.

Step 4: Add your spices. At the piata in Balti (the indoor area), the woman in the center of the building selling mixed fruit and spices has a pre-made "spicy carrot mix." The label is written in Russian, but she speaks Romanian too. I think the mix is 80% paprika (does that really have flavor?), plus some thyme, sesame seeds, and pepper. I bought a few extra portions of this to take home, but again, you can put in whatever your taste buds desire!

Step 5: There is no step five. Pofta buna!

Stereotypes and Roma Culture Workshop

Understand: Like the word "gypsy" is used in English to refer to a Roma person with rather derogatory connotations, the word "țigan" is used in Romanian to refer to a Roma person who supposedly lies, cheats, and steals. 

A year ago, a girl at the youth council started a new relationship with a Roma boy and was teased mercilessly for it. Ignorance is rampant all over the world, no doubt about it. 

 Hence, a few Peace Corps Volunteers recently ignited a new effort specifically dedicated to increasing understanding and respect toward Roma people in our communities. This group calls itself RISE: Roma Inclusion, Support, and Education. 

Almost a year from the day I first heard that ignorant language at the youth center, RISE came to facilitate a workshop on stereotypes and Roma culture. The workshop required participants to learn definitions of key terms, identify their own prejudices, and learn about the Roma communities in Moldova.

All throughout the workshop, I could see the kids either a) wanting to believe whole-heatedly everything the facilitators told them, or b) wanting to argue every point the facilitators told them. Result you ask? Great discussions all around.

Here are a few of the key learning points, paraphrased:

Boy: I don't think this 'Roma' word is correct because I've never heard it. We say 'țigan.'

Facilitator: Roma is correct term. Ask a Roma person and that is what they will identify as.'

Girl: This is all so hard to believe because all our lives, we are taught that these people are this way, or do that. Then, when my father was taken advantage of by a Roma person, we say 'look, he's Roma and he did this.

Facilitator: But I bet a lot of Moldovans have also stolen too.

Boy: Discrimination means treating someone wrong because of who they are or what group they belong to.

Facilitator: You are going to be a great president some day!

Thank you, Moldova!

Among the attributes that makes Peace Corps a unique agency is the fact that we only go where we are invited. We work in partnership with local government and civic organizations at their request, not our own. 

Peace Corps' mission is to promote world peace and friendship. We do this by 1) helping people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women, 2) helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served, and 3) helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.  

In recognition of more than 1,000 Peace Corps Moldova staff and Volunteers' efforts to achieve this mission, Peace Corps Moldova was recently awarded an "Order of Honor" by Acting President Marian Lupu. 

According to Moldpres on 24 June 2011: "Acting President and Parliament Speaker Marian Lupu signed a decree decorating the U.S. Peace Corps in Moldova with the Order of Honor as a sign of profound gratitude for distinguished contributions towards economic, social and cultural development of the Republic of Moldova."

To me, the news this week serves as a reminder of that invitation to serve in Moldova. Moldovan people want us here to help prepare them for their future and foster cultural exchange. 

Thank you Moldova for your support and partnership!

Softball Camp!

 One of my colleagues in Moldova used to coach a girls softball team. Her team sent her a bag full of equipment recently, and she is traveling all around Moldova with it this summer--spreading love of the game one village at a time!

This week I traveled down south to Gagauzia and a neighboring raion to help out with a three-day softball camp. Waking up at 06:30 to go play ball before the heat melted us away was amazing. Three perfect summer days.

 On the first day we managed work in two sessions. One in the morning which Vanea (the boy squatting in the center of this photo) attended, and one in the evening, when Vanea came back with the rest of the boys pictured.

I have to say, I did pick favorites, the two small boys standing next to me (Dima and Vanea) came to the field with a soccer ball and quickly joined our game. They were quick learners and generally enthusiastic. Dima even took the opportunity to practice his Romanian with me. See the previous link for Gagauzia and you'll understand why Romanian is not his first language.

 The second day, the Peace Corps Moldova Volunteers headed to a neighboring district to teach another group of youth about the game. Most of the participants there are part of a sports club run by Coach Mihail (pictured in red). Here is where my colleague who's traveling around Moldova is really making a difference. Not only were the kids learning the game, but this educator took the time to understand the rules, wrote them down, and even kept score. Transfer of skills and knowledge? I think so!


The sports club boys are natural athletes and picked up the easily, but there were still a few reoccurring phenomena of note:




1) Moldovans often "squat" in a very low position when they are tired of standing. All too often this meant that the person playing second base, by which I mean ON second base, was seen squatting on his perch.

2) Lots of football/soccer experience creates certain habits. Catchers and shortstops alike were stopping grounders with their feet, then reaching for dead balls. One time a second baseman stopped a grounder on his shin, realized with sincere discomfort that he was not wearing shin-guards, and that he had a perfectly good piece of leather in his hand that might do the trick!

3) We had a particularly difficult time getting across that only one player can be on a base at a time. So, when a batter would round first, sometimes he's smash into a teammate still standing on second. Mass confusion would ensure as to which direction everyone was supposed to be going to avoid force-outs.

Finally, on the third day, we brought the kids from the first village, to the second village, and fielded a game between the two. Even though one village's team dominated the other, we still went on to mix the teams and play a few more innings before the day was done.

Big thanks to the organizers of this camp who let me be a part of it. I had a fantastic time! Multumesc! Spaseeba! Merci! Thank you!

Earning my stay in cherries

Here are some of the fruits of my labor this week (pun absolutely intended here). This morning I picked what I hope will be the last of the sour cherries, but chances are my host mom will find another sketchy ladder/branch combination for me to try out as we attempt to reach the highest fruits on our trees. Picking fruit for my host mom became my sole duty this week. 

It's one of those things you have to time just right. If you pick the sour cherries too early, then well...they are S-O-U-R! If you wait an extra day to pick them, they get too sweet, soft, and rot quickly on the branch. At least, that is what she tells me as I pick cherries from the highest rungs of our three-legged ladder and she eats to her heart's content from the bucket five feet below me. I did manage to fall off the ladder once this week...ouch.

On the plate, clockwise from the top, are the sweet, sour, and black cherry varieties I've harvested this week.

The fall from the ladder earned me an afternoon off, but the next morning we started again on the neighbor's sweet cherry tree. We didn't have to take our three-legged ladder with us, my host mom said, citing that the neighbor has her own we could use. Turns out, that wooden ladder has one leg and resembles a Pogo stick that can't bounce. 

Again, I worked while my host mom feasted. When a particularly soft and juicy fruit suddenly fell on her shoulder and left a red stain on her shirt (to which I was oblivious), she called up: "Hey, what did you do that for?" Then left me on the Pogo stick that can't bounce to finish the work. 

As I said in the post Weekend with the Popas, my friend Aura and I recently made a sour-cherry pie. Someone snapped this picture right as the serving began. A little juicier than desired, but the almond extract my Granny sent last fall made a great touch. Today, Aura's older sister has invited me over to help make a sweet cherry pie. Wish us luck, my pie crust skills leave much to be desired.

The scene at the last youth council meeting

Irinia: "We have an invitation to attend a discrimination seminar in Chisinau."

Cristina: "What's discrimination?"

Melissa: "Discrimination is when you deny someone something because of who they are. In America, we pride ourselves on being diverse and respecting one another. But that wasn't always the case. In an ugly part of our history, we didn't let black people have things that white people used. Now look, we have a black president!"

Marcela: "Oh, ok. Like sometimes that still happens to gypsies."

Melissa: "Yes, but let's call them Roma, not gypsies."

Thirty minutes goes by...

Colea: "Marcela, you are only 14 years-old. You cannot be a trainer at the leadership course because you are too young and no one will listen to you. I will not listen to you."

Marcela: "I may be young, but I am the only graduate of the leadership course on the whole district council! And, besides, I've already taught these topics at other trainings."

Melissa: "Colea, are you discriminating against Marcela because of her age?"

All: "Yea! You can't do that!"

Weekend with the Popa's

We'll readers, the end is near. The last post from Moldova is just about a month away, as I'll be jet setting for home, my kayak, and auntie time with my niece. 

While a few small projects and day events do remain, most of my engagements for the next month are of the social variety. Take last Friday, for instance. I spent the afternoon teaching my 14 year-old neighbor, Aura, how to make a sour cherry pie. We picked cherries in the rain, pitted them in the kitchen, and baked the beautiful lattice-topped pie in my one and only cast iron frying pan. [Eat your heart out Teflan!]

Through the rain and thunder, dressed in inadequate sandals, and laughing the whole way, Aura and I managed to get the warm pie to her house just in time to watch her father start the barbecue. Aurel may not have a gas grill on a covered patio over looking a fairway, but this flame torch seems to do the trick on those corn cobs. 

Despite the heavy rain and thunder, Aurel managed to grill up some tasty chicken while Angela tossed a salad with fresh cucumbers and tomatoes from their garden. Good conversation and house wine flowed as per usual at the Popa house. The Peace Corps Volunteer who lives there had two family members visiting from Kansas, so I spent the night trying to show how much there is to appreciate in Moldova, explaining inside jokes, and thoroughly enjoying my time with a family of Moldovans that has been so good to me these past two years. 

The Popa family then invited me, perhaps even insisted, to go with them the next morning to the capital city for their niece's graduation from dental school. 

My favorite quote from a graduate speaking at the podium: "We are going to accomplish such beautiful things that the only things that could be more beautiful are the clouds we will pass on our way to heaven."

Natasha's graduation from the State University of Moldova for Medicine and Dentistry was similar to graduation ceremonies in the United States. I appreciated how not every graduate walked across the stage to get diploma's, but they all stood at once together and changed their tassels from right to left.

 Despite the rain, we did our best to show Doina and Aura (far left and far right, respectively) some of the highlights in Chisinau's city center. This was Aura's first trip to the city. She's 14 years-old and the farthest she's ever been from home was this 90 minute bus ride. In this photo we are standing in front of a monument in the city center.



Spending this day in Chisinau watching Aura try to be independent, always walking at least 20 meters ahead of the rest of her family, reminded me that being an awkward, confused teenager is pretty much the same experience universally. Thank goodness that's just a phase!

At Doina's insistence, our last stop before heading home was to Moldova's largest pizza chain. Neither of the girls had ever eaten at this chain, but Doina insisted, "Andy's Pizza is the best pizza in all of Moldova."

I'm not supposed to write about politics

It would be unfair, inconclusive, and unsettling if I wrote about any of the electoral outcomes I have witnessed in Moldova. The mission of my organization is world peace and friendship. On a day-to-day basis, this rural youth-development worker is hardly ever impacted by the political climate of the country. I do not make any concerted effort to contribute to the marketplace of political ideas and solutions. I hear what I hear, read what I read, but tend not understand the implications of everything I'm told. I can practice empathy, but I'll leave economics of developing countries to the experts.

Yet, with local elections for mayoralties and city councils just around the corner, politics are starting to matter in the daily lives of my friends and neighbors. When I first started hearing the stories I'm about to share, my immediate response was to ask "What year is this?! How is this happening?!"

Thankfully, I took some time to unpack these stories and their implications before deciding to share them with you. I now understand my immediate reaction as ethnocentrism and ignorance at their worst. My reaction was ethnocentric because I recognized these stories as replications of history's hardships, and my socialization encourages progress to the point that we attempt (though not always successfully) to avoid those Polaroid-perfect hardships. My reaction was ignorant, because I though I have lived in Moldova for two years, American tax payers are very generous. Never do I think twice about buying bananas in winter, the Peace Corps doctors recommend it! Never do I worry about my house being cold, Peace Corps pays the bill! Though I have lived without many contemporary American comforts, it's not as if I truly had to make it on my own as my Moldovan friends and neighbors.

These stories were told to me by my host mother. Her political affiliation doesn't matter, because both of the political camps chose the methods she described. Let me say that one more time for clarity, both political camps are described below, using the exact same tactics.

First, she told me that our elderly neighbor (who would otherwise never leave home) took part in a political rally in a neighboring town this week. When my host mother questioned her about her motivates, she said the political party sponsoring that rally gave all the participants a chicken, fish soup, and half-liter of wine.  She took the food in exchange for her support of that party.

This is when that ignorant reaction came into play.

The next night, my host mother said the same neighbor admitted she is conflicted about her vote. She really needed that chicken from the rally and committed to voting for that party. But now a different party is offering other goods to potential voters. This party is giving away sacks with a kilogram each of rice, sugar, and flour.

Again, ignorance and ethnocentrism came shooting up my spine, flooding my thoughts with images of Stalin, Animal Farm, and the hammer and sickle icon still hanging on many public buildings in town. But I'll say it again, both political camps are using this exchange of basic commodities for votes. It is not as red as this ignorant American would have assumed. It doesn't matter what party gave my neighbor a chicken and what party might give my neighbor flour. The news merely hit me in that shocking way that stops one mid-breath without knowing precisely why or if it should. The kind of news one must commit to understanding immediately, or it will be forgotten just as quickly.

I suppose hearing this news startled me because I understood it to be wrong, and the exact opposite of the progress my culture promotes. But then I thought, it doesn't matter what I think, I am neither a beneficiary or victim of these tactics.

The only thing I can really know is that a beneficiary of these tactics (my neighbor) is confused, and a victim of these tactics (my host mother) doesn't blame the beneficiaries for participating, but yearns for progress she sees other countries making on the evening news. "How can someone who watches the news still think that giving away bread is something we do to earn votes in this modern year?" She asks, again and again.

I don't have an answer for her now, but try to explain that life isn't a sweet peach in America right now either. That's a lie. How can I honestly say that it's hard for the elderly in America right now too? How can I say medicine is expensive for them and that our government is arguing over how to care for them? I can't. Put in my neighbor's position, a chicken and kilogram of flour would sound pretty good to all of us.

Go ahead, call me privileged and pretentious. The former I am learning to accept, the latter is what makes people write blogs in the first place. 

GLOW workshop: "How to run a youth empowerment camp"

Meet Irina and Marcela, president and vice-president of the Local Youth Council. These two young ladies are standing in the Peace Corps Volunteer lounge the morning of GLOW's workshop on "How to run a youth empowerment camp." They wanted to attend this workshop to see what new ideas they could take back to the council for this summer's upcoming leadership course. 

Dozens of other Moldovan youth and Peace Corps Volunteers came to the workshop with similar intentions. School ends next Tuesday and then summer camp season will officially commence! This year, GLOW is focusing on a local day camp model, encouraging Peace Corps Volunteers to work with local partners to hold day camps in their communities. Day camps, unlike overnight camps, do not require transportation and boarding costs that sometimes prohibit camps from actually taking place. 

At the workshop, participants learned about the logistics of running a summer camp, how to finance a camp, potential activities, instructional topics, and the wide-range of resources available from our partner organizations. The workshop was an all-day commitment and the room was stifling, but enthusiasm remained high for most of the day. As with similar events, this workshop provided time and space for ongoing experience exchange throughout the day and camp organizers learned from one another's stories.

At the workshop, I facilitated a session on local fundraising. I've delivered this session five times in the last ten months, but I think this was my last. As it turns out, one of the Moldovan camp organizers and a Peace Corps Volunteer in attendance at this session heard my talk before and were able to tell me about their local fundraising efforts since we saw each other last. That feels good!

 

When I joined the local fundraising movement two years ago, things were a little more challenging. I'll never remember the first people to come "taste" our chocolate chip cookies, say thank you, and walk away without making a donation to our cause. But now, penny wars are one of the most popular ways to raise funds in a school. Benefit discos are organized for teens, tweens, and children alike. Local fundraising might be the only grassroots movement I've ever participated in successfully.

Once again, big THANK YOU to the organizers of this workshop!

Wedding negotiations

On my soon to be [host] sister-in-law's birthday, all gathered in her family's home for a six-hour dinner party that was much more about her upcoming wedding than her last birthday as a maiden.


In this first photo the bride's father is standing near the center of the table, offering a toast to the couple sitting across from him. He served this night's guests the wine that he will serve at the wedding, of which he has already purchased 60 liters.The couple he is toasting will serve as as the godparents of the newlyweds, an Eastern Orthodox tradition. It is their role to counsel the newlyweds, and with that role comes a few wedding day duties as well.

The negotiations were textbook:
Father of the Bride: "I want you to be really active at the wedding; give lots of toasts, lead dances, and basically never sit in a chair."
Godparent: "Well, I'm not much of a public speaker, but I can dance."
F: "Be really active."
GP: "How about the first speech and a few dances."
F: "Deal! I knew we could come to an understanding about these things. Let's have a drink."

After the meal with so many courses I lost track, and sometime after dusk started turning into dark, the mother of the bride (pictured above, third from the left) took the women on a tour of her home. After seeing the bedrooms, garden, and cellar, the tour ended in the kitchen where "woman talk" continued for a least an hour. Basically, until my host brother came looking for his bride (pictured above, second from the left).

The bride's teenage sister (first on the left), told me a few secrets about the dress she helped her sister find. She might be more excited than the bride, saying with great excitement, "She only gets married once!"

After dessert and a surprise serving of Greek coffee (they really should teach this to their fellow Moldovans), the bride's sister played a few pieces on the piano, much to her protest and Father's persistence.

Posh Corps: The [not so] rough life

 I recently spent a weekend at my host brother's vila (by which, I refer to a vacation home, outside the capital city, on a lake). It is experiences like this that bring to mind the "Posh Corps" label many Peace Corps Volunteers all over the world self-apply when their service fails to resemble the savannas and stricken poverty that appears so restlessly in Peace Corps promotional material.

The vila sits on about an acre of land, complete with gardens, a hammock tied between two cherry trees, the two-story house, a large covered patio, and a cellar full of homemade spirits. I wish I could tell you that the house does not have indoor plumbing, good windows, or electricity. But it really does have it all...and then some.

After three servings of sour-cherry liquor for breakfast, my feet took me just far enough to reach one of the big beds on the second floor. The walk in the woods and flower picking would have to wait until the afternoon. My host family says the vila is a place to relax, but like an amateur, I had not anticipated the relaxation to be substance induced. Silly me.

Perhaps I should have put this photo at the top of the post. Perhaps it could have hooked the reader. Perhaps it explains more about my host country's obsession with beauty and order than I or any other blogging volunteer could accurately convey.

Three men, one ladder without legs, and a  power tool.



All you need to know is, what happened to this tree to give it the look of pom-poms on a stick, was done to it on purpose. 

The annual family reunion: Memorial Easter

The Preparation
My neighbor, Zina, came to use our electric meat grinder the day before Memorial Easter. While I nibbled on a cabbage salad and she worked on her three-meat meatballs, she recalled her husband’s predictable words in the days leading up to a major holiday.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” He would tell Zina. “You are so busy making food for two days from now that you don’t have time to give me something to eat today!”

And such was the scene in our kitchen the day before Memorial Easter. Maria was fixing to stuff the lamb. A neighbor, also Maria, was wrapping cabbage rolls (sarmale). Zina went on grinding away at her pork, beef, and chicken mixture. I stuffed miniature crepes with sweet cheese and exactly two raisins each. Eventually, my host mom gave me the order to make a cabbage salad for us to eat while we worked.
Celebration in the city

The morning of Pastele Blajinilor (Memorial Easter) we raced to the cemetery in our town. The priest was to arrive around 09:00 and Maria was anxious to get her husband's grave blessed as soon as possible so that we could make it to her village celebration as well. We succeeded in getting our grave blessed first because of my host brother's close friendship with the priest's son (uh, Catholicism take note?).

In the photo above, people are lined up around a long table with their food and wine, ready for it to be blessed and offered to others on behalf of the souls of the departed. Eastern Orthodoxy dictates that the fate of the souls of the dead are the responsibility of the family. Rituals are carried out on behalf of the dead to assure their eternity in heaven. 

Celebration in the Village

Throughout this post, readers might notice the tables and benches in the cemetery. Typically, each family has a table near the cluster of gravesites they maintain. Here's a shot of my immediate family and host cousins in the village cemetery.

We stayed in the cemetery for a few hours visiting with cousins and taking part in the rituals. Each grave is decorated with bowls of bread, candy, and red-colored eggs before the priest blesses the grave. Then the family gives away these bowls, often accompanied with a shot of wine, "on behalf of the soul of [insert name]." Thus, many Peace Corps Volunteers in Moldova will tell you this holiday is something akin to trick-or-treating. I always go home with a small collection of dishes and stash of chocolate treats. 

Just like last year, we spent the afternoon at Granny Liuba's house. We had a huge meal, and spent the afternoon relaxing, playing games, and watching my three-year-old host-nephew plant onions in the garden (see above slideshow captions for commentary). 

In this picture, Vitalie (my oldest host brother) and I are playing with our food. It's a simple game, smash your boiled egg on someone else's and see whose egg implodes. Yet another thing America kids miss out on because they prefer those plastic colored eggs instead of the regular ones. 

Misha's 40 Day Praznic

My neighbor passed away on March 22nd. He was only 50 years old. As per Eastern Orthodox custom, we held a feast in his honor on the day marking 40 days since Misha's death.  

Alina, Misha's daughter, knocked on our door at 09:00, inviting us to the feast that was about to begin. Just then the priest came to bless the home. By 09:15, we were taking our first glass of wine toasting Misha, "May God forgive him. May we live to memorialize him."

Given the early hour, our hostess was not too persistent with wine, though the World Health Organization's recent assessment of Moldova as the world's largest consumer of alcohol did come up in conversation. Usually, people tell me the report's not true: "How could they know how much I take from my cellar?" or "But  what about the Russians?!" But on this morning one woman offered a completely original response. With a single shake of her head and her right hand passing from one side of her body to the other she said, "Eighteen liters? That's nothing."

Not that Praznics are usually happy feasts, but this one was particularly tough to swallow. The room was just barely filled with our neighbors and Misha's colleagues from the local water-bottling plant. But his son is away in Siberia, working. His daughter is home caring for her ill mother, despite she herself having a rough time with her first pregnancy. Misha was the glue that held that family together, Dumnezu sa l-ierte!

Sour Cherry Blossoms

Adopted by another community

I just got back from a week down south, helping implement a World Map Project. A fellow volunteer started this project just before she needed to leave the country for a family emergency. So while I went down to  help her partner (Liliana) finish the project, her whole community essentially adopted me as their own for the week. More times than I can count, people called me by the former volunteer's name rather than my own--a sure sign that she is missed!

I arrived the Monday following Easter, better known as "a doua zi de pashte" or "the second day of Easter." No one goes to work on the Monday following Easter, it too is considered a holiday. Thus, upon my arrival in the village at 17:00, Liliana and I immediately went to the Baptist Church where her husband (Roma) is the minister.

Ninety-seven percent of Moldovans are Eastern Orthodox. Protestant churches are both rare and grossly misunderstood. Most Moldovans say that the Baptists are not Christians. I've challenged this point a few times, but usually for the sake of not making enemies in my community, I look for an exit from the conversation before my opponent gets too dedicated to the argument.

This was my first time being invited to a Baptist church in Moldova, though I have always wanted to go and see how it compares to the Orthodox services. At the Orthodox services, practically everything the priest says is sung. Words are modified to rhyme and reflect a more perfect meter. Though I tend to understand the meaning of things, never have I understood word for word what was being said as I did at my visit to the Baptist church. What a thrill it was to understand, word for word, the Easter stories in a language as beautiful as Romanian!

And so went my week. Tuesday we went to the forest for a picnic with many of the Baptist ministers from the region, and their families. I understood everything that was said, and unlike the Orthodox Moldovans, who attend to rituals more than anything else, my hosts actually picked up their Bibles and read passages for themselves. I understood the words of the prayers before we took every meal. I understood when the pastors discussed their youth programming, fundraising strategies, and outreach efforts. It was everything you think a church picnic would be, just replace your English with my host country's Romanian.

When I wasn't at the school working on the project, I spent most of my time with Liliana and Roma's family. We visited Roma's village where I met the mayor, Roma's family, and visited the local pasta factory. We watched YouTube videos, ate really quick meals because we were perpetually running late, and drank evening tea. I fell absolutely in love with their two-year old, Diana. Last time I saw her (November 2010) she was so shy she would barely look at me. This week, the case was exactly the opposite, as I started responding to calls for "Tanti Melissa."

Given that Liliana and Roma have a full house, I actually spent my night's at another family's house. A very large house for a very large family. I participated in their second day of Easter feast. Since many people weren't eating meat in the weeks leading up to Easter, I think people are going a little protein crazy these days. On Monday alone I was served the following meats: roasted duck stuffed with fruit chutney, stuffed goose, egg-batter fried chicken, pork stuffed cabbage rolls, and roasted lamb.

My host adamantly insisted that I drink (and like!) his house wine. With only a single ingredient, grapes, he said it's the best juice around and sent me home with a two-liter bottle of his two-year-old white wine on the condition that I tell you all that wine in Moldova is delicious!

Finally, on my last night in the village, I visited my friend's former host family. Luda, the host mother, is particularly upset that her volunteer had to leave so suddenly and misses her very much. We spent the night eating all of that volunteer's favorite foods and recalling stories of her time and work in the village. They hope to have the chance to host another volunteer soon. They wanted to have their picture taken with this teddy bear the volunteer left behind, which the grandson now adores and dresses in his own clothes. 

The day I left the village was, again, a family affair. Five adults and two kids total, we squeezed into a sedan that we push started more than once. Took it as far as the district center, where we swapped vehicles with Roma's brother. Taking his van in exchange for the car, we proceeded on to the capital city where Liliana and Roma had errands to run. 

A trip to the city is an adventure for the kids, and we didn't part ways until after we celebrated (much to the children's benefit and delight!) the completion of our project over pizza, soda, french fries, and ice cream. 

World Map Project | Proiectul Harta Lumii

When a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer had to urgently leave the country, she wasn't able to finish the World Map Project she initiated in her community. The World Map Project is a worldwide Peace Corps initiative that began in 1988. A Volunteer in the Dominican Republic was struggling to teach her geography lessons without materials, and thus resorted to painting the map directly on the wall of her classroom.

I traveled to my friend's former village this week to help her community implement the project. Through a penny war, the students raised close to 300 USD, enough to re-finish a wall and buy all the necessary supplies to paint a map in their main corridor. Though I was rather intimidated by this project, my friend's former partner (Liliana) and I found the Peace Corps' World Map Handbook extremely easy to follow. We even finished the project hours ahead of schedule.

We spent the first day reading the manual and organizing our plan. Day two we made a grid on our map to make the sketching of the countries practically fool-proof and started painting. According to the manual's color-coding, Russia was painted yellow, Ukraine red, and China pink. If you are eager to make a political joke about the color coding, too late. I've heard them all this week!

By the end of the third day, we had every country painted and came back the next morning to make last minute touches and let two girls from the eighth grade scribe the names of each country.

I could not be happier with the results of this project. I was a skeptic at first. Had no idea what I was doing. How could I help with a project I knew nothing about? But now I am seriously considering doing a World Map Project in my own community. I owe a big THANK YOU to the other volunteers who gave me advice along the way. You know who you are!

Easters in Moldova: Two beautiful days

For the play-by-play of Orthodox Easter, click over to my post from last last year. I hope that post and the pictures below convey the high regard I hold for Orthodox Easter in Moldova--two of my favorite days in my whole service. The Easter customs and traditions in this faith community are some of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.


Think of a family-friendly Christmas movie in which, perfectly, the entire town carries candles to the central square and carols around a large Christmas tree. Fast-forward from that scene to Easter, and there you have it. Easter in my community means that the church courtyard is filled with warm smiles, anticipation, and candle-light.

It means that adults and children alike will squeal when the holy water landing on their faces chills their bones. It means the number of meals in a day will double. It means that sun will shine (at least that has been my luck) and we will go to the cemetery to be with those we loved and lost. It means we will greet an unusually high number of strangers we pass on the way. This is Easter in Moldova.

*Big thanks to my host brother, Sergiu, who spent his last two Easters teaching me everything I've shared in these posts. Merci mult, Serji!

Hristos a înviat! Christ is risen!

Easter is the most important holiday in Moldova's Eastern Orthodox Culture. About two weeks ago people started "Easter cleaning" in their homes and gardens. Not one tree trunk has gone without white-wash, not one carpet escaped a beating. Furthermore, the most devout have been on a 49 day "post," meaning they have adhered to a strictly vegan diet. Not many made it the whole time, my host brother did, but my host mom just picked out a few of the more important days to participate in the post. Again regarding the big build-up, Maria and I began cooking on Thursday. Basically, she does all things meat related and then sits me at the table to slice home made egg noodles, throw together "salads" of various varieties, and build this cake made of alternating layers of a thin wafer and sweetened-condensed milk with walnuts. In this picture, Maria is preparing one of the two Easter breads.

Friday, things kicked into a little higher gear and Maria recruited me to offer up some manual labor at the bread factory where she is an accountant. Everyone was pitching in for the Easter preparations, no matter one's exact title. We had been trying to find a way for me to go to the factory during the work day anyway, to observe the conditions of the workers. I am at a loss to provide a metaphor or simile that characterizes the factory correctly. The massive structure is 70 years-old, the high ceilings are supported by fading blue-tiled walls, a breeze inevitable blows the poorly constructed and aging windows, and the natural light from the opaque windows on the ceiling and the few bare light bulbs in various crevices of the factory combine to form a dull, stale illumination.

Working in the assembly line, the chatter was simple and anticipatory of the coming celebrations. I fielded lots of questions about how we celebrate Easter in the United States. My answers to these questions always begin with "it's different for every family." The similarities are evident, celebrating spring, preparation of more food than is remotely necessary, and spending time with family. But the fact that Easter isn't a religious holiday for some families, or that in fact there are families and faiths that don't celebrate Easter at all is a bit more challenging for Moldovans to grasp. Completely understandable considering how long their borders were literally locked.

Finally, preparations being complete (including these eggs that we dyed using only boiled onion skins!), Easter celebrations actually commenced on Saturday night. Some, particularly groups of men or teenagers, built bon fires in fields with the preferred pyrotechnic being scraps of old tires. As my host brother, neighbor, her boyfriend, and myself left for Church, we could see the fires' glow on just about every hill surrounding the town.

The four of us arrived at the Church about 11:30 pm, and wiggled our way to the front of the room. A few candles had already been lit and although you can not see the choir, they had already begun to sing...And then the clock struck mid-night.

It's not really worth it for me to compare the experience that followed to anything in the United States. First of all, fire marshals would never allow that many people (holding candles nonetheless), crammed into a room with one exit. So instead, I'll just tell it like it happened--they turned out the lights!

There we stood, in the dark. Not one candle lit, not one light bulb providing, crammed like proverbial sardines. I don't know if it was because I just finished reading a Dan Brown novel with a claustrophobic protagonist, or because I am an uptight American, but my heart rate noticeably quickened. Breathing became shallow. And I suddenly became acutely aware of the absence of green "exit" signs flanking the building.

This part probably lasted only two minutes, thankfully, before the priest started the official ceremony. He then entered the sanctuary from behind the closed doors of the altar caring three candle sticks and told the people (it was only my second time in a Moldovan church, but my first time actually understanding what was being said!) to take in the light of Christ. The front rows of people rushed to light their candles from his larger three, and within moments the light had been shared all the way to the back. My host brother, Sergiu, was the one that informed me how true the priest's words were. Apparently, the flame is a descendant of the eternal flame in Jerusalem. Last week the Moldovan government lit a descending flame, transported it in a plane to Moldova, whereby every region then took a flame, and shared it upon the people all across Moldova. My first reaction: what a beautiful celebration. My second impression: hmmm...not quite separation of church and state. Unfortunately, I like both reactions equally.

After taking our flames outside and walking around the Church three times, we went back inside for four more hours of fellowship. No typo folks, four more hours we stood listening to the choir, repeating some rituals, and listening to readings. This video is a sample of an event that took place several dozen times over the course of the night. [Translation: Hristos a înviat! Christ is risen! Adeverat a înviat! Indeed, he has!]

Around four o'clock members of the congregation took communion and we headed outside to prepare for one last ritual. I have been wanting to note that while I have much respect for these so strictly adhered traditions, there were many events throughout the night that not even my very religious elderly neighbors could explain. I will keep asking.

For my town of about 14,000 people there is only one Orthodox Church. So when we eventually headed toward the exit, I expected there to be a line of people out the door. Earlier I had observed speakers that relayed the events inside the church to the courtyard. However, what I didn't expect, was 1,000 people (Sergiu's estimation) surrounding the church with their picnic baskets and candles that continued to share the flame from Israel. At this point Sergiu leaned in and said, "if you thought it was interesting at mid-night, just wait. Va fi mai interesant. It will get more interesting."

This last film pretty much relays the events. The sloppy ending is my attempt to not let my camera get doused, even in the holiest of waters. With the water, the priest was both blessing us (to be well behaved) and the food in our picnic basket. As per the etiquette, we will continue to eat from this blessed food for three days.

...Which is what we did immediately after arriving home at 6 o'clock Sunday morning!

Vă doresc un Paște fericit pe toți, și săbarotile cum doriți și daca doriți!

I wish you all a very happy Easter however/if you chose to celebrate!