For the past several days children have been going from door to door armed with bells and other noise makers and singing, or in most cases, screaming non-comprehendible ditties. In exchange for their carols the children expect, and vehemently demand money and/or candy. Let me tell you, these little lambs hold no reserve to giving you the death stare when you don’t dish out their desired reward. It wasn’t that I was unimpressed with their enthusiasm- I was simply wiped out of petty cash after two spontaneous choirs had come to the door and mopped up. After several rounds of dirty looks when I came up empty handed for subsequent groups I decided to Ebenezer myself out of St. Vascile’s Day and let them pound away at the door while I read a book inside.
Upon waking up this morning, I stumbled out of my warm bed and groggily dragged myself into the kitchen anticipating a large, steaming mug of instant coffee. Before I even had the chance to fully open my eyes my host mother showered me with rice and wished me luck and much success for the New Year. My Romanian doesn’t click in until at least ten minutes after my mind has gotten a chance to wake up, and all I could muster was a muttered “You too”. That was my first encounter with the New Year on the Orthodox calendar, which they cleverly now call the Old New Year (see also New Christmas, and Regular Christmas, which is on January 7th). Throughout the rest of my day I have been showered by fistfuls of corn, rice, and sunflower seeds and wished a blessed new year. I wish I could have seen the celebration on January 1st, because they say that the old New Years isn’t widely celebrated as that one, but by the looks of all the offices and sidewalks, I would say it was quite a success for the pigeons.
I know in my last blog post I was pretty down on myself, and my situation. “Situation” might not be the right word for it, because that sounds more like someone getting knocked up out of wedlock than it does for choosing to volunteer in the second world and feeling depressed. I won’t lie and say that is has been an easy adjustment back to site. I have had to do a lot of self-reflection and try to piece together what my priorities are in life, and what my Peace Corps service means, and has meant to me. It can be frustrating to look back on the past seven months in country and not see any tangible results that I have made in my community. At times it feels as if the host country nationals are purposely trying to make things harder by having such close-minded mentalities. I want to be fair and say that not all Moldovans are close-minded. I have met many progressive and forward-thinking individuals here; I just feel that there is a certain clash of mindsets when a young, enthusiastic American volunteer comes into a small village and tries to start projects with farmers and community members that have grown up with a Communist regime; For the most part they were given everything they had during this time, and stole what they didn’t. I want to make my point very, very clear here, I am not bashing on Moldova, Moldovans, or the USSR. Talking with the people here I have heard stories of families raiding the collective farms at night for more food and unimaginable corruption from governmental officials during the Soviet era, and it is no mystery that it has been a difficult and taxing transition into a democratic state over the past eighteen years. The government now is teetering by, Parliament has been unsuccessful to elect a president for about a year now, and everyone will tell you the main problem here in Moldova is lack of money. That is where my frustration comes in. If I even mention the word project, they think of grants and money. I would say 90% of my project ideas have been shut down because of lack of enthusiasm because of some sort of monetary issue. I am getting to the point where I cringe when I hear the word ‘grant’.
Another pressing source of anxiety for me has been the feeling that I am letting life pass me by. The slow paced life here definitely wears away at the notion of high adventure in the Peace Corps. It is all too easy to forget that I voluntarily signed up for the loneliness, aggravation, and detachment that comes along with the grass roots work we are doing here. I hope this message rings clear to everyone reading this that is thinking of joining the Peace Corps- This is not a vacation. If you want to go into a program where the PC says you must be a self-starter, they aren’t bullshitting you. I knew this would be hard coming into it, but I didn’t know what that meant until now. Everyday I have struggled with my test of faith, so to speak. The question of “Can I possibly do this for the next eighteen months?” is always in the back of my mind, but somewhere deep, deep down, I know that I can. I will probably be posing that question to myself everyday for the remainder of my time here, but the internal disappointment I would go through for the rest of my life would be too great if I were give into it and quit. This internal drive is crucial, but with that being said, if it weren’t for talking with my friends, family, and the extremely supportive Peace Corps medical officer I would be in a lot worse shape. Many thanks are due to my fellow PCVs for feeling as equally shitty coming back from vacation as I did. I know this sounds quite sadistic, but if I were going through this slump alone, well, it wouldn’t be pretty.
On the brighter side, my partners collaborated with me today about a future project that I can spearhead. They want a water tower to be constructed in the village. Potable water is something to be desired here and sanitary, functioning water towers have quite a high value. My partners don’t know it yet, but I have a burning desire to paint my face on the side of a water tower that I construct; it’s a weird fascination, but then again, I have had a lot of time to daydream. It’s just really nice to get feedback from my partners instead of shooting into the dark and proposing project ideas that I think will work without any input until they reject them. Did you know that blind people are legally allowed to hunt in Texas (no surprise there actually) and Michigan? That’s how I’ve felt proposing projects.
For now things are picking up. I guess that’s the good thing about slumps, you have nowhere to go but up. To my amusement, I decided to grow a beard. If my village didn’t know what to make of me before I went off and committed hygienic taboo, they really think I’m off my rocker now. Lately there has been a lot of speculation that I left for two weeks and joined the Church, since only the Orthodox priests have beards here. I was coming in from a mud/ice/snow run today that even I admit was quite insane to run in, but had to smile when I overheard someone say, “There goes that crazy foreigner”. As for now, Happy Old New Years.
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