WHEN A BUCKET BEATS A BATH

December 4, 2007

I left my village in November (after not even a full week, mind you) and came back in December. I finally decided that six straight days of painful every-morning diarrhea was too much. So a one-night in TDY (no, nobody knows what it stands for, but it means “sick bay” in limba Samantha) turned into six nights – the exact number of nights I had spent in my village up until that point. Everyday I told my host mom I was leaving the following day. I left on Wednesday. It’s Tuesday, and I just got back.

Fortunately when I first walked into the office last Wednesday, sick and cranky, I saw that I had two packages – a blessing in disguise. So TDY has two showers and a kitchen and fellow-volunteers as company, and heating, and real beds and access to all of Chişinău’s resources, but man, it can drive you crazy. I didn’t even last ONE FULL WEEK in my village before revisiting the capital. And so sitting around made me feel extremely guilty, especially because I wasn’t able to spend my birthday with my host family. Granted, I was pretty darn lucky to have such great company on my birthday. Volunteers that I had just met made sure that it was a special day. And my family! And my friends! I am so overwhelmed! I think the surprise of all of my birthday messages and cards and packages was the biggest joy. Because I wasn’t expecting 1) to receive them and 2) to be sick and, therefore, in the capital to pick them up, they were that much more special. Then I got back to my village to a bottle of champagne and an apple cake that my host mom had made on Sunday (because I thought I was coming home each day), that was actually still moist and DELICIOUS tonight. Again, surprises. But, of course, I wouldn’t have gotten to know some current volunteers if we weren’t all housed in the sick house together.

The trip home was scary, because, like always, I procrastinated from leaving. Granted I did ACTUALLY LEAVE the apartment/sick house/black hole today, which is an accomplishment because I was getting tired of hearing myself say “I’m leaving tomorrow,” but then I went to the Piaţa Agricol to see my training host mom as it was on the way to the bus station. It wouldn’t have taken me that long to find it except it took me ten minutes (honestly) to get up the nerve to cross the busy street (J-walking is not just a national pastime, it’s a way of life, a traveling necessity) and then I walked around the wrong piaţa for ten minutes. Anyway, it took me a while, so when I was finally on the bus and arriving near my village, it was dark and I started repeating “I’m so scared, I’m so scared, I’m so scared” in my head as I couldn’t see where I was and I had too many bags to get to the front to discuss with the driver about where I needed to stop. I was playing all possible scenarios in my head if we had passed my village and I ended up another three hours away, or what I would do if I just decided to get off in the rain. Luckily, another gentleman was getting off at the same spot. I wasn’t sure if I had heard correctly though, but I followed him off the bus hoping it was my stop, saw that it was, but didn’t see my host dad’s car (who had been waiting 30 minutes by that point). He found me, and we went home.

Point? Well everyday in TDY, I took a shower with water that gets as hot as I want, when I want it to, water that comes out of a shower head, in a shower that I can stand up in, or a bath tub that I can actually plug to make a bath, with two heated (indoor!) bathrooms and real towels, without worrying about wasting someone’s bill, or spilling on my wood floor. OH!! Which reminds me: I never wrote about my bucket-bathing attempt!

Ok, well…last Saturday I got to bathe! After dinner I asked about how to go about doing that, and it turned out that the bathtub room (no, not the same as a “bathroom”…it’s a room with a bathtub, hence “bathtub room”) was too cold. My room was much warmer. She pulled back the carpet near the soba (wall fireplace/heater contraption), put a chair on the wood floor, and put a large metal bowl on top, filled with warm water. Asked me if I wanted her to help me wash my hair. “If you would like!” “I do.” Sure! So I took off my sweatshirt and necklace and put my head in the bowl. She poured more warm water over my head and I felt as if I was back at the hairdresser’s getting my hair cut, or maybe leaning forward and dying my hair over my sink. After she washed my hair (teamwork!) she wrapped my hair in my towel and left me to bathe. Well, she did walk in on me bottom-less looking for my louffah (man, how do you spell that?).

Ok, so this is what I had as my bathing equipment: chair, red taz (wide, shallow bucket), bucket with warm water, mug to pour with, tea kettle, louffah, empty bucket for dirty water. I started by standing with one foot over the red taz and poured water over my right leg, realized the chair had a purpose, and sat down. Poured water over my leg, soaped up, rinsed, then repeated with the other foot. It got trickier when I wanted to wash the rest of me. I used the louffah for my arms, but leaning over the taz while I poured was a bit messy. Surprisingly washing my face this way was the hardest, because when I poured the water over my face, it ran down my face, chest, and belly and straight onto the floor. There I was squatting naked next to the tax, trying to lean over as much as I could and then I realized it would be way more efficient just to dip my towel in the clean water and wipe my face. “Maybe next week you can get your own taz.” Yes! I’m looking forward to it actually. That way I can wash up every night with just one tea kettle’s worth of water until I want to wash my hair.

When I was done, I surveyed my damage: clean body, wet floor, sore knees from squatting. Maybe this weekend/next time I’ll just try to bathtub room anyway. Although now that I’ve been sick she will probably insist I don’t bathe in a cold room. And she will probably be right again about the comfort of bathing in a warm room, but an intestinal parasite isn’t brought on by cold weather.

So why is the bucket better? Because it’s home now. Because even though I got to take a shower as many times as I wanted at TDY, I wore the same two outfits for six days (but I did get mighty good at washing my underwear in the sink and drying them over the radiator even though we’re not supposed to because it could catch on fire). So my feet might have been cleaner but my socks were dirty.

December 5, 2007

I still get emails from the UCSB College of Creative Studies Literature department. I actually read one of the hundred I have received since last summer alone. I could be learning Arabic right now. Or Portuguese. Either would be awesome. And many of you know that I actually do want to learn Arabic. But I’m in Moldova, learning Romanian. And the intended-to-be-speedy pop account process took over an hour to download with announcements for the classes I could be taking right now.

Ok so I went back to show my face in the community today. Meaning, I sat with the social assistant (Moldovan version of social worker through the mayor’s office) as she distributed funds to the “invalizi” in the community - people specifically listed as “invalid” although it is closer to “physically handicapped.” Depending on their category, they received 60 or 100 lei – for the whole year. (It’s roughly 11 lei to the dollar) Some of the passports they showed still said “CCCP,” leftovers from Soviet rule in the area. Did they ever receive Republica Moldova passports or just prefer to use these? And as one gentleman poked his head in the door, unable to hear or speak, he rubbed his thumb, index, and middle fingers together for “money.” Yes, this is the place to pick up your annual allotment. I don’t know why I was so surprised that the gesture is the same.

December 6, 2007

Apparently I have one of the top ten veceuls (outhouses) in Moldova! It is made out of clay/cement rather than wood. The floor has terra cotta, and I have a wool-covered SEAT for those winter months. Of course the seat is covering a simple hold, but it makes the sick days a tad bit less depressing. And we have a LIGHT inside! For those of you who have never had to squat over a tiny hole, you know that a lack of light at night makes it that much more daunting.

December 9, 2007

The idea was to create an English-speaking discussion group in order to raise money for some of the two hundred needy children in our village. Actually, the first few times she asked if I wanted to do it to raise money to buy myself winter shoes - in addition, of course, to appealing to the kids who would come to discuss with a non-teacher in a more casual atmosphere. “Ok, but I don’t want to teach, it will just be a discussion group.” Later that day we talked to the mayor who was really supportive and offered to come with us to the school the next morning. I asked if we should talk to the English teacher but it was “not necessary.” Well after being shuttled by the elbow from class to class where I was introduced as someone who was going to come in and teach English to PRACTICALLY THE WHOLE SCHOOL, I began to feel a physically sick.

And then when we walked into the English teacher’s room (yes, they have one, so why would I be teaching English behind her back?) we basically hit her in the face when I was introduced as coming to give them something they didn’t have. But, with all of the teachers crammed into the office, I tried to clarify later that “I’m not a teacher and it will just be a discussion. I want to collaborate together for the whole community, if you have any ideas, as well as ideas for areas other than the school, I’d love to hear and work together.” And to the director, I said, “I’m not going to be teaching people who have never learned English.” We’ll see how well that came across. I just don’t want there to be a mob of misinformed kids (and the parents who gave them money). I also arranged to speak with the English teacher next week in order to 1) apologize and 2) get her advice.