My Favorite Time of Year

As I left you last, I had just come back from a week out of the village, working on the children-designed greeting cards. I had planned to stay in the village for the following three weeks, and, as I mentioned, that was confirmed for me when I found out that we would hold the one-year-since-passing funeral for grandma the following weekend. Immediately after, though, I found out that we would further be required to stay out of the capital after the April 5th elections were followed by protests and riots. But I loved the timing and was once again grateful for the spontaneous decision to spend that first week preparing for the expo so that I could enjoy the following three weeks without worry.

The three weeks were full with the Easter holiday season:
April 5 – elections followed by protests and recount requests

April 11 – 50-person “funeral party” for the one-year-since-passing. This year I was able to help make the stuffed cabbage leaves with the women, participated in the post-stuffing meal and toast, and received the “thank you” bread and decorative towel. I feel so much more prepared for these long days of giant meals when some people eat straight out of the serving plate. It comes down to three things: eating slowly, paying attention to which plates/sides to avoid, and eating the vegetables one at a time to take up time. Hoards of bread, but no where near as many as last year – though at least 80 people has passed through then.

April 18-19 – Orthodox Easter. This year we still had a boat load of food from the following week but we had more plates to make. At 11:00 p.m. I headed to the church with mama’s cousin who I love. Her husband chuckled as he wrapped my head in a scarf and “made me a baba.” We walked in the dark slowly to the church, arm in arm over the dirt roads, slipping occasionally on the different levels of dirt. As we got to the church, she bought us each a long white candle and we waited with the others, all standing. As I waited, the priest came in, made a double take as he saw my face and expressed audibly that he was so glad to see me and glad to know that “the Americans are with us too.” I felt uncomfortable, but I smiled and nodded. This is a holiday about equality, not about singling out the American. I felt awkward enough as it is, standing around with a scarf wrapped around my head, the only one in eyeglasses, and taller than most. I followed mama’s cousin as she went to each altar, crossed herself and kiss each portrait. As I bent over the first, I froze about 6 inches from the table and realized I didn’t know what I was doing, so I stood there, bent over the frame, with people watching the frozen American, and just put my hand to my lips and then touched the frame. I stayed in the middle of the crowd after that.

But as we waited for the priest, crowded together in this small, beautiful space, I felt overcome with heat. Blood rush to my head and I felt the urge to throw up. I loosened my coat (the one I said I’d never wear again now that it was no longer winter), excused myself, and rain outside. I took deep breaths, walking around the others standing outside whose faces were hidden in the dark. I heard some “hello” here and there and couldn’t tell if they were playing with me. I went back in and within another two minutes, I was overcome once again with immediate heat and nausea. So we both went outside and waited in the cool spring night air. The priest came with a candle that had supposedly traveled from Jerusalem to Chisinau, to Soroca and then to us. We all lit our candles and proclaimed that Christ has risen and then walked around the church, guarding our flames and stepping on each other. Then we walked around the church again. And then one more time. Then we made our way back to the house, slowly and still cupping the flames, which didn’t give much light on the dark roads, but we made it back and went to bed. I thought I might get up for the sunrise bread blessing that I went to last year, but I stayed in bed and semi-acknowledged the sunrise through my window. Unfortunate, as I love Easter sunrise.

There is this flower with long green leaves on the bottom, with a long stem spouting from the middle, a green tuft of leaves on top and orange petals hanging below towards the ground. It’s called “Jesus has risen” or “little pasca” (a special sweet bread made on Easter). It blooms around Easter. Last year Easter was at the end of the month and that’s when it bloomed. This year Easter was the 19th and it bloomed the 17th. Wonderful. At 9:30 a.m. we ate the blessed food, napped, I practiced a little ukulele, and ate a large meal in the middle of the day. It was a beautiful day with a great mood that continued throughout the week. The week following Easter was vacation for students so the family stayed with us.

April 22 – the one year birthday of my godson. He is walking and trying to talk, smiling, and playing. He seems less uncomfortable with me and I seem less uncomfortable trying to baby-talk with him in Romanian. It was wonderful for me to experience these occasions the second time around. Last year this season was just as busy with Easter, the birth and baptism, and then the funeral. This year was similar but different and it was momentous for me to realize that I’ve been here long enough to witness this cycle again.

April 24 – Art Expo “Night of Art” in Chisinau. We rushed into Chisinau to put together the new sets of cards, frames, etc. then hurried to the expo to set up at 4 where I was overwhelmed with nerves. Perhaps it was because I had no idea what to expect and found myself once again in a very cosmopolitan setting – and international art exhibit with wine and food and Natalie Cole playing in the background. I could barely sit down and I certainly couldn’t keep my mouth shut from 4 until 10 when we left. But it worked out and I remember why I DO love these things. There were a handful of volunteers who came by as well to enjoy the night and support the causes (the night was ultimately a fundraiser for the International Women’s Club of Moldova that supports small projects around the country). I don’t know what I expected. Our nerves flip-flopped between feeling like we wouldn’t sell anything and feeling as if we didn’t bring enough. Turns out that we sold enough to make back what we invested in the night and still have enough stock to continue to raise profit for the art school. Most importantly, our partner seemed to really enjoy the night and luckily there was no negative balance to diminish her enthusiasm for the project. While we would ideally like to help her establish a long-term sponsor, supporting her current efforts through non-grant-writing means is rewarding enough. But this could be something I would like to do with all of my day’s hours. There could be so much more we’d get done if it was fulltime. And yet my energies are divided up between a lot of “possibilities” both in my own village and outside of it.

April 26, 2009 – I rushed back to the village to celebrate “Easter of the Deceased” which my family didn’t participate in last year because of grandma’s recent passing (but I believe I was out of the village or on my way to American at that point either way). I made it too late for my village bus but waited instead for the one that goes to a neighboring village. It’s a smaller bus and it gets full quite quickly on holidays, so I stood in the packed bus as it made its way without hurry. The majority of people were packed in the front by the door as those in the middle found reasons not to move along. And of course we shouldn’t open any of the windows even as we are packed in as sardines. As I started to get nauseas I realized that the season of overheated minibuses is now upon us. And then I just hoped that the woman near me would feel better before she threw up on my jacket. Of course this was followed by extreme guilt because I understood her pain and wished that we BOTH had enough time to make it to our stop (which happened to be the same one, of course).

I made it home without losing it, only to find host dad waiting solo at the house. “The plane has left,” he told me. “The others left?” I asked, having been told they would wait for me but knowing I probably should’ve come back the day before anyway. I changed into a skirt, cooled down, and then their son came back to meet me and we headed off to the cemetery, the road of which was packed with cars all trying to get to the same place. We found our way through the crowded cemetery, covered with grass, crosses on top of crosses, and people blessing those who have passed. Blankets were laid on graves and covered with breads, candles, wine, sweets, and flowers. Some set up full meals on small tables and had what seemed like a picnic. We toasted (from the same glass) to those who passed and those who still are and took a sweet for each toast. Strangers came around offering their own wine and sweets. Host mama was sitting on the grass by the family’s gated lot where five people were laid in a space that we would consider for two. And she was smiling. She looked so at ease. And as I looked around, most all people were smiling, this day of remembrance, not of grieving. The sad images were only of the random single old women who stood lingering by the crosses of their loved ones, wearing layers of old hand-made clothes, with no one to celebrate with. Strangers (and maybe distant relatives) shared wine with them as they walked around. But soon we packed up our picnic basket, left the flowers and headed back to the house where we sat outside under the wooden canopy and had a casual spring meal.

And now it’s Monday, the official day of the holiday that we celebrated yesterday and tomorrow it’s back to business. We are working on three main things in the village at the moment that all need to get down within the next two weeks. And while I’m glad for the work, I sometimes find myself again with the “afraid these won’t work out” feeling, knowing fully well you have to try in order for it to work at all. And ANY success will be better than none at all. But I’m nervous. Nervous because these are the opportunities I’d hoped for in DOING something worthwhile (and tangible) in my village.

This reminds me of the Friday before Easter when the program director came to visit my village and talk with my mayor about his request for another volunteer to come in August. It might be unlikely, as I will still be here and we have too many locations for the smaller number of volunteers, but of course now people keep asking, “So another volunteer is coming after you leave?” And I find myself frustrated with claims of certainty that may or may not just be a tone of translation (and third-party hearsay). But this optimism is only frustrating to me because I will feel responsible for whatever doesn’t work out…as with the three possible projects that we’ll be working on this week: tables and chairs and training seminar at the kindergarten; a bus stop/trash can/anti-littering campaign; windows and doors replacement at the kindergarten. In addition, there was talk before the holidays that we would hold an “American night” at the local one-room library to promote the books that were donated that no one knows about. And the English group is doing a clothing drive that will finish up soon.

So there are things to do. And this is a great time to do it – before Summer starts.

But I still find myself trying to balance so many items that haven’t been determined yet, trying to find the best possible balance between events that haven’t occurred yet (and the budget, logistics, and benefit it all involves) – both for my remaining time in Moldova and the time that will follow.

All in all, April has been a great month and I look forward to the period that will come in May and all of the things I’ve wanted to do in Moldova before I leave in 6-or-so months.

I do NOT, however, look forward to overheated travel, but that’s life and I complained just as much when it was too cold.

Seasons and Showers

Spring is here! It surprised me a couple times, snuck away again, and then came back with determination.

I noticed my mood change when we had to hitchhike to the art school on Monday afternoon, lucky that the weather was walking-permitting. And then as we catch a bus after waiting only 10 minutes, it started going at a snail’s pace for the potholes that surprisingly didn’t merit the caution. But I found myself amused instead of impatient. What were we going to do about it at that point? We had actually planned on arriving at 8 a.m., so the difference between 12:30 and 1:30 didn’t much matter. But what I liked most was that I didn’t mind…that I was, instead, grateful for the weather and the sudden freedom over my travel schedule, no longer dictated by snow, biting wind, few hours of sunlight, or heavy winter clothes. Lighter clothing, lighter spirit. It also turned out that the minibus we were on goes to the mysterious Ukrainian camping spot I had been wondering about for months!

Tuesday was gray and rainy again, as was Wednesday. But Thursday through Sunday have thus far been phenomenal. And I’m enjoying a day back in the village, having been gone for over a week.

I also find myself thinking: I don’t think I feel guilty about being gone for this week. And then: I thoroughly enjoyed the productivity of this week as I had been screaming of boredom for so long that I need to appreciate the fatigue that came from a fast-paced and surprisingly productive week doing something I enjoyed.

And this was all brought about by surprising coincidences. I had only planned to be gone for the weekend, but the start of a joke got me thinking about what we COULD get done during the week….and boy were we lucky. We ended up with a lot to get done before the art expo on the 24th where we will promote the greeting cards we’ve been designing from the children’s artwork (website almost ready!)

Then as I think I can leave on Thursday, I wasn’t sure if I could make it home before dark. (I now need to walk every time I get dropped off at the main road since a) the car isn’t here and b) I should be able to do it solo, without bothering my host dad to pick me up.) The 45-minute walk is much easier when the sun is out and I’m not carrying armloads of bags. I’ve yet to start the walk at dark, though I have arrived at the edge of the village as the sun set and I slipped over icy roads in the dark. Regardless, I decided I would have enough time to make it home, but then the minibus broke down, assuring my post-sunset arrival. I made my way as far north as possible and stayed with another volunteer, sure I would make it home the next day. Of course I woke up with a health annoyance and ran back down to Chisinau for meds, which was much easier to do from her village than from mine – another lucky coincidence. I then had to stay the night to check the improvement in the morning and was finally on my way Saturday at noon. I made it to the main road on a beautiful sunny afternoon and made it home around 3:00 – 7 days later than I had planned and wearing the same grungy clothes, but satisfied at a fulfilling week.

And as I first entered the village, something smelled different. It was familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. But it brought a warm nostalgia and an excitement. And today as I went for a long walk, exploring areas I never realized were connected, I smelled the sunny Moldova aroma that I never noticed until it returned.

I told myself that I would be able to stay in the village for at least three weeks after this productive week, but I knew that was partly out of guilt and partly out of a fatigue of travel. But then the sun came out and I didn’t mind anymore. I felt at ease with whichever direction next weekend went, knowing the summer would make either one enjoyable. But I came home to find that next weekend we would hold the one-year-since-passing funeral for my host mom’s mother. I am glad that happenings have determined that I will stay home next week…and as the following week is Orthodox Easter, I will be home that full week as well.

I’d like to say that my change in disposition is more than just weather-derived. Rather, I feel that it is fascinating timing between my ever-changing outlook and the change in season.

I had seen the door to the outside summer kitchen propped open. I peeked inside but couldn’t tell if it wasn’t getting prepped for approaching use or if it was just being aired out. It got me wondering when we would switch to eating and bathing outside. Then today, as I started typing this entry, my host dad walks by with a towel on his head. “Where’s Samantha?” he asked. “I’m here,” I said, half worried. “Go wash.” “Outside?” I asked with a smile. “Yes! Use all the water.” And we both smiled at the simple excitement of warm weather. I rushed outside and sang praises as I bathed, knowing that even if we hit a couple more mud-plagued rainy days, the warm season is pushing in.