The Toughest Thing . . .
One of the most common questions we are asked as Peace Corps volunteers is simply, What is the most difficult part of Peace Corps service? Outhouses? Strange food? Lack of washing abilities? No, no, and no.
The answer: loneliness.
For the most part, we're very geographically isolated. We have to contend with language issues. As a general rule, we volunteers don't really have any friends in the village (more in a moment on why) – when asked, I always say that my students are the closest thing I have to friends around here, but because they are my students they can't be classified as 'friends' (a sentiment that most other volunteers agree with). Yes, we have host families, but for the most part they are doing their own things and have their own lives to live.
As for me, the most difficult times I have are holidays and family gatherings like the one we had on May 1st, my host Mom's birthday. The language problems I have are becoming less and less, as the more Russian I learn the more I am able to understand the Ukrainian dialect they speak here. But because they all speak the dialect, I find myself reluctant to speak up because in doing so I will be speak the 'second' language of everyone (case in point – on Tuesday my host sister was talking about how she needed to be in Chisinau on Wednesday at 7:00 in the morning and didn't know how to get there so early. Well, one of my fourth graders fathers is a driver who goes to Chisinau every morning with apples for selling and leaves the village at 5:30 and often taking passengers. I actually have the man's phone number and could have easily given it but was reluctant to speak up because they conversing in the dialect and I didn't want to admit just how much I know). Also, I told my host mom that I don't really like our gatherings because no-one really talks to be and she responded that they always talk to each-other because they see each-other and always want to catch-up on news.
As for the lack of people to be friends with, I would say that the majority of young men in my village ages 18-25 are, for the lack of a better word, kind of losers. They are the type of guys who work in the field a few days a week or in Moscow three days a week in order to earn just enough money to buy vodka and cigarettes for the rest of the year, then just sleep and dink around the house. They have no idea what they want to do in life and don't really have a plan – in short, they don't have their things together. In my village I've met about 15 guys in that age group and only two – my host brother and cousin – know what they are doing and what they want from life.
As a result, this loneliness can build up to the point that it can be almost crushing. The more a person thinks about being lonely, the more they think about why, and the more they think about why they more they think about the loneliness, a cycle that build until it can be almost crippling. Fortunately, there is a simple solution – waiting. If we simply wait, any feelings we have will be sure to pass. We simply need to wait through the dark before the light presents itself . . .
Notes:
- Last weekend I went up to the north of Moldova to the village of a friend of mine from my group. I went up there for two reasons: 1) There are four of us in my group who gather in our respective villages/towns and it was finally the turn this friend, and 2) There was another volunteer there and it was his last day in Peace Corps so we timed it up to celebrate his final day in the village.
I actually took off from my village on Friday morning, got a ride to the regional center from a guy waiting near the bus-stop, took a mini-bus from there to Chisinau for a doctor's appointment (nothing serious, they just need to draw blood for the AIDS test required for our document renewal), another mini-bus to a city in the north, Balti (the second biggest city in Moldova), where I met another friend, we took another bus from there to a city of Drochia 30 more miles to the north, and we finally got a ride from there to the village with the family of my friend. It was a lot of trips but relatively harmless (as opposed to the ride back).
On Friday night we sat around eating and talking and drinking wine. At the dinner table there were four Americans and the host parents, and we had one of the weird linguistic situations that can be found here, as four of us spoke Russian, four English, and four Romanian, so we played language-tag with each-other but for the most part emerged unscathed.
The next Saturday the volunteer who was leaving took off finally, and it was a hard day for the family. He had been there for over two years and had accomplished a lot of work, helping everyone immensely (they kept speaking about how he was a part of the village and how this part was leaving), and on his way out tears were shed. The volunteer, however, took it amazingly well, and my friends and I all agreed that he took it better than we will when the time comes for us to leave. We then spent the day just walking around, throwing a baseball and visiting the school where, it turns out, they had lessons to make up for the Monday before May Day when they don't work, much to the surprise of my friend who had been told nothing.
Sunday, we stomped around Drochia, the regional center, for a while before I headed home.
- Speaking of the ride home, one of the realities of Peace Corps life is that we have to rely on public transportation to get around, a inconvenience but one that is usually OK to deal with it.
However, on Sunday I left Drochia on a bus at noon and rolled into my village at 6:45 in the evening. The distance covered was 95 miles. Yes, between slow rides and waiting for options, it took me six hours and forty five minutes to go ninety-five miles, an average of just under 15 miles an hour.
- My brother left a note saying I should post more pictures – I will the next time I'm in Chisinau with my notebook. Sadly, that probably won't happen for a week or two because I haven't stayed in my village for a weekend in a month or so and I think it's a good idea to stick around. But they'll get put-up eventually, likely pictures from Kiev.
- I write the names of these places where things happen in part because if you have Google Maps, you can find any and all of them. It's a great way to kill 20 minutes on your computer.
- I have mentioned several times here how one friend of mine from my group has a cousin who starts for Manchester United. Well, one of the most surreal things that has happened to me lately was watching a Man U game on TV Saturday night with my friend who was watching his cousin (whose phone number he has programmed on his cell) play live.
- Finally, there was a lot of great moments from the weekend, but two stand out. The first: we met the mayor of the village on Saturday, having bumped into her on the street (there have been several volunteers in the village and all spoke Romanian, and there some tension there between people who speak Romanian and Russian as a first language). My friend who speaks Romanian started to introduce me and the other Russian-speaking volunteer to the mayor and when he got to the part of how we didn't speak Romanian, a woman in back of her said in Russian, “Thank God one of you speaks Russian.” My friend laughed and laughed when we told him that.
Secondly, while there is no doubt that being an American has it's advantages here, it also pays off to look like Americans. Case in point: to get from my friends village to the regional center we had to hitch-hike, so on Sunday we all went to wait by the road and start the process of flagging down cars in hopes of a lift. Also waiting there were at least 20 or so people, all with the same idea, so we knew that competition for cars would be tight.
We were all spread out over 40 yards or so and there was about 20 yards between the four of us and a group of women from the village, all wearing the village clothes that are tough to describe but basically look like you would expect from old Moldovan village women without a lot of money. After about 30 minutes of waiting a rather nice car pulled up between us and the women, opened the door in our direction, and asked us if we were going to Balti – while they were stopping the women started to descend on the machine. We quickly responded that we were going to a different location and the car quickly slammed the door and pulled out before the villagers approached too close. It was clear that they would take either us or no-one.
One of the advantages of at least looking like an American.
The answer: loneliness.
For the most part, we're very geographically isolated. We have to contend with language issues. As a general rule, we volunteers don't really have any friends in the village (more in a moment on why) – when asked, I always say that my students are the closest thing I have to friends around here, but because they are my students they can't be classified as 'friends' (a sentiment that most other volunteers agree with). Yes, we have host families, but for the most part they are doing their own things and have their own lives to live.
As for me, the most difficult times I have are holidays and family gatherings like the one we had on May 1st, my host Mom's birthday. The language problems I have are becoming less and less, as the more Russian I learn the more I am able to understand the Ukrainian dialect they speak here. But because they all speak the dialect, I find myself reluctant to speak up because in doing so I will be speak the 'second' language of everyone (case in point – on Tuesday my host sister was talking about how she needed to be in Chisinau on Wednesday at 7:00 in the morning and didn't know how to get there so early. Well, one of my fourth graders fathers is a driver who goes to Chisinau every morning with apples for selling and leaves the village at 5:30 and often taking passengers. I actually have the man's phone number and could have easily given it but was reluctant to speak up because they conversing in the dialect and I didn't want to admit just how much I know). Also, I told my host mom that I don't really like our gatherings because no-one really talks to be and she responded that they always talk to each-other because they see each-other and always want to catch-up on news.
As for the lack of people to be friends with, I would say that the majority of young men in my village ages 18-25 are, for the lack of a better word, kind of losers. They are the type of guys who work in the field a few days a week or in Moscow three days a week in order to earn just enough money to buy vodka and cigarettes for the rest of the year, then just sleep and dink around the house. They have no idea what they want to do in life and don't really have a plan – in short, they don't have their things together. In my village I've met about 15 guys in that age group and only two – my host brother and cousin – know what they are doing and what they want from life.
As a result, this loneliness can build up to the point that it can be almost crushing. The more a person thinks about being lonely, the more they think about why, and the more they think about why they more they think about the loneliness, a cycle that build until it can be almost crippling. Fortunately, there is a simple solution – waiting. If we simply wait, any feelings we have will be sure to pass. We simply need to wait through the dark before the light presents itself . . .
Notes:
- Last weekend I went up to the north of Moldova to the village of a friend of mine from my group. I went up there for two reasons: 1) There are four of us in my group who gather in our respective villages/towns and it was finally the turn this friend, and 2) There was another volunteer there and it was his last day in Peace Corps so we timed it up to celebrate his final day in the village.
I actually took off from my village on Friday morning, got a ride to the regional center from a guy waiting near the bus-stop, took a mini-bus from there to Chisinau for a doctor's appointment (nothing serious, they just need to draw blood for the AIDS test required for our document renewal), another mini-bus to a city in the north, Balti (the second biggest city in Moldova), where I met another friend, we took another bus from there to a city of Drochia 30 more miles to the north, and we finally got a ride from there to the village with the family of my friend. It was a lot of trips but relatively harmless (as opposed to the ride back).
On Friday night we sat around eating and talking and drinking wine. At the dinner table there were four Americans and the host parents, and we had one of the weird linguistic situations that can be found here, as four of us spoke Russian, four English, and four Romanian, so we played language-tag with each-other but for the most part emerged unscathed.
The next Saturday the volunteer who was leaving took off finally, and it was a hard day for the family. He had been there for over two years and had accomplished a lot of work, helping everyone immensely (they kept speaking about how he was a part of the village and how this part was leaving), and on his way out tears were shed. The volunteer, however, took it amazingly well, and my friends and I all agreed that he took it better than we will when the time comes for us to leave. We then spent the day just walking around, throwing a baseball and visiting the school where, it turns out, they had lessons to make up for the Monday before May Day when they don't work, much to the surprise of my friend who had been told nothing.
Sunday, we stomped around Drochia, the regional center, for a while before I headed home.
- Speaking of the ride home, one of the realities of Peace Corps life is that we have to rely on public transportation to get around, a inconvenience but one that is usually OK to deal with it.
However, on Sunday I left Drochia on a bus at noon and rolled into my village at 6:45 in the evening. The distance covered was 95 miles. Yes, between slow rides and waiting for options, it took me six hours and forty five minutes to go ninety-five miles, an average of just under 15 miles an hour.
- My brother left a note saying I should post more pictures – I will the next time I'm in Chisinau with my notebook. Sadly, that probably won't happen for a week or two because I haven't stayed in my village for a weekend in a month or so and I think it's a good idea to stick around. But they'll get put-up eventually, likely pictures from Kiev.
- I write the names of these places where things happen in part because if you have Google Maps, you can find any and all of them. It's a great way to kill 20 minutes on your computer.
- I have mentioned several times here how one friend of mine from my group has a cousin who starts for Manchester United. Well, one of the most surreal things that has happened to me lately was watching a Man U game on TV Saturday night with my friend who was watching his cousin (whose phone number he has programmed on his cell) play live.
- Finally, there was a lot of great moments from the weekend, but two stand out. The first: we met the mayor of the village on Saturday, having bumped into her on the street (there have been several volunteers in the village and all spoke Romanian, and there some tension there between people who speak Romanian and Russian as a first language). My friend who speaks Romanian started to introduce me and the other Russian-speaking volunteer to the mayor and when he got to the part of how we didn't speak Romanian, a woman in back of her said in Russian, “Thank God one of you speaks Russian.” My friend laughed and laughed when we told him that.
Secondly, while there is no doubt that being an American has it's advantages here, it also pays off to look like Americans. Case in point: to get from my friends village to the regional center we had to hitch-hike, so on Sunday we all went to wait by the road and start the process of flagging down cars in hopes of a lift. Also waiting there were at least 20 or so people, all with the same idea, so we knew that competition for cars would be tight.
We were all spread out over 40 yards or so and there was about 20 yards between the four of us and a group of women from the village, all wearing the village clothes that are tough to describe but basically look like you would expect from old Moldovan village women without a lot of money. After about 30 minutes of waiting a rather nice car pulled up between us and the women, opened the door in our direction, and asked us if we were going to Balti – while they were stopping the women started to descend on the machine. We quickly responded that we were going to a different location and the car quickly slammed the door and pulled out before the villagers approached too close. It was clear that they would take either us or no-one.
One of the advantages of at least looking like an American.
posted by Andy Buchanan at 9:05 AM
3 Comments:
Hnag in there Andy.I have also noticed that time is one of the greatest remedies for pain. I find it intersting that the young men in your village act so poorly. I am sure you are such a blesisng on the small community.
Good luck,
BC
Ok Andy,
I am sitting here in my office thinking about your last post. I have four questions:
1. What are you plans for when you come back to the United States?
2. Have those plans changed since you have been in Moldava?
3. Do you think those plans will change before you come home?
4. Would you/ could you extend your service?
Just wondering :-)
BC
Buckster,
Do you think that people offer you a ride first because they think you have more money? Have you ever seen anyone taken advantage of because they took a ride from a stranger?
Jake
Post a Comment
<< Home