Finally, Some Good
At the end of my last entry I wrote about the glasses give-away that was to occur last weekend. It turned out to be one of the best, most fulfilling projects I've been apart of in my two years here.
As I mentioned, I have a good friend here whose cousin's wife works as a optometrist and who really likes doing mission work and who decided to come here to do free eye inspections as well as a give-away of glasses to those who needed it. Everything started on Sunday morning: my friend had put up signs throughout the village advertising the program while also noting that special attention would be paid to the kids who showed up. So on Sunday morning we walked into the building where we were going to work and set up shop: we had on registration by the door, in one room we had a place for the vision test and for eye drops, and in another room was the place where the doctor did the test of the actual eye as well as testing different lens strengths in order to appropriate the right glasses.
We were expecting a handful of people, maybe a few trickling in every few hours. We were wrong. Right away at 9:00 there was a throng of people waiting for us, a throng that never really diminished. My job at first was to sit in with the eye doctor and translate her instructions as well as questions and answers (all pretty easy work, as it was various combinations of the same words). However, after a lot of commotion outside in regards to who came and when, with different people trying to go right to the front. After about two hours my friend who was doing registration and told me how I had to switch places because, as he told me, “you know Russian and you can be rude with it, you don't know anyone here, and because you don't live here you can say what you want without having to worry.”
So I got to work door duty, which turned out to be one of the most frustrating and yet fun things I've done all year. (It should be noted that Moldovans in general aren't fan of lines or standing in them. It's actually not common at all to be standing in a store and have someone go right in front of you and start talking to the clerk. It happens often, actually). When I took over my friend told me who the first four people waiting in line were so I let them in order but after that it was chaos (there is a more accurate word in Russian, bordak, that sadly doesn't translate). I had to basically go on feel. It was always fun for me when a person tried to jump to the front of the line because I got very short with them, told them where to go, and gave them a mini tongue-lashing in the process.
The worst of it happened right before we broke for lunch. We decided to do a queue system so we could maintain some sense of order after we got back: I wrote down numbers on pieces of paper and gave them out to those waiting. The first ten or so were clear enough but after that it got a little murky. After a little while I said “who's next?” and all four people in front of me said, “Me.” I looked at them and said, “Listen. I have four people here in front of me. Only one of you can be next. You know the truth. There's only one truth and when I ask for it I get four voices from four people. I don't know anything – you yourselves know. So please, tell me, who is first?” They looked for a second at me, then each-other, then back at me before they all responded, “Me. I was the first one here.” It was amazing (I promptly moved them all to the back of the line. It would be a lie to say the power wasn't fun to wield).
Things got a lot better after lunch, when the queue system went into full effect and those who came in time to get help received it. There wasn't a whole lot of fighting but people had a hard time figuring out the system and what exactly it meant – they didn't comprehend that they could go home and come back and keep their place in line. For example, one woman came in after lunch while we were on number two and ended being in at number twenty-seven. She promptly stood in front of my desk – and DIDN'T MOVE A STEP – for the next four hours. I told her that she could go home and come back in, at the very least, two more hours but she refused. It was surreal in a way.
There were a lot of really nice aspects of the work, apart from just obvious. One woman came in, seventy-eight years old and physically strong and sturdy (although her face had the wrinkles of a person who has spent twelve hours a day, eight months a year, outside). As part of my work in registering them I had to get general information and things like that and when I asked her about her eyes she responded, “I'm seventy-eight years old. I see far. I see close. I have a few problems with reading so I want glasses for that.”
There was one man who came in, seventy-four, and my first questions to everyone was about their general vision and how they read. When I asked him how he reads he responded, “I finished forth grade. I can read.” “No,” I responded, “Can you read without problems?” “I have a forth grade education but I read well. No problems.” I chuckled a bit to myself and said, “I know you can read. But how about the letters on the page? Are they clear? Can you read them?” It was only now that he knew what I meant. It was a very enduring exchange (meant fully complimentary to the gentleman I helped).
Also, there are a lot of residents of the village who speak the same Ukrainian dialect that is spoken in my own village and a lot of people started to think they could talk about me, around me, without an issue (thinking I wouldn't understand). I took it for a while for me fill them in on the fact that I knew what they were saying – it wasn't until a woman came in and responded to all of my questions in Ukrainian with me writing the answers that people really got surprised. When I finished I told her that she was lucky I live in a village where I can understand all that she said – the room then got quiet and it was the last of the dialect that I heard.
It also led to one of the most rewarding moment's I've had as a volunteer here. While I was doing registration I went in back to where the doctor was examining eyes and there was a woman I had sent back there in tears, seventy-one years old and clutching her first ever pair of glasses. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “I'm seventy-one years old – I don't have much longer to live on this earth but I want to be able to see while I still can. Thanks to everyone here, I can.”
Think about it – you're in your seventies and finally you get your first pair of glasses and see clearly for the first time in as long as you can remember. It's heart-warming to imagine and was even more heart-warming to see.
As I mentioned, I have a good friend here whose cousin's wife works as a optometrist and who really likes doing mission work and who decided to come here to do free eye inspections as well as a give-away of glasses to those who needed it. Everything started on Sunday morning: my friend had put up signs throughout the village advertising the program while also noting that special attention would be paid to the kids who showed up. So on Sunday morning we walked into the building where we were going to work and set up shop: we had on registration by the door, in one room we had a place for the vision test and for eye drops, and in another room was the place where the doctor did the test of the actual eye as well as testing different lens strengths in order to appropriate the right glasses.
We were expecting a handful of people, maybe a few trickling in every few hours. We were wrong. Right away at 9:00 there was a throng of people waiting for us, a throng that never really diminished. My job at first was to sit in with the eye doctor and translate her instructions as well as questions and answers (all pretty easy work, as it was various combinations of the same words). However, after a lot of commotion outside in regards to who came and when, with different people trying to go right to the front. After about two hours my friend who was doing registration and told me how I had to switch places because, as he told me, “you know Russian and you can be rude with it, you don't know anyone here, and because you don't live here you can say what you want without having to worry.”
So I got to work door duty, which turned out to be one of the most frustrating and yet fun things I've done all year. (It should be noted that Moldovans in general aren't fan of lines or standing in them. It's actually not common at all to be standing in a store and have someone go right in front of you and start talking to the clerk. It happens often, actually). When I took over my friend told me who the first four people waiting in line were so I let them in order but after that it was chaos (there is a more accurate word in Russian, bordak, that sadly doesn't translate). I had to basically go on feel. It was always fun for me when a person tried to jump to the front of the line because I got very short with them, told them where to go, and gave them a mini tongue-lashing in the process.
The worst of it happened right before we broke for lunch. We decided to do a queue system so we could maintain some sense of order after we got back: I wrote down numbers on pieces of paper and gave them out to those waiting. The first ten or so were clear enough but after that it got a little murky. After a little while I said “who's next?” and all four people in front of me said, “Me.” I looked at them and said, “Listen. I have four people here in front of me. Only one of you can be next. You know the truth. There's only one truth and when I ask for it I get four voices from four people. I don't know anything – you yourselves know. So please, tell me, who is first?” They looked for a second at me, then each-other, then back at me before they all responded, “Me. I was the first one here.” It was amazing (I promptly moved them all to the back of the line. It would be a lie to say the power wasn't fun to wield).
Things got a lot better after lunch, when the queue system went into full effect and those who came in time to get help received it. There wasn't a whole lot of fighting but people had a hard time figuring out the system and what exactly it meant – they didn't comprehend that they could go home and come back and keep their place in line. For example, one woman came in after lunch while we were on number two and ended being in at number twenty-seven. She promptly stood in front of my desk – and DIDN'T MOVE A STEP – for the next four hours. I told her that she could go home and come back in, at the very least, two more hours but she refused. It was surreal in a way.
There were a lot of really nice aspects of the work, apart from just obvious. One woman came in, seventy-eight years old and physically strong and sturdy (although her face had the wrinkles of a person who has spent twelve hours a day, eight months a year, outside). As part of my work in registering them I had to get general information and things like that and when I asked her about her eyes she responded, “I'm seventy-eight years old. I see far. I see close. I have a few problems with reading so I want glasses for that.”
There was one man who came in, seventy-four, and my first questions to everyone was about their general vision and how they read. When I asked him how he reads he responded, “I finished forth grade. I can read.” “No,” I responded, “Can you read without problems?” “I have a forth grade education but I read well. No problems.” I chuckled a bit to myself and said, “I know you can read. But how about the letters on the page? Are they clear? Can you read them?” It was only now that he knew what I meant. It was a very enduring exchange (meant fully complimentary to the gentleman I helped).
Also, there are a lot of residents of the village who speak the same Ukrainian dialect that is spoken in my own village and a lot of people started to think they could talk about me, around me, without an issue (thinking I wouldn't understand). I took it for a while for me fill them in on the fact that I knew what they were saying – it wasn't until a woman came in and responded to all of my questions in Ukrainian with me writing the answers that people really got surprised. When I finished I told her that she was lucky I live in a village where I can understand all that she said – the room then got quiet and it was the last of the dialect that I heard.
It also led to one of the most rewarding moment's I've had as a volunteer here. While I was doing registration I went in back to where the doctor was examining eyes and there was a woman I had sent back there in tears, seventy-one years old and clutching her first ever pair of glasses. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “I'm seventy-one years old – I don't have much longer to live on this earth but I want to be able to see while I still can. Thanks to everyone here, I can.”
Think about it – you're in your seventies and finally you get your first pair of glasses and see clearly for the first time in as long as you can remember. It's heart-warming to imagine and was even more heart-warming to see.
posted by Andy Buchanan at 3:17 AM
2 Comments:
Andy,
The remarkable thing about the whole experience of the distribution of the eye gleasses is that all the building blocks of previous events were necessary preludes, e.g., language learning, cultural exposure, co-volunteer friends, etc. Missing any of these and it would have not been the great success - not only to the fortunate Moldovians who received a pair - but for you. You are leaving on a very high note and yes, I am counting the days !
Dad
Definately the peace corps at its best. Too bad you were busy doing something you were not over there to do. Nevertheless, great story, and counting the days as well.
Rob
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