I am wrapping up 6 months here in the land of ‘ova’s…. that being Moldova. Each night I am lullabied to sleep by the gentle snorting of 8 pigs, and the tender ca-coo of 3 roosters that seem to be either blind, or off their rocker as they announce the morning’s arrival, every half hour, throughout the night. I feel one with nature, or at least one with the farm as my head rests four feet, separated by a pane of glass from their (the animals) seemingly endless conversations. Everyday we open the gate to the chickens’ lair so they can rummage freely throughout the now dried and brown garden. It actually has been a source of entertainment for me, after lunch I usually sit out –when warm enough- in the yard reading, watching the hens peck away at the flowers, the roosters chasing one another from their respective hens, or the clan of ducks quacking as they round the corner of the house into view. Unfortunately though, winter has reappeared. The first two weeks of October the temperature hovered around 0° Celsius. There was no heat. Not in the house, not in the school, my sleeping bag took residence in my bed. Getting out of bed to visit the outdoor bathroom takes much mental preparation when one can see their breath, inside.
Half way through October was warm again! I could reclaim my seat outside to prepare my lessons as the roosters chased one another under my bridged legs. My clothes still froze on the line at night, but the stiff feeling was welcomed as a false-sense of scotch guard. My hand-washing skills have seriously gone downhill with the cold weather. Or maybe it’s a lack of patience…
Halloween came and went, a week of training came and went, my nights at the Russian karaoke bar came and went, and finally came day of the turkey, gobble gobble day, Thanksgiving. Again, I travelled to the capital early one morning and assumed my role as leader of the mashed potatoes group. Four volunteers personally “delivered” four turkeys for our feast of over 90 people. By delivered I mean, selected, axed, defeathered, and cleaned. Luckily they kept many of the feathers for us to wear during our meal, but we did have to give it a good squeeze before attaching it to our headdress – there were some remnants…. You can see facebook for mine.
Real Thanksgiving came (we celebrated the weekend before) and I gave a presentation to my students, all in Moldovan. My formal presentation was apparently much clearer, because after doing a quick, off-the-cuff explanation to some fellow teachers, I over heard one telling another it was when Columbus came to America. I’m pretty sure I didn’t once mention Columbus, and specifically said pilgrims. Thanksgiving dinner was not the same without party potatoes, I explained them to my host mom – not so much the ingredients but about the party that occurs in your mouth when eating them. My sister especially appreciated my elaboration of it being a small discotec beginning in your mouth, and ending in your stomach; the need to discuss its further journey seemed well, gross. Pickled watermelon, yup, pickled watermelon, that was my Thanksgiving dinner. It’s not something I will be bringing back to the States with me, but after quite a few sit-downs, stare-downs, and force-downs, it has actually started to grow on me.
The day after Thanksgiving it snowed. It snowed a lot. The 10th graders also put on a performance for the upper grades. It was all fun, wholesome, and disorganized, until the last skit. Three boys dressed as cavemen walked in carrying a long stick suspended between their shoulders. Another boy was hanging on the stick, bbq fashion. Once they reached their spots the boy on the stick jumped off, too all of the audience’s surprise he was very scantly dressed as a Roma Gypsy. (Background: Roma people are discriminated against here and it seems only I feel it might be hurtful…) So that the cavemen wouldn’t eat “her” for dinner, “she” performed a pole dance on the previously mentioned stick. I think I will use this opportunity to ask him embarrassing questions in class on Monday.
It snows about every other day now making the trek to school everyday seems to be a little more hazardous than the day before, and I’ve even contemplated wearing my Peace Corps issued “yak-tracks” for the jaunt to my bathroom. It feels like Christmas all the time though, and my host dad’s ring tone has finally begun to seem appropriate (jingle bells). I have about two weeks left in the first semester at school, and yeah, I do feel like giving myself a pat on the back for that one. There were good days, and uh, not so good days. Some days flew by and I found myself laughing with the kids - although my laugh seemed to startle the a little being so loud...- in every period. Other days I wanted to throw my sponge (chalkboard eraser) and pull out my hair - especially when my Moldovaneasca just wasn't flowing.
I have a grand adventure planned for my christmas/new years break, but until then, I will spend the next two weeks dodging sledding children, running in to the school to avoid the all-school snowball fight, and building 'baba de zapata' (old women of snow - aka snowmen).
