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Saturday, March 19, 2011

A little out-dated, but that's not important, right?

Aah the holidays.  Being Orthodox, we celebrated Christmas on January 7th.  Small children come to your doorstep and rap on windows while singing carols.  In return they are given a few lei (Moldovan currency), candy and small cracker/cookie type thing.  All day long you sit at ‘masa’ (literally table, but meaning party) where the table is constantly filled with delicious food, and shots of homemade riku (vodka), wine, and conac are always flowing.  Your time at the table is punctuated by the ever flow of visitors – neighbors, friends, family, and of course the singing children.  At my house we stayed – at least in the kitchen, if not at the table – from noon until 7pm.  At our immediate family only breakfast masa, to pre-empt the Christmas masa, I handed out stockings to each of my host family memebers.  Included was the matching sock to make a pair (I recieed quite a bit ribbing for handing out lone socks, “is this the left or right?” “um, you forget something Kim?” “Oh good, so my left foot will be warm,”  and my personal favorite,  “well at least one foot will be warm enough to hora…”), candy, a sparkler, an orange, and a champagne popper (the small firework type thing) – which they had never seen before.  I got a good laugh at watching them nervously decide if they wanted to point it up or down, and close their eyes just before pulling to cord.  I also gave them some goodies I collect for them while on my travels.

When we were finally done with our 7 hour long masa, we freshened up, fed the cow, and walked down to grandma’s house where uncle was also waiting.  Again, we sat at the masa.  This time when we finished eating and drinking my host dad required everyone to sing a song, solo style.  I sang jingle bells.  This prompted my dad to turn on his phone ring which has been playing jingle bells all year long, so that I could sing along with the music.  A little while later I busted out with my one and only Moldovan song, but it was met with a standing ovation after, the whole table put their arms around each other and joined in singing as loudly as the 8 by 8 room would allow. 

In Moldova, Christmas actually lasts for three days, with the same masa-sitting tradition upheld each day.  On Sunday night, the last night of Christmas, I called my partner-teacher and set up a meeting so we could plan our lessons for the next day.  I walk across the village to her house, backpack and all ready to plan.  The door is flung wide open before I can knock and her entire extended family is on the other side ready to welcome me in.  We don’t plan.  Instead I sit at another masa, eating and drinking.  All the family was staring at me, all ear to ear grins, asking me question after question.  Apparently they had been waiting all three days to meet the American that she has been working with. 

With Christmas being two weeks later, New Years also is celebrated two weeks later than we do, on January 14th.  On New Year’s eve groups of boys between the ages of 8 and 14 go door to door, much like trick-or-treating, dressed up as old woman (or in my village’s case, as roma gypsy women)  sing a specific song, ring bells, hit pans, and make all sorts of noise until someone at the house gives them candy, a little money, and a traditional circular bread that is placed on a stick carried between two of the boys, proudly demonstrating their booty.  Some girls too go door to door, they too dressed up as gypsies, but because it is traditionally only done by boys, the girls also drew fake mustaches and beards.  Again, we stayed up at masa, waiting for the seemingly endless groups of boys to finally stop.  It happened around 11.

The next day, (Jan. 14th) on New Year’s day, I am dressed for school eating my breakfast alone in the kitchen in our quiet house as the sun hasn’t quite come up, and I haven’t quite opened my eyes fully.  All of a sudden my host mom and sister come barreling through the kitchen door and start throwing bits of grain at me reciting some poem.  I have graining falling out hair, down my shirt, in my coffee.  After this ends, I innocently ask why they have just thrown grain at me?  This country has more traditions than probably all the different cultures living in America have, combined.  To offer good luck, a prosperous year, and good crops in the new year, Moldovans throw grain, seeds, corn (or whatever else they have around the house) at people and say a short poem.  The walk to school alone, I was hit by 7 different students.  Walking into the school the 5 cleaning ladies had me trapped in a corner.  I learned quickly though, and upon entering each of my classes had my hand full of grain to pass along my good tidings, before the students could.  The kids thought it was hilarious, in the teacher’s lounge they were mildly impressed I knew the poem… whatever, some of them liked it.  The grain never stopped though as long as I was out walking in the village.  When finally I was changing into my PJ’s, I had a nice little pile of grain at the foot of my bed

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