Germans

A German Rotary Club recently sent three of its members – Joachim, Reinhard, and Juergen – to Copceac in order to lay the groundwork for two projects they will be funding. I've been emailing with them over the last couple months to help set things up, and it was nice to finally meet them. The first project will replace many of the old, drafty wood-frame windows in one of the schools with modern, double-pane, plastic-frame ones. The other is a water project, which will connect a well with three water towers that are 2km away. This will greatly increase the water available to the village. At least until I leave for America, I’m to be their eyes and ears on the ground as these projects move forward.

During their visit, I was occasionally surprised by their surprise that someone from America (me) would be living and working in Moldova as a PCV. Over the course of their visit, we talked about a lot of things including the current administration in America. Other than Moldovans, this was the first time I've really discussed America's reputation with Europeans. Although this probably isn't news to the readers of this blog, it was a bit of a shock to me to see first-hand how far America's standing has fallen since the outpouring of sympathy that came following 9/11.

One Rotarian mentioned that he always liked America because following WWII, he remembered receiving packages from the States with good food and nice, warm clothes. Isn't it amazing how those gifts so many years ago helped shape an opinion that has lasted so long? I wonder how long the aid given by the American people to the world will continue to mold opinions in light of current events?

So what does this mean for me and the Peace Corps? I think it makes our work to attain world peace and friendship much more difficult, and perhaps more important, to say nothing of the threat of terrorism. Though there are only a few people in Copceac who think that I am a spy, some of them are good and intelligent people (who unfortunately have the completely wrong idea about my mission). Can you blame them? If I lived in a country that used to view America as its enemy, and at least partly blamed America for the fall of the USSR, and now saw an America that waged unpopular (if not simply unjustified) wars, what would I think if an American showed up in my village with some vague humanitarian goals?

Babel

For those who don't know the story of the Tower of Babel, I'll give
you a quick rundown… Back in the day, all of mankind spoke one
language. Folks got together and decided they would build a huge
tower to heaven to skip life and get right to the good stuff. God
disapproved, and so He caused the people to speak in different
tongues. They no longer understood each other, couldn't work
together, and the tower was abandoned or collapsed or both. [If a
greater scholar than I wants to give a better history in the comments
section, go ahead.]

The first time I watched director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's
latest film, named after the ancient tower, I did so without
subtitles. I thought I remembered reading an article somewhere that
said he had deliberately chosen to go without translations of the
Arabic, Berber, Japanese, Spanish, and sign-language in order to
highlight the barriers that separate us. If the audience struggles
to understand, then they're more participants in the story than
simple observers – or so the theory goes. Turns out, I never read
such an article and somehow created it in my mind, mostly because I
didn't notice the "Turn Subtitles On" button in the program on my
computer I was using to watch the film. Oops. Believe me, the
second time through (with subtitles) is much better.

This film and the story from which it derives its name are in some
ways strikingly similar to my current situation. Yesterday, I went
to the university in Taraclia, a city about a 5-minute taxi ride from
my village center. I've lived in Copceac for a year-and-a-half, but
it was only a week ago that I learned that there was a university
nearby, and only yesterday, when I ventured there on my own, that I
discovered an English Department there AND that from 1992-94 some
woman from Kansas served as a Peace Corps Volunteer there! Am I
speaking some different language? How was I never told about this?
Granted, some of the blame lies with me because I never asked anyone,
"Hey, is there a university in Taraclia?" Then again, I also never
asked anyone, "Hey, is there an underground Olympic-sized swimming
pool with an unlimited supply of chips and salsa in Taraclia?" Maybe
I should.

More striking to me was a question I asked several of the students I
met in one English class. "How many of you speak Gagauz?" Not a
single hand went up. In Copceac, five minutes away, the primary
language is Gagauz. But in Taraclia, nothing.

This was, of course, only one class and not a true cross-section of
the Taraclia population, which I know has significant numbers who do
speak Gagauz. Nonetheless, it was surprising to see that in such a
small area, two villages should have as many languages. That would
be like everyone in my hometown of Fredon speaking Spanish, and five
minutes away in Newton everyone speaking Chinese. I guess I never
cease to be amazed by the number of languages spoken in such a tiny
area. Romania, Russian, Bulgarian, Gagauz, Ukrainian, and some study
English and/or German.

Beef Jerky

Those who know my brother and me will tell you that we're beef jerky
snobs (especially my brother – sorry, Bud, but it's true). We only
go for the all natural stuff – none of that artificial Slim-Jim
crap. From various care packages, I still have about 5.5 packets
left. I spent the last half-packet in self-preservation. By this I
don't mean that I was wasting away with hunger, but rather I gave it
to avoid being eaten by another.

There are two large dogs at my new host family (which is great,
BTW). One is a beautiful black German Shepard, Linda. She's well-
mannered and can even open the front door if it isn't locked and come
inside. Linda sits at the foot of the dinner table and we give her
scraps. The other dog, quite frankly, scared the bejesus out of me.
She's got a striking resemblance to Kujo and showed up from God knows
where about 2 months ago and the family just adopted her.

Knowing that the way to a dogs heart is through its stomach, I've
been tossing scraps of jerky anytime I pass by. I think the plan has
worked, and now I only mildly fear for my life whenever I enter the
gate.

[PS – DON'T send more jerky. I've got plenty.]

Countdown

As many already know, I will be leaving Moldova to return to America
in about two months. This brings on a mix of emotions, not
dissimilar to how I felt a couple months from entering the Peace
Corps. Then, I was reluctant to leave friends, family, and a
familiar way of life. Who wouldn't be? But at the same time, that
reluctance was outweighed by my sense of adventure and desire to make
a difference. I was going to live in a country – first Uzbekistan,
and then Moldova – that few foreigners and fewer Americans ever see.
I was going to meet and help new people, face and overcome
challenges, learn a new language, and see parts of the world that
would (I hoped) forever change my perspective.

Now, I find myself in a nearly identical situation, but reversed. In
Moldova, I have friends, I have important (albeit intermittent) work,
I even have pointy-toed Moldovan shoes. It will not be without some
sense of regret that I leave these behind. On the other hand, I'm
getting pretty excited to be back in America. I'll see old friends,
spend time with my family (including a niece due to arrive in July!),
and begin down a new career path at business school. It's a mixed
bag in wanting these next two months to fly by, and to creep along.

Either way, they will probably be busy months with 2-3 more Poosk
seminars, a close-of-service conference, a grand birthday bash,
visitors from Germany, more computer classes, moving to a new family,
packing, finishing up the TV station project, and all the little
details that go along with transitioning across seven time zones.
I'll just try to enjoy the ride.

A Hero, Digging, Women, and Business

First, a moment of silence for the passing of Captain America, my favorite comic book hero. Apparently, he was shot and killed a couple weeks ago (although how many times have comic book heros come back from beyond?) For those who don’t know, Captain America started out as a fairly scrawny lad, unfit for military service during WWII. But, he had heart, and so volunteered to test a special “super soldier serum.” The serum gave him super strength, and he went on to have many adventures attempting to do what most superheroes do, save the world.

The way Captain America got his start is, in my opinion, a bit silly – nothing more than glorified steroids. I stopped collecting comic books when I was about 13, and I can’t say I’m any kind of expert concerning Captain America or that I’ve kept up with his exploits as of late, but I always liked him for his unbending idealism and honesty. He was a real straight shooter, in contrast to other, perhaps more questionable heroes/vigilantes like the Punisher or Wolverine who tended to meat out justice with a heavy hand. Even Captain America’s “weapon,” an indestructible shield which he could throw like a boomerang, was essentially a defensive instrument that could be used offensively when necessary. In a world of gray Captain America was about as close to white as comic book heroes come, and I, for one, will miss him. When I get home, I’ll have to dig out some old comics and relive a bit of my childhood.


Anyway, this blog is supposed to be about my Peace Corps experience, so let’s get to that. Now that the weather is getting warmer and the earth is less frozen, a lot of digging is going on. My host-brother, Vitalik, dug a new toilet and covered up the old, full one. People are planting potatoes and onions in their gardens, and trimming grape vines to encourage new shoots. One of the schools here dug a new well, and I helped out a little one day. These projects are basically carried out with a shovel, bucket, and a rope – very different from the mechanized digging of wells in America. At the school, how many people showed up to help struck me. A few of the workers were being paid, but many were simply the fathers of school children who wanted to make things better for their own. I admire that.

March 8th marked Women’s Day. This is similar to the American Mother’s Day, except that it’s for all women. I had a great time at a concert held in one of the school auditoriums. The local dance troupe performed several times and lots of people sang. The singing is a neat experience because everyone in the audience seems to know all the words to these folk songs. I’d imagine it would be like in America if we all sang “This Land is Your Land” or “Home on the Range.” But I just don’t think we have that sort of culture. Oh yeah – I also got up to sing. There were performances in Russian, Gagauz, and Romanian, so I started out by saying that as March 8th is an international holiday, it was only fitting that there be a performance in English as well. I then proceeded to introduce the audience to the wonder that is The Stray Cats’ “Rock This Town.” I think everyone got a kick out of it, and the whole concert, including my performance, has been replayed several times on the local TV channel.

Bryan and Amy came to Copceac for the weekend to run another of our small business Poosk seminars. Since it was on my turf, I was responsible for all the logistics. I was really worried that all the kids who had signed up to attend wouldn’t show, but on our first day we actually had well more than I had anticipated – actually it made the seminar a bit difficult to conduct with so many people in the room. But, fortunately (???) we had the typical attrition rate so days 2 and 3 were a bit more manageable.

Participants this time came up with creating a movie theater, a pizzeria, and a gym. I thought all of them were good ideas, though each needed to be a little clearer or do a little more research regarding their projected budgets. Nonetheless, the fact that they’re simply making budgets BEFORE beginning a project puts them well ahead of their peers and even some NGO directors. [One such director from another part of Moldova refuses to make a budget for a remodeling project because he/she claims that the costs can only be known once the project is complete.]

This seminar was the first time that Bryan, Amy, and I gave real feedback to students on their presentations and awarded a prize to the group that did the best job. In the past, we simply asked questions as a way to expose weaknesses in the presentations because we didn’t want to offend or discourage participants. Ultimately, we decided that the educational value was worth it – if we don’t flat out tell these students things like (a) not to look at only one person during a presentation, (b) not to have your back to the audience when presenting, or (c) that their budgets are unrealistic, who will?

I really liked having guests at my house, and look forward to an upcoming shared birthday party with Bryan and Amy. Coincidentally, the only three PCVs living in Gagauzia, who happen to be the same three PCVs who run Poosk, also happen to have their birthdays on April 13, 19, and 23. Small world.

Passports are a big deal in Moldova. Unlike in America, which comparatively has a relatively stable passport system, the documents that Moldovans carry have varied greatly over the years. During the Soviet times, all citizens of the USSR carried Soviet Union passports. When that system collapsed in 1991, those documents became (for the most part) invalid. As former republics declared their independence, they also had to create a new passport system (not to mention a billion other kinds of infrastructure, all of which had previously come from Moscow). Most reading this blog have waited in line to renew a driver's license or applied for a passport in America; it takes time and can be a frustrating process. Now magnify that by 5 million citizens of Moldova all applying for new documentation at the same time, add in a non-computerized system, and you can understand why trading in USSR passports for Moldovan ones can take so long to get.

Everyday, several people from my small village come to the mayor's office to apply for some kind of documentation to get an ID card or passport. Many also travel to Romania or Bulgaria to apply for dual citizenship. Why? Since these two nations recently gained entry to the EU, and their citizen may travel freely without visas to any other EU nation. This can be a huge boon for Moldovan citizens looking to find a better-paying jobs abroad. Not only do they need not apply for an expensive visa, but they don't have to return to Moldova every three months when the visa expires (or continue to work abroad illegally). Wait times to get these second passports sometimes exceed three years.

One last interesting thing: a Moldovan passport lists your "ethnicity." By this I don't mean Caucasian, Mongoloid, African, Latino, etc. Rather, one must include one's ancestry, such as Ukrainian, Romanian, Russian, etc. This is not done in America. In my passport, it nowhere states that my family has Italian, Syrian, and Russian roots. Why does Moldova do this and America does not? I think because it simply matters less in America, the (supposed) "melting pot" in which peoples of all nations come together as Americans. In Moldova, I think individuals still much more strongly identify with being Bulgarian, Gagauz, Russian, Ukrainian, or Romanian.

One woman at our last Poosk seminar explained that when her mother applied for her Moldovan passport, she had to choose between listing Romanian or Ukrainian heritage. The woman chose Romanian, and thus her last name ended wish "-ii." Had she chosen Ukrainian, her last name would have ended in "-ay," the feminine ending which exists in Russian/Ukrainian, but does not exist in Romanian. When her daughter came of age to get her own passport, she wanted to chose Ukrainian because her father was Ukrainian, but it would have created all kinds of difficulties should her mother ever need to provide permission for anything because their last names would be different - one ending in "-ii" and one ending in "-ay." So, now they both list Romanian heritage on their Moldovan passports.

Handshakes and Beards

For men in Moldova, it's very important to shake hands.  Whereas in America a wave or head nod or simple "Hello" will suffice when meeting large groups of people, in Moldova it is often considered insulting if a man does not shake your hand.  Mind you, this is regardless of the number of people you are greeting or their relationship to you.  The hand must be shook.

I'm sure that I've managed to make some social mistakes in this quarter since arriving in Moldova - and if you're a Moldovan whose hand I forgot to shake, I apologize.  It was never intentional; it's just not something we do to the same degree in America.

So, you can imagine my surprise when my offer to shake hands with several of my co-workers was turned down.  My hand was extended, they clearly saw it, but refused to grab on.  I somewhat jokingly insisted as they retreated further from my greeting.

Then a female co-worker explained that they could not shake my hand because someone in their familiy had died.  Wow, foot in my mouth.  In the Gagauz (and perhaps Moldovan?) culture, when a family member dies the men must grow beards for 40 days, during which time they cannot shake hands with anyone.

Fortunately, most Moldovan men are clean-shaven, so in the future if I see a beard I will know to keep my hand in my pocket.  Then again, there are some men who do wear beards and I may offend them if I don't shake.  This will be a tricky situation...

Lost in Translation

Another PCV recently posted a string of funny conversations he had at site.  I thought it was a good idea, so here's one of my own...

First a little background: In Moldova, when someone comes to your house, they wait outside the gate and yell your name.  Because you might be deep in the backyard garden, watching the TV extremely loudly, working in another part of the house, or just plain hard of hearing, the "caller" usually stays at the gate for several minutes, yelling the "callee's" name and making high-pitched whistling.  [It really makes me think that a doorbell or some sort of "I'm home / I'm not home" sign business would do very well in Moldova.  I've now actually made such a sign for my brother.]

At my house, people are usually looking for my host-bother, and even when they're looking for me they sometimes call out his name.  If I'm home alone and someone comes a calling, I usually don't answer because I don't want to interrupt what I'm doing to have conversations like the one I had today.  But sometimes the screaming and whistling at the gate demands attention:

Caller: Vitalik!
Caller: [20 seconds later] VITALIK! followed by high-pitched whistling.  [repeat every 20 seconds for next 5 minutes]
Me: [deciding to stop the insanity, leave my room and yell back from the house door] Vitalik's not here.
Caller: Vitalik?
Me: No, Vitalik's not here.
Caller: Come here.
Me: But Vitalik's not here.
Caller: Come here, I have a question.
Me: [walk to the gate] Vitalik's not here, it's only me.
Caller: Where's Vitalik?
Me: I don't know.
Caller: Is he here?

Leaving on a Jet Plane (or more likely a bus)

The newest accountant, and as far as I’m concerned the best one, told me today that he’s leaving next week to go work abroad in Turkey. I hate that. He’s got a new baby daughter and feels, probably rightly, that he cannot earn enough money in Moldova to support her and his young wife. I’m losing a good friend and co-worker, the office is losing a productive and intelligent accountant, and a family loses its father and husband – not to mention that Moldova loses part of its tax base.

Homes

There is a lot of construction going on these days in Moldova, both at my village and in the capital - the two places I am most often found. People are remodeling the interior of their homes - bathrooms, kitchens, bedrooms - and laying new bricks along sidewalks, pounding them into sand with rubber mallets. Old frameworks that stood dormant for most of the year are now centers of activity as workers, usually the owners, lay cinder blocks, mix cement, and cut large shingles to fit on the roof.

All this I take as a good sign for the Moldovan economy, but looks can be deceiving. In conversations with people at site and other PCVs, I realized that there is basically no market for houses. In America, when you want a house you typically go to a bank to get a loan, purchase an existing house with it, and spend the next 20-30 years paying off the mortgage. Banks here don't work that way, and so usually a person must build their own and fund the entire construction independently. This means that houses, and many large apartment or office buildings, are built slowly over several years as money becomes available; it also means that purchasing an already built structure is very difficult - who would sell a building without getting all the money up front, or agreeing to some kind of multi-year payment plan? Not this guy, and probably not many Moldovans.

The result? Capital is invested in buildings for long periods of time without getting any return. If it takes 5 years and $5,000 each year to build a store, the owner must wait 5 years and stake out $25,000 of his own money before he can even sell a single juice box. That's a hefty load to bare, and is probably one (of many) reason why it is so difficult to start a small business here.

How to fix this problem? I don't know. I'm certain that the central bank would need to create some sort of freer system for money to move between banks. Establishing a mortgage market is way beyond this PCV's abilities, but I'm certain any kind of lender would make a killing in this market, provided they could establish some kind of collatoral for their investment (admittedly not an easy thing to do here).

Day of the Village

Last Monday was Copceac's День Селе (Village Day), and it was a lot of fun. I'd say it's sort of the equivalent of July 4th in the States - full of people playing games, eating, drinking, and relaxing outside. There was the annual chess tournament, in which I played one warm-up game before realizing that to participate in the tourney I had to play 5 games in one day. Since I wanted to see everything the day had to offer, I decided to skip out on my chance to be crowned champion - maybe next year...

Instead, I got to play volleyball, which I LOVE to do. My team came in 2nd overall. Of course, since I was playing the whole time I didn't have a chance to snap any pictures, but this is our team and others gathered at a local bar later that night to celebrate. [Funny story: I was a bit late to meet up with the group because I went home after a long day in the village center to take a shower. I got all soaped and shampooed up, only to have the water pump break down. Only a thin trickle of water would come out, so it took me about 15 minutes to rinse off. Sometimes a bucket and a bowl look better than a faucet...]

On a stage in the center of town, kids performed and at the beginning of the day, speeches were given about all the groups of the village - teachers, factory workers, farmers, etc. It was nice to see everyone being given their 15 minutes (or seconds) of fame.


Bottom line is I had a good day. It didn't involve any successful projects or real work on my part - it was just being there and being culturally involved, which is part of Peace Corps, anyway. I really liked walking through the crowd and seeing everyone I knew, just saying hello or chatting for a little while. It's not everyday I get to see a three donkeys race around a field...

I Think I Can...

Most of these blog entries revolve around things that I see and do.  It's much more difficult to write on a thematic basis, i.e. to assemble and analyze all these tangibles into a blanket cultural observation (albeit one with plenty of exceptions, as most cultural observations are).  So here's my observation: many here are so embarrassed about their inability to do something new well, that they refuse to work at it to get better, meaning they never improve.

Now before I go any further (and thus put my foot even deeper into my mouth), I should state that this is a world-wide phenomenom, and is not specific only to Moldova or unheard of in America.  But, in this humble blogger's opinion, it is more prevalent here than I've seen in other places.

Some examples:
1. English TEACHERS and many students are embarrassed to speak in English with me, as if I expect their English to be as good as mine and look down upon them because it's not.  [Guess I should stop yelling, "Boy are you STUPID!" everytime someone doesn't have perfect subject-verb agreement...]
2. Whenever someone sees me type quickly and I tell them about my computer class and how they could learn to do the same in a relatively short time, many say "I could never do it."  Just the other day for the ump-teenth time I was telling some people about a class I had started and that they should come the next day and start learning.  Instead, they asked if I would still be here next summer to give the same class.  Why not just take it now?  Because we missed the first few classes and would be embarrassed in front of the others.  So what?!?  Who knows what will happen a year from now and they'll probably never be another chance to get virtually free instruction in your own village like I'm offering.

No one is good at anything the first time they try something.  If that prevented everyone from trying something new, then we'd still be in the Stone Age.

Most locals are no doubt better than I at maintaining a garden, fixing anything, and speaking Russian, just as I am generally better at speaking English and typing.  But that doesn't mean I don't believe that with enough time, instruction, and hard work I could learn how to do all of those things if not equally as well, nearly so.  My point is one must believe in oneself in order to achieve anything, and for some reason I see a lack of self-confidence in a lot of situations here.

What is the root cause of this?  I don't know.  Maybe I'm just overly confident and so I should adjust for that bias.  Probably a bit of the problem is I'm simply not cut out to be a great teacher - too impatient.  Maybe the communist "government will provide all" mentality is to blame.  Perhaps it's an educational system that, with a few exceptions (you're one of them, Luda), largely favors memorization over ingenuity.  If any of you out there have thoughts on this, I'd certainly welcome them here.

Since the first step in anything is believing that you can succeed, I sometimes wonder which would have a greater effect in Moldova: (1) all NGOs continuing various projects to improve democratic institutions, bring running water and gas to all parts of the country, update technological practices, give better health education and access to the population, etc.; or (2) give every household a translation of The Little Engine That Could.

I Hate Flies

I hate them.  I hate flies with every ounce of my being.  I especially hate Moldovan flies which are very different from American flies.  Sure, they look the same, talk the same, and may even go to the same church, but there is a difference.  Moldovan flies have a mean streak.  It's not so mean that they would come right out and bite you; it's far more devious and, as it drives you slowly insane, ultimately far more sinister.  Their mean-ness is of the annoying kind, like the adolensent little brother who in the back seat of the car on a long trip insists you have no right to be angry because his finger which is directly in front of your eye is not techically touching you.  American flies will, for the most part, leave you alone - particularly once you've swatted at them a few times or said something like, "Shoo fly, don't bother me."  Moldovan flies, however, are social creatures and love to hang out with me and have decided to make my bedroom party central.  They land on me when I'm typing or reading or sleeping or eating and just stroll around on my body.  Unlike the polite American flies, they've no qualms about landing on my face or repeatedly buzzing about and landing on me after I've numerously, vociferously, and in multiple languages (ly) told them to take a hike.

I've taken to keeping the door and window closed as much as possible to keep new flies from joining the club; go on rageful killing sprees every other day with "Mike," an old Newsweek; and recently purchased some fly paper, which despite some moderate success has failed to achieve the kind of annihilation of the species for which I was hoping.  Thus, the war continues...

I may not be looking forward to winter with its indoor ice-box-like temperatures and lack of fruits and veges, but at least there won't be any more of these damned flies!  I HATE THEM!

The Silent Killer

This is a common topic among PCVs in this part of the world, but one that I have yet to address on this blog.  The silent killer of which I speak is called "The Current."  In America, we would call it wind.

Here, the Big C has taken on almost mythical proportions.  It kills, it maims, it lays the healthy low, and is the cause for just about any health problem from the common cold to a stroke.  [Seriously, another PCV's family insists that the reason half of their grandmother's body is paralyzed is because a few days before it happened she was outside and exposed to the air.]

This is more than just the typical American mother telling her child to bundle up before going outside to play.  This is closing all windows in cars and houses on the warmest days and nights.  This is wearing hats and sweaters when I'm dripping in shorts and a t-shirt.  This is wrapping babies in so many layers that even their fingernails sweat.  The Current is a deadly adversary against whom all must be on their guard.

I think one reason why the threat of the Current is so tangable here is that the other causes for illness are perhaps too difficult to face.  Why does Junior need an operation?  Is it because his mother can't afford to buy him nutritious food or doesn't understand that so much oil and fat and alchohol and candy are bad for his health?  Is it because the well water is unclean due to the proximity of outhouses?  Is it because the mercury in the house during the winter never rises above "I can see my breath?"  These possibilities (or probabilities) call into question the ableness of a
family or community to raise a child, a tough pill for any culture to
swallow.  Far easier, though ultimately less productive, to blame it on some some supernatural, omnipresent, and unstoppable force.

The recent upshot of all this in my life is that all modes of transportation (save my bike) have taken on a striking resemblence to a saunas on wheels.  There's rarely air-conditioning available, and if there is it is most certainly not on.  Windows are closed.  On public transportation, tiny sun-roofs that can be pushed up about two inches (for the very purpose of letting fresh air in, I might add) are quickly clamped down once a bus starts moving.  We're packed like sardines into these mobile steamrooms, most of us smell bad to begin with, and by the time we get out we're worse.

I think it's far more likely that people get sick due to breathing in everyone's germs in this sealed environment than from cracking a window.  But that's just me.  And while I do believe that eventually this belief will fall by the wayside, it certainly won't be during my two years of service here.  So, I just try to get a seat by the window or stand by the sun-roof and through the glares of "What the hell is he doing?!" and the occasional protest, I open a crack to let in just a little bit of our nemesis.  Our wonderful, refreshing, cooling, invigorating nemesis.

ps - How many people can you fit onto a marshutka (minibus)?  One more.

Feedback

During the 4 years I worked after college and before PC, I always had feedback sessions at my places of employment.  For those unfamiliar with this term, it's a time for an employer and employee to give each other an honest assessment of the other's work and suggestions about how to improve in the future.  When done correctly, each person walks away feeling good about their accomplishments to date and excited about continuing to grow their skills and abilities.  When done poorly, both parties can feel hurt and resentful. 

Now that my 4 computer classes are about half-way through, I decided to distribute a feedback questionnaire to my students to learn their likes and dislikes, what they were most looking forward to learning in the remaining classes, suggestions for the future, and even common grammatical Russian mistakes they've heard me make.

[Amusing sidenote: Turns out the Russian word for "folder" is only one letter removed from the word for "ass."  So from time to time when I've asked people to open a particular folder on the computer, well... you can figure it out.]

While virtually all the forms were complimentary and there were some good suggestions that I've since incorporated into our classes, it seemed there was a  general lack of understanding about the purpose of the questionnaire.  Many of the answers were word for word copies from their classmates and most answers were only vague generalities like, "I like everything."  And while it could be possible that everyone really does like every class just as much as every other class - I mean lets not forget the stud-meister whose teaching these babies - I think it's more likely that they just didn't want to be so direct in criticisms.

This is a running theme in Moldovan culture - there's a lot of indirect, non-confrontational maneuvering around the main point.  And there's a lot of confrontation and yelling for no good reason that fails to resolve a lot of issues.  Ironically (to an American), it's the indirect offenses that are often more hurtful than the yelling matches, which people seem to shrug off as if it were simply a typical conversation.

But I digress... let's get back to feedback.  So my Russian tutor is helping me translate some of the answers on these feedback forms when she asks me, "What exactly is feedback?"  She said that this word appeared a few years ago in Moldova and every time she go to a seminar people ask for feedback this and feedback that, but none of her peers in the audience really know what it is.

I explained the concept and with an example of what if all the teachers could give feedback to the principal and vice-versa?  People could explain what problems they had and more importantly offer solutions - of course all in a way so as to not offend the feedbackee.  She really liked the idea, and so did I.  So I think sometime I'm going to give a seminar at one of the schools (and maybe some other organizations) about giving and getting feedback, and hopefully that will make the school run a little better.

And of course, in the next set of computer classes, I will explain in greater detail how feedback works.

Gagauz

Though Moldova is a small nation - about the size of Maryland - it has many languages.  Romanian is now the official language, but virtually everyone knows Russian from this nation's time as part of the Soviet Union.  Then there are pockets of Ukrainian and Bulgarian, and in my neck of the woods, Gagauz, a Turkish dialect.

Language is actually a controversial issue - I'd compare it to the strife between English and Spanish in America, but a lot more vigorous.  Some favor Russian over Romanian, some go the other way, and some don't even know the other language.  In my village, only a handful know Romanian and Gagauz is actually their first language with Russian a close second.

Therefore, I have started learning this Turkish language.  PC was kind enough to back me up in this endeavor - meaning they'll pay my tutoring bill.  It's a bit of an experiment for them since no PCV has ever learned Gagauz before.  I really like it so far - it's grammar is definitely easier compared to Russian, the mother of all prefixes and suffixes.  Already I've been able to catch a few words and converse a little with people in their native tongue, and if nothing else it always wins a smile from locals who see that an American is at least trying to adapt to their culture.

Volume Control

Call it a cultural difference between the Gagauz and American cultures.  To put it simply, they talk really loudly over here.  I'm not quite sure why locals feel compelled to shout when we're standing right next to each other.  I used to think it was because my language skills weren't all that great, and they (erroneously) thought that every time I said, "Please, speak more slowly" what I really meant was "I'm almost deaf and can only understand when you speak both louder and faster."

But now that my language and cultural skills are better, I see that it's not just me who's getting my eardrums torn.  It's just part of the system here to speak really loudly and emotionally.  It's a miracle that not more people have developed nodes on their vocal chords, though come to think of it there are several people I know with very raspy voices...

As American, this can sometimes grate on my psyche.  In the US - or at least the parts I frequented - we rarely raise our voices during the workday or even in debates unless we're really angry.  So being around people who daily "put it up to 11," requires that I constantly remind myself (a) they're not actually angry at me, (b) I don't need to cow-tow when someone "yells," and (c) it's OK to yell back.  Actually, that last part feels pretty good on the rare occasions when I do it.  WATCH OUT!  IT'S MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY!

Capitalist vs. Communist

I've been wanting to write a blog entry for a long time about some of the fundamental differences between the capitalist and communist systems, and the resulting differences that those systems have had upon the mindset of the people of America and Moldova.

But try as I might to explain these complex systems and relationships, it never seemed to come out too clearly. But, then I found my friend Greg's recent entry, which hits the nail on the head. So check it out.

The only thing I would add to Greg's musings is the difficulty in explaining this difference to someone who actually grew up under the communist system. In America, we have this idea that the communist system was nothing more than long lines for bread, misinformation, and lack of freedom. But it was also plenty of wonderful things - free summer camps for children, goods from all over the Soviet Union, health care, and a sense of being part of something bigger than oneself. To show someone who vividly remembers the "highs" (like we all tend to do by fantasizing the "good ol' days") of the communist system that this system had its flaws is difficult to say the least - especially when it comes out of the mouth of the former Cold War enemy who made their system collapse and now parade around the world like wealthy political cowboys. You can see why I usually don't talk about politics over here.

Customer Service

The topic of this entry (at least by overly demanding American
standards) is a rare find in Moldova. Store clerks do not ask "How
are you?" when you enter a shop. Asking bus or marshutka drivers for
directions have been (in my case) greeted with slammed doors or a
flurry of Russian, Romanian, and Gagauzian that is loosely translated
as "Don't bother me." There is no waiting in line - only pushing and
shoving and crowding and cutting. People tend to yell a lot if there
is some kind of problem, usually upset because of the ignorance of
the customer. The mantra, "The customer is always right" has been
altered slightly to read, "The customer is usually stupid, wrong and
not worth my time."

So you can imagine my surprise when I happened upon a very competent
and helpful young woman, Nina, on Saturday in the city of Cahul in
the Voxtel (my cell phone company) store. My cell phone is recharged
by purchasing a card at various kiosks throughout Moldova. One
scratches off the back of the card to uncover a 16-digit number,
which one then phones in and presto - more minutes. So, in the
process of scratching off the back of my latest card, I also
scratched off parts of a few of the 16 digits. Some numbers might
have been 8's or 6's or 3's. Others could have been 2's or 7's.
Some might have even been Chinese characters.

I tried entering various combinations and even went so far as to make
an official list of the possibilities so I didn't accidentally repeat
my attempts. After about 20 tries, my phone service refused to allow
me to even attempt to enter a new combination - there must be some
kind of limit as to the number of incorrect attempts you can make.
So now I had a fairly expensive and potentially useless phone card;
very few minutes on my phone; and even if I bought a completely new
card my phone wouldn't even allow me to enter any 16-digit number,
correct or otherwise.

So when I explained the situation to Nina and she said, "No problem"
I thought she probably didn't understand the situation. Perhaps my
explanation was lost in the translation. I explained again and
received the same reply. She took my card and ID, copied them both,
wrote a little note, and faxed it to Chisinau and within half an hour
I had my minutes. I was in and out of the store in 10 minutes.
Problem solved. Made my day. I love competence.

Bureacracy

Here's a taste of former-Soviet bureaucracy... I've been working
with the accountants to figure out how to update their systems and
here is what I've learned. [BTW, my second Excel class went off
really well too. Everyone was there on time all by themselves this
time - like they really wanted to be there! - and this time we
converted some of the real paper documents they use into electronic
ones. Next week I'm going to start meeting daily with each
accountant for 30 minutes on the computer. I figure within a couple
weeks I can consider this project more or less finished and they'll
be able to do everything I can do on Excel.] Now, onto the crazy
teacher salary system...

First, you have your base salary based on your years of experience -
just like in America. Then, for some reason you also have a percent
of that salary as a bonus, either 10% or 30%, again depending on your
years of experience. Why there is a separate calculation for the
bonus instead of just lumping it in with the original salary I don't
know. Then each teacher receives a certain percentage of their
"salary+bonus" for the number of classes they taught. If they teach
grades 1-4, they are required to teach 20 classes per week. If
grades 5-12, 18 hours per week. So if they go over or under these
numbers, they get more or less money. Then there's also a small
additional salary for the number of hours they work at home
correcting homework, exams, notebooks, etc. But each subject - math,
Russian, science, etc. - has a different hourly rate. And the rate
is so low across all subjects and the differences between each
subject so miniscule that the most any single teacher might receive
for his/her correcting work would be about $3 per month. In my
opinion, the only thing this "homework bonus" serves to do is make
more work for the accountants.

The system gets trickier when you consider substitute days. First,
if a teacher is absent his or her salary is reduced. There are no
"permanent subs," people who only work as substitutes, like you find
in America. Therefore, the school director or another teacher will
sub and receive a bonus for doing so. The bonus is slightly larger
for teaching older children. There are also additional tiny bonuses
for being a homeroom teacher, coaching an after school activity, and
my personal favorite - hazard pay for some chemistry teachers for
being exposed to dangerous chemicals. There are tiny payments for
having security detail - meaning you have the key to the computer
room - and for working in the school garden during the spring. And
of course there are various taxes that are withheld.

And don't get me started on sick days... I haven't figured this out
yet, but apparently depending on whether you yourself are sick or if
you stay at home to take care of a sick relative or if you get sick
at school or at home or in another city you receive a different
amount of sick pay. And you have to get an official document from
the hospital to show that you were actually sick - no simple phone
call to say "I have a cold and need to stay in bed."

No wonder we have 5 accountants in our office - this is a mountain
load of (seemingly superfluous) calculations. Fortunately Excel is
up to the task and after setting up the proper formulas the first
time, the computer does the rest.

Hoping to start a typing class soon...