Hey folks.
It’s Clayton (AKA Bill, according to my new friend Domnul Alexandru) out yonder
in Vorniceni, Republic of Moldova. I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer now. What have I
been up to you ask? Oh just adjusting to that #satlyfe (sat=village) through a classic cycle of general anxiety. But
things are starting to roll, now that I’ve stopped taking naps every afternoon
from sheer mental exhaustion. Let’s back up a sec, so yall can see why I needed those naps (other than the fact
that I truly, sincerely appreciate naps on a professional level).
August 16th,
2017 I swore in as a Peace Corps volunteer. That was pretty neat – I even got
this shnazzy pin to wear that makes me look super profesh.
But for real, it was a beautiful ceremony,
held in the heart of Chișinău. An all-around celebration of
our partnership as countries, we sang our national anthems in front of our
Pre-Service Training (PST) host families, as our families back home watched
live. Fellow volunteers danced popular Moldovan dances in cultural costumes. Finally,
we were wished the best of luck from government officials – Moldovan and
American alike – as the true journey began.
Saying goodbye to the great friends
I met during PST was surprisingly challenging. PST was similar to the iconic
summer camp, with all the expected adventures, field trips, drama – and romance of course – that any good old
80’s American summer camp B-movie would include, and Swearing-In was the big finale
talent show.
As we all loaded our 16 bags each,
plus fire extinguisher, water filter, and all the knick-knacks we spent too
much on into tiny cars, Rutieras, and 8-passenger trucks (whoop whoop, lucky
me!!), there was the sense of relief – we made it through the awkward,
inexpressible times of PST, and were finally off to be volunteers – although
half of us forgot what that meant by this point.
So there I was, heading to site
with my counterpart, attempting to converse with a science teacher from the Lecuel
in the back seat of this monstrously comfortable truck. I think all I managed
to say was, “Da, alți voluntarii a căsătorit oamenii din Moldova în trecut,” in
my awkward attempt to dodge that question. Yes, I’m really going to make you
open a new tab and google translate that phrase. No, I haven’t bookmarked it
yet, but I probably should. OK you caught me, I am doing it right now
(awkward).
And within the time of that tangent,
I was at site, scuffing my suit jacket as I haphazardly pulled my backpacking
backpack out of the truck bed. I had an additional nervousness upon my arrival,
as my host family was changed under short notice; thus I was one of very few
volunteers who didn’t know who they were about to live with, or where they were
going. I imagine my shoulders would have sunk into a relaxed position from my sigh
of relief upon meeting Domnul Victor Bradu, had they not already been smushed
downward by my clumsy attempt to carry multiple bags. Domnul Bradu helped me to
my room, let me unpack a bit, and then gave me the grand ole tour. Afterwards,
I attempted to unpack more, then decided to test out my new futon. Then the
panic ensued.
You ever look at a new ceiling for
the first time, and realize that not only will you never see the old ceiling
again, but you know nothing about this ceiling – whether its drafty, spidery,
or too reflective? Fast-forward 9.42 seconds (a few plăcinte’s worth) and you’re remembering
that not only do you have your first day of work in the morning, where you will
be speaking in a language that you only began learning 10 weeks previously, but
you also have only met four people in this village for a total of three days,
all your friends are gone, you don’t know how to cook the local food (or where
to find it), and you’re on side two of your last clean-ish pare of chonies. I
knew I was looking at the ceiling, but I didn’t really see it. I didn’t see
anything. I just felt. I felt that overwhelming, sudden rush of electricity
that comes from the tips of your fingers and toes, straight to the dome-piece,
in a fashion where you would expect to shiver, but instead your face goes pale,
as you say to yourself:
h o l y c r a p.
Queue the pacing endlessly,
wondering where to start; queue the clenching of the chest when you know it’s
just your anxiety taking a physical form, but you can’t help but ponder the
thought that one day something might actually be wrong; queue the migraines –
the expected, anticipated yet unstoppable wave of auras that grow in my eyes,
pausing at maximum height, like the moment before the roller coaster drops you
– and then, the drop; alas, queue the naps.
For a week and a half I napped
every day after only a few hours of work. I thought to myself, “I’m never going
to integrate in the community like this; I have to get up, but I’m not ready. I
need time.” I didn’t need time, I needed people – I had too much time.
Over this time I didn’t dive into
the community as much as I had wanted. I had a great time visiting a
neighboring village with my partner, mayor, and his wife; I met a lot of great
people that I am incredibly excited to work with; I watched two amazing dance
groups prepare for Ziua Independenția.
Yet I knew that in my heart I hadn’t had a moment that made me feel like this
was going to be my community, my home. And gosh, do I miss home.
Finally, a Saturday coming up. I
needed to reset, relax for a moment. Hadn’t had water for three days – of
course I found this out after a surprisingly vivacious trip to the veceo. Maybe if I get some socks, underwear, and
maybe a book or two, I’ll at least feel like I can handle some of this
other-worldly adulting.
6:46am I was on a Rutiera to Chișinău. I met Hannah to eat some
breakfast before we headed to piața central. The moment I saw her, I already
started feeling better. A friendly face can do wonders in an unfamiliar land.
Better yet, a beautiful face that you truly endear can give you that reasurring
feeling that you’ve been gasping for: home. Finally. a deep breath.
We spent hours looking through books in the library, stuffing our bags
with anything that let us grasp onto our cultural comforts for a moment.
Getting lost in the piața, I accidentily made crude hand gestures when trying
to ask for help finding the right size of underwear. After finding our way out,
new sock and underwear in hand, we hit the grocery store, and looped back to
our breakfast spot for a good-ole sit-down as we awaited our Rutieras home. I
remember sitting there after what many would consider an average day of
errands, thinking, “this was one hell of a day, and I am so happy I
could spend it with you.” After such a challenging
week, it’s the simple things that make us feel normal, or at least comfortable,
and maybe – just maybe – like I can actually do this. Thank you for giving me
this extraordinary feeling.
Feeling recharged and ready jump in, Sunday I helped set up for Ziua
Independenția. Well, “help” is a relative term. I held the ladder, as
everyone else did the real work – I just showed up, smiling. There was a man by
the name of Domnul Alexandru, wearing a cowboy hat and making jokes – what a
hoot’n a half. He told me of the former volunteer, whom he could not pronounce
his name, so he just called him Batman. When he started introducing me as Bill,
I briefly thought of saying, “screw it” and going by Joe, but then I thought,
“Mmm better yet, I’d rather not.”
Domnul Alexandru kept asking me if
I was going to something that evening, but with my lack of language all I could
express was, “I have no clue what is going on but I think I want to go.” I was
ready to dive in.
As I arrived at our meeting place
that evening, I started to piece together what the heck was going on – or at
least with whom I was going with. I was with the local popular dance crew,
heading to Roșcani. This was
obviously lost in translation, but I was not disappointed.
As we exited the Rutiera, I could see people
dressed in traditional Moldovan costumes all the way up the road. Walking up to
the festival grounds, I saw a traditional popular band playing as people began
to dance, I thought to myself, "This is it. This is why I’m here.” Soon
after, I was pulled in to hora. As I began to get the hang of it, someone
shouted, “el este Moldovenesc acum!” I could not wipe the dirt-eating grin off
my face the rest of the night.
We sang the whole ride home. Yes we
– well I attempted; I don’t quite have the yoyoyoyoyoyyy’s down yet, but I’m
working on it. The whole group was so happy that I went, and invited me to join
again.
After the best weekend I could ask
for, I was finally more excited than nervous to get to work. The concept of
time is a funny thing in the Peace Corps; I was supposed to take a quick trip
to the preschool/kindergarten to take pictures of kids playing in their newly
renovated classrooms. I wound up helping the little ones down the slide and
playing tag for about two hours. Oops! But how could I say no to this little
dude?
And the rest of the week has been
similarly rewarding. Peace Corps has been incredibly challenging at times,
especially at this very beginning period, being new to my village, but the
people who have welcomed me have helped me enjoy the little things in the midst
of this panic. Now, I’m on that up-and-up. Knowing myself, it would be a lie to
say I won’t panic again. But now that I’ve seen a glimpse into what will be my
community, I know its possible feel at home here. Especially with my new dance
family; after repitiți last night I think I
accidentily joined the team. I wonder how long it’ll take me to replace my
„yee-haw’s” with „yoy-yoy-yoy-yoy-yoy-yoy-yoyyy’s” – I give it three more
practices max. That’ll be the day.
