Stale Videos - Moldova Pre-Service Training

Friday, February 5, 2010

Lessons in Cultural Diffusion

It had been a long day - again. After 7 hours of lessons and briefings in Ialoveni, the sauna-like routeira back to Vasieni was the icing on the cake. Looking around at the gaunt faces of my fellow travelers, it was obvious. The one thing we all needed happened to be something Moldova had plenty of – beer. Quickly passing the word, we decided to meet at a “bar” run by a volunteer’s host mother.

Now, in Moldovan villages, bars don’t exist in the sense they do in the United States. Rather, they are all purpose stores which happen to serve lots and lots of alcohol. Occasionally you’ll find some stools to sit on, and a table to sit at. You couldn’t ask for much else. In Moldova at least.

We all went and had a beer or two. A few of us a couple more, but it was late in the day, and we were tired, so after an hour or two volunteers started trickling back to their host families. More time went by, more volunteers left, until only a few of us remained, surrounded by a mountain of beer bottles. The rest of us cleaned up and left, mostly heading home.

What happens when 13 Peace Corps Volunteers drink one bottle of beer? That’s right, same as in America, you get 13 empties. Let’s say they all drink two? 26, bravo! A few others drink some more, and the count reaches into the 30’s. That’s a lot of empty beer bottles, but two beers a person is hardly excessive (it’s probably just about right, a beer is about 50% larger in Moldova than in the States). Unfortunately, being foreigners, and being American (a.k.a. loud), we attracted attention.

No one complained to us directly, so it wasn’t until the next morning that we heard about there being a problem. During class, we were confronted by our LCF’s, who had heard from multiple sources that the Americans had gone on a binge at the bar, had made a ton of noise and left a mess to be cleaned up. “It isn’t good to leave the impression that you drink a lot,” our LCF’s scolded us.

Being the ‘Honest Abe’ I am, or maybe just a simple braggart, I made the mistake of admitting in class that I had drunk 5 beers myself. Responding calmly, my LCF helped me figure out, in a painstakingly slow equation akin to torture, exactly how much alcohol I had consumed that night. In Romanian. You try that hungover.

Some of us were a little dumbstruck. There were 13 of us – of course there had been a lot of beer. And I thought we had done well cleaning up after ourselves. We just hadn’t gotten used to the fact that, in essence, we were all living in a fishbowl. No matter how many times you are told about it, from other volunteers and trainers, it doesn’t actually prepare you for the sensation of constantly being judged (maybe High School does, but few other things). 13 Americans in a village that had hardly seen any before was certainly going to attract scrutiny. It didn’t matter how much each individual drank – 30 bottles is still 30 bottles.

It reminds me of something that happened to some of the other COD volunteers a couple of weeks into training. Walking to and from the school every day, we would be stopped by the odd villager and asked questions.


“Who are you?”

“Where are you going?”

“Why are you here?”

“Ce faci in Moldova????”

Most of the time it was pretty innocent, and we were happy to practice our emerging Romanian skills. So, when one of the volunteers was asked to play basketball by one of the local kids, he accepted without a thought. Bring a couple of your friends, the kid had requested. Setting a time, the volunteer went to class and recruited a couple other COD’s to meet him at the basketball “court” later that day.

During the assigned time, I was picking cherries with my host family (yea, laugh it up), so I unfortunately missed the spectacle that followed. In short, the volunteer had unwittingly agreed to an apparently earthmoving match-up between Moldova and America, when he had thought he had been agreeing to a small pick up match between some kids from Vasieni and a few out of shape volunteers. Half the village showed up, complete with cheering girls and old men drinking outside the fence. Scrawled in big red chalk on the side of the building was “MOLDOVA WIN”. Standing in the middle of the dirt court, looking at the crooked hoops, bouncing around the soccer ball that was to be their adhoc basketball, I’m sure the volunteers were wondering what they had gotten themselves into (Inconsequentially, they ended up losing the game. But really, only because the Moldovans were in incredibly good shape. Plus they didn’t play by the rules, I mean you can’t tackle people in basketball, right? And how come there was no time limit?? We couldn’t play forever, you know!).

These aren’t stories about miscommunication. They’re stories that encapsulate the unique experience it is to be an American volunteer in a foreign country. It may sound arrogant, but there is an undeniable buzz surrounding your presence. You may have to get used to the scrutiny, the criticism, and even some ignorance in order to do your job right, but it’s exactly that attention which empowers volunteers to do their job at all. People are interested in what you are doing, and why you are doing it.

If you’re good enough, you may just be able to sell them on it.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Pre-Service Training


From June to August in 2009, I and 12 other Community and Organizational Development volunteers lived and studied in the village of Vasieni. We were assigned host families, attended 4 -5 hours of language class 6 days a week, and generally worked our asses off. Thus began our little adventure known as Pre-Service Training.

Vasieni is a medium sized village by Moldovan standards. It has a listed population of 4,000 (although it is rule of thumb to reduce that number by at least ¼, and up to 1/3, due to emigration and registered residents working overseas), and is stretched out along a single, long paved road. Located in the Raion center of Ialoveni, it was the furthest training village from Chisinau, and probably the most rural.

Vasieni had been host to another training group something like 7 years ahead of us, and we gather that the previous group had not been very well received. We heard stories of discontent, and an unwillingness to accept Moldovan culture. Luckily, however, the evident failure of the previous group didn’t have much of an impact on our reception. While it was immediately evident that the locals had seen very few Americans in their lifetimes, the majority of us were received warmly into incredibly hospitable Moldovan homes. My gratefulness for this shouldn’t be understated; our first few weeks were pretty rough. If my host family hadn’t been so patient, curious and eager to make me feel at home, I am pretty sure I’d have been on a plane back to the U.S. in no time.

Also living in the village, with other host families, were our three wonderful Romanian instructors. Their official title, Language and Cross-Cultural Facilitators, encapsulated very little of what they did for us (everything, for the most part). Fluent in English, they were our window’s into this strange new world. Had to wash our clothes, but forgot the words? Call up Adriana. Had to set up a meeting with the Mayor for a community development project? Ask Diana. Wanted a private routierra to take us into Chisinau? Rodica is there to help. Whatever Peace Corps was paying them, I’m quite sure it wasn’t enough (Disclaimer: This was a joke. I am not criticizing Peace Corps or their salaries. In fact I have no knowledge of them. I am sure they are quite generous. Please don’t kick me out).

Yet, strangely, against all odds, it turned out that our instructors actually liked us. I’m happy to say that after three months of training, they became my first Moldovan friends, and good ones at that. While that doesn’t mean class was made easier (or homework, ahem), the fact that we were able to have candid discussions about language, culture and life not only made my life easier, but brought us all as a group closer together. For this I am thankful.

While this has turned out to be a very “thankful” entry thus far, it bears reason to take a moment to say why. In short, PST was no cakewalk, and we managed to turn it into a pretty good time. It’s an achievement worth noting.