I’m back in Tvarditsa after 9 fabulous days vacationing in Germany. We went to Frankfurt, Bonn, Cologne and Trier, plus several small towns along the way. As always, despite how prepared I felt for something different, it was the little things that were most unexpected and surprising.
I was awed by the beautiful lush forests all across the Rhineland. I hadn’t realized that I missed trees! Yes, there are trees in Moldova, and there are areas they call “forests”, but few are larger than what we would probably call a “wooded area” in the U.S. And the trees here are usually young and scrawny, no more than 10 or 15 feet tall, with thin trunks and delicate branches. They don’t tower over you or inspire you with their strength, bulk and age. Wood is a primary source of heating fuel in Moldova, as there are still villages that do not have gas lines, and even in those that do, many people nonetheless rely mainly on wood-burning stoves for winter heat as natural gas is incredibly expensive. Thus, like most everything here, trees are grown for a specific purpose – for either fruit, nuts, or firewood. Most trees are cut down long before they reach a respectable old age.
I expected to be “wowed” by the bright colors, clean streets, and plethora of shops and cafes in Germany. I must admit, I did enjoy all of that, but it didn’t bowl me over the way it had in 1992 after a semester studying in St. Petersburg, Russia. Perhaps I was better prepared for it this time. On the other hand, Germany has strict laws against billboards and other outdoor advertising, especially along the highways, so I wasn’t as bombarded with mass advertising as I’d expected. That was a rather pleasant surprise!
I was surprised to hear Russian on the streets so much in Germany. I was told that Russian is now the second most common language in Germany, recently surpassing Turkish. I knew that Germany is a “dreamed of” destination for many young people in Moldova, but I hadn’t realized it is the actual destination for so many people from the former Soviet Union.
I returned to blistering, sweltering heat in Moldova, and they tell me it’s been this hot and humid since I left 2 weeks ago, with no rain. One day it was 42 degrees Celsius. Today we finally had a fabulous thunderstorm and it cooled off for a little while, but the thermometer is slowly creeping back up, as well as the humidity level.
I flew back into Chisinau Saturday evening. I was prepared for the shock of re-entry into Moldova and thus planned to spend most of the evening by myself, being grouchy. It was hard to return, I admit. I never felt that there was a different choice to make, that I could do anything other than return, but nonetheless, I felt a bit like I was doing it grudgingly. Of course, it’s always hard to return to “regular life” after a great vacation, whether it’s back to the grind at Ohio State University or to the village in Moldova. I was glad that I could spend the later part of the evening with Joanna, who had traveled to Austria in May, and we could talk through our post-vacation feelings and attitudes.
I started to think more concretely, for the first time really, about my life after Peace Corps, after Moldova. I felt a twinge of guilt knowing that I am not “stuck” here, I can and will leave this life, while my host family and friends will likely never have the opportunities I have had and will have. Their children and maybe even their grandchildren will be working so hard, day in and day out, their entire lives, struggling to make ends meet, to ensure there’s enough food stored to get through another winter, to survive.
I watched the activities around the homestead perhaps a bit more critically these past couple of days. They’ve been doing things this way for generations, and sometimes it’s good that it hasn’t changed much, and sometimes it just seems ridiculous to me. Right now, Babushka is cleaning and preparing wool. While I was gone, she washed the raw wool, so I’m not exactly sure what that entailed. Now she sits most of the day cutting out the knots and big masses of grime that are stuck in it. Today Geogrhi laid out big piles of it on the ground and beat at it with a long stick. He said it helps separate it and prepares it for the next step, which he described as something that sounds like carding and then spinning (if I remember my wool-preparation vocabulary correctly!). I watched him and Babushka, sweating buckets in the oppressive heat, and couldn’t help but wonder if there really wasn’t a better way to do this? Did the Industrial Revolution really just drive right past this part of the world? But then I tell myself that there is some choice in this matter, too. They believe in working hard, and they believe that doing things by hand is better. Sometimes I wonder, though, about the chicken and the egg. Do they do everything the hard way because they prefer it or because they have to? Do they think it’s better because it really is, or because believing it helps them accept the way things are?
I was prepared to be in a bad mood this first week back, as many other PCVs have said that was how they had felt after vacation. I gave myself some down time at home, and then headed into the Primaria Tuesday afternoon. Much to my delight, there is so much coming up that I won’t have much time for my irritability. A consultant from the Citizen Participation Project (a USAID-funded program) is coming to Tvarditsa to work with 3 citizen groups on writing up their grant proposals. A trainer from the “Association of Women of Gagauzia” will be here for 2 days conducting workshops about women and business, working abroad and trafficking, and job search skills. That organization recently won a 5-year grant from Winrock International and they will be doing interesting work with women throughout Moldova. I’m excited that we are one of the first villages where they will be conducting their workshops. We will start preparing with the kids for the Peer Training Series, and if there’s time, we’ll do some other workshops for the Young Journalist Club as well.
Things are returning quickly back to normal for me here. Few people ask more than the obligatory “Did you have a good trip?” Actually, I prefer not to talk about it much. So often, the conversation is something like this, whether it’s about Germany or the U.S.:
“It’s really different there, isn’t it? A lot better.” (it’s more of a statement than a question)
“It’s different, yes.” (How can you respond to this without sounding insulting or insincere?)
“It’s not so hard there, right?” (Again, that question that’s really more of a statement)
“It’s hard too, but in different ways. People usually work a lot.”
“But they can buy everything ready-made. They don’t have to keep a garden and make everything themselves.”
“That’s true, most people don’t grow their own food. But they also have to work a lot to earn the money to buy things at the store.”
“Sure, but they don’t work like we do, and they get paid good salaries. They’re not poor like us.”
And it usually ends with me just nodding, as you can’t really have a conversation with someone who basically answers their own questions with the answers they believe to be true.
I’ve thought a lot about poverty since I’ve been here. Moldova challenged my notions of poverty in a big way. What does it mean to be the poorest country in Europe? What does it mean to be a poor family? I sometimes find myself in the awkward position of trying to convince Moldovans that not only do we have poor people in the U.S., but “our poor” are much worse off than most people here. In Moldova, there are few homeless people. Apartments and houses may not be luxurious, but it is true that most people have a roof over their head. In the villages, it’s often a home that the family has lived in for generations. When the Soviet Union collapsed, apartment dwellers were given the opportunity to buy their flats, usually at quite affordable prices. In the villages, everyone has land to grow their own fruits and vegetables, raise their own livestock. Urban residents often have some land outside the city where they grow a garden, or at least they have relatives in a village who supply them with produce, eggs, and other supplies. Or they keep a little garden right in the city. Even in Chisinau, you wake up in the center of the city to the sound of roosters crowing. Geese, chickens, and turkeys are common in the city, and I even saw a goat once in someone’s yard in Chisinau.
Most people also have a well-furnished home: wardrobes, tables, armchairs, couches, china cabinets, televisions, etc. I’ve never known people who owned so many dishes. Most of it was bought, of course, during the Soviet times when a plate cost 4 kopeks (and I know this because it’s stamped onto the bottom of the plate), but it is still common to give dishes and sets of glasses as gifts, regardless of how many cupboards the person has full of such items.
But they don’t have much money, and it’s really hard to earn it. My host family buys almost nothing at the store or market. They have their own chickens, which provide both fresh eggs and meat; geese, rabbits, turkeys, pigs, and ducks (all sources of meat); sheep, which provide wool, meat, and milk. They grow: squash, melon, pumpkin, turnips, corn, peas, beans, peppers, cabbage, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, beets, raspberries, strawberries, grapes, apricots, cherries (2 kinds), pears, apples, quince, plums, and many kinds of herbs like parsley, dill, etc. They pickle and can all kinds of vegetables, make jams, preserves and compote (a juice) with the fruit, and they smoke and can meat as well. Although they have a small freezer, it’s not so common to freeze foodstuff.
So, are these people poor? “Yes and no” is the only answer I can come up with. They pretty much meet all the basic needs of Laslo’s Pyramid: safe and comfortable home, sufficient food and water, general safety and security. In addition, they make and fix almost everything themselves. But there occasionally is something beyond their abilities, like the 12-year old water heater that has been breaking down more often lately. It eventually will need to be replaced, but how to pay for a new one?
When the “U.S. life vs. Moldova life” conversation goes on long enough, I sometimes try to explain what it is like to be poor in America. I tell them that poor people in America usually don’t have land to grow a garden, sometimes they don’t have a home to live in even. There are many jobs that do not pay enough to live on. As I talk about these things, I am ashamed. Ashamed that in the Land of Milk and Honey, in the Land of Opportunity, in one of the richest countries on earth, the poor are poorer than in the poorest country in Europe.
Seeing the homeless in Germany also took me by surprise. I see poor people every day in Moldova but I have a hard time thinking of them as poor when they have homes, decent clothes and plenty of food. I see a different kind of poverty here than I am used to seeing, it is less obvious and does not approach me on the street, and I have to remind myself that although it is different it is just as grave, just as demoralizing and just as damaging for the society.
Anka in Kyiv 