My awareness of the New Orleans tragedy seems, sadly, to have followed the same slow timeline as the federal government’s. My host father told me something one evening about a big hurricane, and I figured it was a usual Florida one. A few days later, Pierre told me that it was actually in New Orleans and that it was really bad. Slowly, the news circulated amongst the PCVs, and ones with better internet and/or CNN and/or BBC access told me the true extent of the disaster. Watching the Moscow news one night, I was stunned to hear reported that President Bush actually turned down offers of international aid. So he not only failed to help with his own resources, but he also insisted that no one else needed to help either. How is this idiot still in office?
I had a moment of panic this afternoon as I walked through the village. A neighbor struck up a conversation with me, and asked if where I was from was anywhere near New Orleans. He expressed his sadness and sympathy for the losses, and then said “And then that tragedy yesterday. So many people. So awful.” Good god, I thought, what happened now? It took me a moment to realize he was referring to September 11, 2001, not 2005.
Saturday was our one-year anniversary in Moldova. I was in Chisinau for the weekend to facilitate a retreat about Peace Corps camps, and thus had the nice added benefit of being able to spend the evening with some other PCVs. We joked about the skills we’ve acquired here. I can now hold it longer than I ever thought humanly possible (one trip to a public restroom will explain why). I can pack light now (although I don’t know if I’ll ever reach my goal of being able to go for an extended trip with only a small backpack, but I did get kudos from the guys for the lightness of my weekend bag). I am, for better or worse, no longer a news junkie. I used to listen to NPR almost constantly from morning to night; at home, in the car, at work. But with no source to feed my addiction, I have been weaned. I still miss Morning Edition, though.
It’s hard to believe we’ve been here a year. We agreed Saturday night that the only way to describe it is that it’s been both fast and slow. The days can drag on, but the months have flown by. Last week I had one of those “Peace Corps moments”, the kind Returned PCVs try to warn you about and prepare you for. I made my usual rounds for the day, went to the library, went to the Primaria, chatted with some folks. By the time I got home, it was the whopping hour of 10:00 am. And I was done for the day. Not a damn thing else to do. I was a little baffled by the prospect of trying to fill the next 12 hours of my life. The last year has seen plenty of those kinds of days. Yet at the same time, all those combined hours and days are almost a blur.
As I was riding the bus to Chisinau Friday morning, I saw a row of chestnut trees along the road and I thought to myself, Geez, those look just the way the trees looked when we first arrived. And then I remembered it was exactly this time last year that we arrived!
The 17’s arrive this Thursday evening. I hadn’t been planning to go to Chisinau to greet them, but the more I think about it, the more I really want to. When we got off the bus at the Turist Hotel last year – dazed, confused, exhausted, overwhelmed, and more than a little shell-shocked – it was exhilarating to be greeted by a huge group of PCVs cheering and clapping. They carried our bags, shook our hands, smiled and welcomed us to this new world and our new family. I’m officially a Second Year now, and it’s not only my turn but also my pleasure to welcome the new group to our family.
Anka in Kyiv 