Paşte Fericit

Orthodox Easter is a many-fold event. It is preceded by over a month of fasting, and days of frantic, thorough cleaning and food preparation, all of which would be of absolutely absurd proportions out of context. The celebration of Easter, itself, is the sweet fruit of those labors. Then there is a week of feasts and celebrations, concluded with an Easter for the Dead. Of this latter, I still know relatively little, but I'll make sure to share interesting experiences and adventures in a later post.

But let's start from the beginning.

Orthodox Easter began at midnight, on the first moments of Sunday, and continues through sunrise. I would love to tell you everything about the ceremony: the singing and chanting, the prayers, and passing of fire. I would love to do so, but I'm afraid it's a secret. And by "secret" I mean that I slept through it. Bah! I suppose I was simply too exhausted to sufficiently respond to the myriad alarms I had set to go off at 11:45 Saturday night. So, instead of participating in a celebration for which I had long been waiting, I caught a few senseless hours of sleep. Luckily, all was not lost.

The Easter service is held at the church, and can be divided into at least two sub-ceremonies. The first, of which I may have dreamed but certainly did not see, involves about four hours of singing prayers and receiving blessings from the priests. This is the part that meant the most to me, and I will be beating myself up about missing it until next Easter. Still, I hear it's exhausting, difficult to bear, and absolutely wonderful. The conclusion of this part of the Easter service is marked by the sharing of a holy flame which is brought from Jerusalem. Last year, a person actually carried the fire by plane from Israel to Moldova, and then distributed it throughout the towns and villages. This year, I don't know.

What I do know is that the church rings bells to mark the beginning of the second sub-ceremony. I know this because it was these bells, ringing at about 4:45 am, that finally pulled me from my sleep. I heard the bells, saw that it was quite dark outside, and thought maybe it was almost midnight. A short, panicked paralysis following the discovery of the actual time, and I rushed to get dressed, hoping to catch whatever was left of the service.

I arrived in time for the the blessing of the Paşca (pashka, pronounced with 'a' like pasta), a special Easter cake. Not everybody goes to the midnight service, but as I hurried toward the church, small groups of shadows also worked their way up the road to the church, quickly filling the small church grounds and then forming two long rows on the street leading away from the church. It was a clear night out, but only a sickle moon, so most of the light came from the hundreds of candles people had lit and stuck into their Paşca. I arrived just as the priests were beginning to splash holy water over the cakes and their owners.

As with the school blessing ceremony, the priests were accompanied by a small entourage: the head priest carried the holy water, which he flung using a small bundle of basil; another priest (this one my friend) carried the little metal ball of incense familiar to Orthodox and Catholic, alike; yet another priest carried a box for monetary donations. All sang prayers as they made their way down the lines, occasionally stopping to fetch another pail of holy water. Apparently, it is proper to shower the holy water liberally, quite without reserve. Understanding the significance, I appreciate that the priests are not stingy with their blessings, even if I need a towel, afterward. (Some volunteers, and probably some Moldovans, detest getting showered with holy water, but I am not among them in this.)

That's pretty much it for the ceremony. But Orthodox Easter is far from over.

Taking the Paşca home, my girlfriend and I cut pieces of the sweet bread and enjoyed some non-drowsy (thanks to the holy shower) conversation with very strong coffee. Eventually, the rest of the house came alive, and the Easter celebrations could be seen quite clearly on the horizon. I had a couple invitations for Easter feasts, and ultimately decided to join a couple from one of my adult English classes. One semi-unforeseen catch on this decision was that they would be taking me to a primarily Russian-speaking household, and while everybody there was able to speak Romanian to me, it is neither their mother tongue nor their language of choice. Another (completely) unforeseen catch was that, despite living in the middle of one of the best wine-producing regions of Moldova, this Russian family generally prefers vodka. The Russian wasn't a problem, and the vodka was simply a matter of preference, for me. So, in all, it was a great feast.

Orthodox Easter follows more than a month of fasting. For strict adherents of the faith, this means a completely vegan diet, no alcohol or other intoxicants, and a bunch of other sacrifices that generally make protestants cringe. Following such dietary suffering, most Orthodox Christians celebrate with appreciable overcompensation: more food than you can shake a stick at, and (sometimes) insane amounts of alcohol consumption. I'm not a large guy, and despite my highly-active metabolism, there's really no possible justification for the absurd quantities of food and (alas) vodka that gradually filled my mouth, stomach, and even that hollow left leg. *wink*

I'm inexpressibly glad that I was able to participate in at least some part of the Easter ceremonies, and I had a great time at the Easter feast. But it's not over yet. As I said, this next week will consist of further feasting and celebration, concluded by Easter for the Dead. Thus, I'm sure many more adventures will find and corner me before it's over. Wish me luck!

On Tutoring

I recently began accepting requests from people -- both individuals and groups -- to teach English classes outside of school. In my first few months as site, I had refused such requests on the grounds that I was simply not settled enough in the community and in my primary role as a volunteer. However, one of the results of my hitting bottom a few weeks ago was the realization that I do not particularly enjoy teaching English in the classroom. This, paired with my lack of diverse social interaction in my community, spurred me to change my self-limitations, thus opening the doors for tutoring.

I waded into the waters of tutoring with one-on-one home lessons with a student who desired knowledge of English, in addition to his in-school French studies. Sure, why not? Ambition should not be stifled, right? He proved to be an eager learner, which is (incidentally) my favorite kind of student. In these lessons, I discovered that such tutoring could proceed at a much faster pace than classroom lessons. More importantly, I could teach material that matters: relevant grammar, phrases and idioms, American and British variants of words, vocabulary that is more pertinent than "Wellington boots" (yah, that's a real vocab word from the Moldovan textbooks). And all of this at a variable pace that best suits the particular student.

The following week, I began classes with a small group of women at a local social services NGO. The first week with this group was quite fun for me, as I led three happy and energetic women through the alphabet and some basic salutations. The next week, I arrived to a group which had more than tripled in size, including two priests and a few people from a nearby government office. Word was getting out that a volunteer was offering free English classes to the community. Suddenly and unexpectedly, I was becoming fairly popular in town. What started as one-on-one tutoring with a student had quickly exploded into several separate classes of groups which varied both in number of attendees and average age. This week, I began a class with over 15 people at the primaria (the Mayor's office), to which the mayor is expected, post-elections, to attend.

All of my out-of-school classes started with the very basics of English, such as the alphabet, common pronunciation, and plenty of pointers, such as: English isn't a phonetic language, and To make the 'th' sound, put your tongue between your teeth... no, don't use your lips, and Remember, English is not phonetic. The 'a' makes a lot of different sounds. These are the sort of reminders that English teachers in this part of the world get to (or should, at least) use every single day of their careers. Luckily, the materials for these lessons are easily adaptable to all types of classes, whether younger or older, smaller or larger.

Let's be clear on one thing, though: I don't teach these classes simply out of my love for the English language. I teach English at the school enough to satisfy my responsibility as an English Education volunteer. However, teaching these courses provides me opportunities to meet and get to know people in my community -- such opportunities as were painfully lacking in the first seven months of my service. This extra social stimulation, the subsequent filling of my free time, and the coming of spring, have all contributed to bringing me out of the shell of my bedroom / the internet.

Now, if only I could just do this sort of thing all day, instead of banging my head against the wall (read: teaching English according to the national curriculum)...

A Threatening Black Cloud Has Passed

Those in Peace Corps service often face what is called "Early Termination" (ET), which is to return home before the full 27 months of volunteer service. Sometimes, it is the result of some event at home which requires their return. Other times, it is the inability or unwillingness to continue service under varying degrees of difficult lifestyle or work. Almost none of us enter Peace Corps expecting to ET, and those who do return home early do so only after much struggling, I imagine.

A few weeks ago, for the first time, I seriously weighed the possibility of ETing. After two weeks of solitude (due to illness, cold weather, and only minimal social opportunities in my town), I returned finally to the classroom. As in the States, students are often unresponsive in class, and all but the most stoutly confident instructors stumble at the lack of any apparent appreciation students may have for them. I am not, to be sure, a stoutly confident instructor when it comes to my students' valuation of me. That, coupled with my feelings of intense isolation among my community, contributes to a recurring sensation that my service is not welcome. And, as the thinking goes, if my service is not welcome, then why am I here? In my case, the face of this uncertainty and isolation is the face of Early Termination.

The straws which didn't break the camel's back, but still managed to put it in critical condition: some species of cold virus, a week-long spring vacation, and a subsequent two-week absence from school. Being out of the classroom for two weeks set me up for a huge shock when I returned. It was during those first few hours that I found myself contemplating a plane ride home. As the day progressed, however, I slowly fell into an attitude of dull, subconscious resignation toward teaching. One thing I realized: I am not a high school teacher. I enjoy teaching English, but I have patience for neither adolescent attention spans, nor semi- and unmotivated students.

But the day progressed and improved. I had hit bottom, and if there is one thing that tends to happen when one hits bottom, it would be to bounce back. I floated through the remaining classes. The day prior had been 8 March, International Women's Day, and the fifth graders were following Monday classes with a short performance honoring their female teachers and beloved mothers. In need of a positive focus, I decided to sneak in to see and to hear the cheerful celebrations of these young students. This put the first smile on my face, thereby breaking the mood and opening the way for further bouncing back.

After the performance, several of the teachers (male and female) and I conducted ourselves to a local restaurant to further celebrate 8 March. Over pizza and some more traditionally Moldovan food, the teachers happily chattered about life and sang songs (which most of them mostly knew). And while I sat amidst their company, I could feel my spirits rising. The negative effects of social isolation are quickly dispelled, as it were.

The celebrations concluded with one of our fellow teachers inviting a small group of us to her house for tea and further conversation. In the seven months I had lived in the town, this was the first time I had personally been invited to any person's house for a social purpose. Despite a calm exterior, I was altogether elated. Even though my confidence in my Romanian does not yet permit me to participate in the discussion more than haphazardly, I am thrilled to be included in any socializing among my Moldovan colleagues and friends. At the end of the day, I was feeling great and ready to get on with being a volunteer. In fact, the rest of the week was among my best since I arrive in Moldova. I started several tutoring classes, recommitted myself to previously suspended clubs, and began to feel more secure in my place in the town, despite the isolation.

Hitting the bottom permitted me to reassess my personal goals in Moldova. It confirmed that I do not consider myself a teacher of public secondary education, by nature. But it also showed me that I can (even if only occasionally) feel very welcome by my community.