THE BIG MILESTONE

A little over 12 years ago, I wrote this email to my family and friends: https://doingittwice.wordpress.com/2003/11/21/pst-the-opi-a-pcv-and-professional-criers/.

The email started with an admonition to never again call me a PCT, as I had just sworn-in and was now a PCV. Over a decade later, the same holds true. I am no longer a PCT, I am a full-fledged, sworn-in, Peace Corps Volunteer.

Again.

Yesterday was probably the biggest day, after CoS, in the cycle of the Peace Corps experience. While I will do my usual story-based post here, I think it’s important to make a couple comments. This blog is not just about my day-to-day activities (although, I admit, it mostly is), but also about how some of those activities and events make me feel; what it’s like to be not only a PCV here in Macedonia, but a RPCV serving again.

It’s that second thing that I want to comment on.

When we swore-in in Ghana, it was a cultural event. We all had to dress in traditional clothing, we had to perform skits in the language we had learned, playing the part of traditional members of a village, and we had to drum and dance. The speeches were minimal, one from each language group, and a quick one from the Deputy Chief of Mission from the US Embassy before he led us through the oath.

We sat outside, under canopies, sweating as usual in the African heat, sitting in plastic chairs with the “Gye Nyame” symbol carved in the back, the atmosphere somewhat electric, yet relaxed and festive. We had a traditional blessing, and I remember feeling like a part of a place so different than the one I grew up in.

Here, in Macedonia, the occasion was just as important. As I’ve said, swearing-in is probably, in my opinion, the single greatest milestone other than CoSing that a Peace Corps volunteer reaches.

This time, however, the setting, and the atmosphere was very different. At 10:30 in the morning, all of us trainees, along with most of our host families, gathered in front of the municipality, where we usually waited for our mini-bus to hub days. This time, we were dressed in suits, and formal dresses. The host families had on a range of clothing, but in every case they had cleaned up well.

We boarded a big tour-style bus, the trainees and host families from Stip already onboard, also done up for the day’s events. After our two hour drive to the capital, we arrived at the City Hall Center, an event venue that looked very nice from the inside.

Outside the entrance were some of the PST staff, name badges proclaiming their names, and their positions, serving as greeters and hustling us inside. Other staff waited just inside, showing us to the coat room, directing the host families and guests to seats in the big hall, while the trainees were shown a waiting area.

In the lobby, a three-piece string orchestra played music in their own suits and formal dresses. A bar stretched across the designated waiting place, tables set out for us to sit at, drinks available for a price.

Eventually we were lined up, two-by-two, alphabetically, and led into a room, behind a curtain for the ceremony to start, waiting for our cue to enter. As the ceremony started, streamed live online for all to see, we were called in, the curtains pushed aside, and the two adjacent lines began to move into the hall, down the aisle between the two sets of seats, guests sitting and clapping for us, as we took our seats, our names on the backs so that we would sit in the proper order, three or four rows to a side, sitting in the prescribed manner, walking down the rows in an orderly fashion.

The program for the day was on each of our seats, and we went through various speeches, and introductions of each of the trainees to the audience. The US ambassador spoke, as did the Turkish ambassador to Macedonia. He, 40 years prior, had been taught by Peace Corps volunteers in the village in which he grew up, and he had asked, as a special favor, to be allowed to make some comments as a way to say thank you to the PCVs who had helped to shape who he is today.

We sang the US national anthem, then the Macedonian. The US ambassador then had us raise our right hands, and take the oath of office, followed a little later by the Peace Corps pledge.

After the ceremony we received our certificates, and our pins. We took pictures with the whole group, and with our LCFs.

We then were led into the adjacent rooms, where hor d’oeuvres and drinks were waiting. There was a cake, with the symbol of the Peace Corps.

After some time the buses came back, and we were shuffled back on board to travel back to our sites.

It was very formal, and very much like any ceremony I have been to with my job back in the US. While it symbolized something amazing, and represented a true accomplishment, it felt to me to be somewhat….sterile. I didn’t feel the cultural impact of the day, nor the relaxed, festive atmosphere that we had in Ghana. We weren’t allowed to spend the evening together, our last as a training group, catching up and talking about our worries, and our anxiety about moving to our permanent sites.

I absolutely know that many of the volunteers felt the emotional impact of the day, but honestly, it didn’t hit me. It seemed one more government ceremony. I truly wish there had been more of Macedonia in it.

That’s not to say it was bad…in fact, as far as ceremonies go, it was a great one. I’m proud of not only myself, but of all the trainees who swore-in. Just by being there, and raising our hands, we have accomplished something that only a small percentage of the US has every accomplished. We made it through 11 weeks that may have just been the toughest, most frustrating, and most rewarding we will ever have.

It IS a great feeling to know that you’ve made it.

After the ceremony, some of us went out, for one last time, to Pizzeria Lea. This place has been a staple of our Sveti Nikole experience; so much so that we know the staff, and they know us. I start to say what I want to eat, and the waiters finish it, already knowing exactly what I’m going to get, including all my crazy little tweaks.

It was surreal. Consciously I think we all knew we were leaving, and separating the next day, but none of us I think really had processed it. I mean, we WERE sitting in Pizzeria Lea, eating pastramilija and pizza, drinking beer and soda, just like normal.

I’m also not sure it hit us that we were no longer trainees at that point, but actual, full-fledged volunteers. I don’t think any of us mentioned that at any time during that whole evening.

This morning, Saturday, was even more surreal. I had to pack, it became real. In the morning I went out and met Nana to give her back some stuff of hers that I had. Chris walked by, and we hung out at Café Mexico for a bit, before heading our separate ways.

My host father made me pastramilija for lunch, and made me an extra one for dinner. My host mother made some homemade rolls, and packed them for me to make sure I had something to eat for breakfast tomorrow.

They told me to call them in the evening, to make sure I was ok, and safe, and happy.

The new volunteers that were now going to be in Sveti for their permanent site came in and I hung out with them a bit, showing them around the town, feeling like the proud local, showing off his city.

Then, it was time.

At 4:30, Goran, one of the taxi drivers that we really like, showed up in front of my house. My host father and mother helped me carry out my bags, and we filled up the car. I then said goodbye, and it was a bittersweet moment.

Very bittersweet. I am, I admit, ready to move on, to get to the next stage of this experience. But, at the same time, I really like Sveti Nikole, and I felt so comfortable with my host parents there. That never happened to me in Ghana, I never felt that connection to Asuoso or to my host parents; but here, it just clicked.

I know I’ll be back to visit, and I already feel strange not being in my bed, or playing on my laptop in the living room, while Vasil watches TV, occasionally nodding off, and waking himself up with his snoring, while Makedonka is in the kitchen, on the love seat, doing her puzzles.

The ride to Strumica took about an hour and 15 minutes; not far. My counterpart and my new host father met me at the bus station, rather than trying to describe to Goran how to get to the house.

We transferred my bags, then headed ‘home.

At the house, my host mother and one of my host sisters were finishing cleaning out where I will live. They were both very nice, and very accommodating. My host sister actually normally lives in Switzerland, but is here for a little bit of time. She doesn’t actually live here in the house, but I think was here to help out.

My host mother is a teacher by trade, but recently started working at the school library. She says she misses working with the kids, but seems to like what she’s doing. I do have another host sister, but she is also in Switzerland, and lives there with her husband, so is not here in Strumica.

The place itself is very nice. It’s recently been remodeled, and it shows. While there are subtle reminders that this is not an apartment in the US, on a surface level, it feels that way. I have a big couch, that ‘combines’ into a bed; it faces the TV, which I am now, as I type this, watching (my first TV show in my new place – Warm Bodies; in English).

There’s a nice, wood-paneled kitchen area, brand new, and a glass dining table. The bedroom has two small beds, and a really nice wardrobe.

The bathroom, which only I use, has a nice shower, with a place to clip the shower hose so it can function like the showers we are used to in the US. A brand new toilet, and a nice sink. The nicest part – 24/7 hot water. Even the sink has a hot and cold faucet, not something I am used to here.

After settling in, my counterpart, my host parents, my host sister, and I made our way downstairs to their ‘apartment’. There I met the баба (grandmother); here, in Macedonia, the baba is a position of power, authority, and respect. In some ways, the baba is all. I did not have a baba in Sveti. I do now.

And she is one of the sweetest, nicest, old women I have ever met. She brought out chocolate for us, and helped my host sister make us tea and coffee.

I’m really kind of looking forward to seeing what happens here. As I’ve mentioned, I do feel strange here; it doesn’t yet feel like home.

But I think it could. I also think it could be a good balance between living independently and living as part of the family. The host father doesn’t drink alcohol, which is VERY unusual here, and that actually makes things a bit easier for me, as I don’t drink either. It avoids a very awkward potential situation, when the host family offers you rakija and you have to refuse to drink it.

After sitting with the family for a while, I said good night and made my way upstairs.

All in all, I think today has gone as well as it could. I’m happy with how it turned out.

Tomorrow’s a new day, and hopefully it’ll be just as good.

HAPPY THANK YOU

So, this past Thursday was a day that, for the last many years, has meant getting together with my extended family, eating lots of food while not eating any turkey, where lots of alcohol was present and lots of people sit around and gossip, argue, and discuss.

This year, Thursday meant pretty much the same thing, getting together with my extended family, eating lots of food while not eating any turkey, where lots of alcohol was present and lots of people sat around and gossiped, argued, and discussed.

This year, however, there was also the Oro. Including the requisite napkin waving.

There was also the Achy-Breaky Heart. Including the requisite line-dancing.

That, I can say, was a new one.

This year, I celebrated Thanksgiving with my new Peace Corps Sveti Nikole family: the trainees, the host families, the LCFs, and Ana. As an interesting side note, it turns out Ana, who was one of our first local friends, is, actually, family. Her grandfather is somehow related to my host mother. Not really sure how, but there’s some blood there.

Anyway, all told there were about 30 of us at the dinner. In previous years, it’s always been held at a restaurant, this year it was at Nana’s house. She has a really nice house (you should see her bathroom – there’s a SHOWER CURTAIN!!!), and could easily fit all of us. Myself and Sabrina sauntered over at about 5 to help out, but we ended up just putting the aijvar out on the tables then taking a seat. A few others showed up around 6, and the rest around 6:30.

It was fun. As usual, my stomach was bothering me during the day, but I gave in and ate a little bit too much. I mean, there was actual macaroni and cheese, and some bowtie pasta with pesto sauce. How could you NOT eat that?

After eating way too much food during dinner, I cut myself off…no more!

And I actually stuck by that.

At least until dessert came out, anyway.

One important tidbit I should add – part of the reason for having this big Thanksgiving festival was to do what we often call Goal 2 activities – showing the Macedonians a little about the US; in this case, the holiday. As a result, all the food for dinner was prepared by the volunteers. We did the cooking, and they did the eating.

And as a clarification, when I say ‘we’, I mean everyone else.

I brought wine.

We had told the host families not to bring anything, that this was a party for them, and not hosted by them, but the culture here demands gifts or food be brought, and every single one of the families brought something. Mine, even up until 5 when I left to head up to Nana’s house, promised me they wouldn’t bring anything…I had them promise over and over.

Yet, when they walked in, they were carrying two huge boxes of fresh chocolate-covered baklava. What can you do???

Eat the baklava, obviously.

One of the highlights of the event was Chris’s father, Mitre. He is a published poet, and for those of you who have actually read all of these, is the same guy who gave us autographed copies of his book of poems when we went there for his slava a few weeks ago with some of the Stipers.

This night, he had written a poem for Chris., and Guna, his wife, read it at the table. It was a pretty neat moment – he managed to say all of our names in the poem, and again, gave each of us a signed copy.

The night lasted for hours, and finally, around 10ish or so, we headed out. It was a good time. I readily admit I was a bit apprehensive, but it turned out to be a really amazing experience, and one that will be a highlight of my time here. It was great to have Ana and Kalina there, to get to see them and talk to them outside of the classroom, and I am really glad that Ana (my newly discovered relative) also made it.

The next day was back to business as usual, class in the morning, sessions in the evening.

It was a very different experience than my first Thanksgiving in Ghana.

Here in Macedonia we are still in PST; we are trainees and live our lives according to the PC training schedule. Even the Thanksgiving was scheduled, and a required activity. We were provided turkeys by the Peace Corps, and in that sense were just like the troops you hear about on the news, sharing a frozen turkey dinner shipped to their bases overseas. In fact, we were VERY much like them – our turkeys came freshly frozen from the US military base in Kosovo.

Our Thanksgiving was a cultural experience that mixed two different cultures, and had people from completely different parts of the world eating, drinking, and enjoying each other’s company together.

In Ghana, we swore-in just before Thanksgiving. We had the party at the Kumasi Sub-Office, off limits to any but PCVs. There was still lots of food, eating, and enjoying each other’s company, but it was as American as we could make it – only one language at the table, and only one country’s culture represented.

The biggest difference was in the preparation. We also had two turkeys in Ghana, but they were much fresher. So fresh, in fact, that they were still breathing; as were the chickens and pig that also were a part of the feast. The preparation of the meal was definitely not pretty – let’s just say I will never look at a ping pong table the same again.

Very different experiences, but both very enjoyable. In some ways, I feel like this one was more meaningful, having the host families involved. I really did feel like I was celebrating a holiday with family…

In Ghana, it was just a fun party.

A few days after Thanksgiving, I was, as I often do, walking to the store. Right in front of my house is a small kebab restaurant, and two of the employees that work inside always greet me whenever I walk by, neither of whom speak English. This day, one of them was working, and, as usual, I waved hello as I passed by.

Continuing on my way, I hear from behind me an out of breath, “Mister!”

As it was in broken English, I was pretty sure they were talking to me, and I turned around. Running up the path behind me was the worker from the restaurant.

He’s about 25 years old, and at this moment has a very serious look on his face. He says to me, after a pause during which he appears to be thinking hard, “Happy Thank You!”

He then smiles so big, happy that he wished me well, on a holiday he doesn’t celebrate, in a language he doesn’t speak.

I told him thank you, in Macedonian, and shook his hand. It was a great moment, and one of those small little things that make all of the challenges worth it.

He’ll never know how much he made my day, and how those three little words reminded me of why I’m here.

КАКО АФРИКА

Today I feel like I am in the Peace Corps.

Today, one important aspect of life makes me long for the days of Ghana, when things were easier, and life made more sense.

Today I long for a borehole, for my water filter, and especially for my hole in the ground bathroom.

Today, I miss the fact that when you had to pee in Ghana, you just went and peed.

Today is a tough day.

Today is a day without water.

Anywhere.

At least, anywhere in Sveti.

It’s also a day where both my host father and I were sick. Especially my host father.

At least in Ghana, when you were sick, and didn’t have running water, you just go in your hole in the ground as normal. No big deal.

Here, when there’s no water, you still have to use the toilet. And just hope that you have enough water left in the bucket to flush when you’re done. The one and only bucket.

Today, ironically, it’s Ghana that seems like the Posh Corps.

And yes, its because you could just up and go anywhere.

Anywhere at all.

They don’t do that here.

When my host mother showed me the bucket this morning she laughed and said, “Како Африка.” The transliteration – kah-koh Africa; it means, more or less, ‘like Africa’. If only she knew…

So, it’s been a while since I actually updated this here blog with what has been happening in the daily life of a Macedonian Peace Corps trainee. For the sake of expediency, I’ll just get right into it.

Or at least I would, if I remembered everything that had happened.

Which I don’t.

Luckily for you.

So, I will give two quick highlights:

The week after getting back from site visit, the Stipers came over again and we went to Puze. There’s really not much more to the story, but going to Puze is always a highlight, and always worth mentioning. Especially when there’s 15 of us.

A few days after the impromptu party for the birth of my host-sister’s daughter, ironically, as I mentioned, named Melanie, I found myself walking with my host parents to a small cafana (basically a small café, that, if I understand it correctly, is normally meant for men only) whose name translates to ‘Quite Night It was a decent walk as its located on the other side of the bus station from where we live.

This time, Melanie’s grandther was throwing the party for the baby and happy couple who weren’t there.

It was a bit simpler, and smaller, than at Puze, but still an enjoyable time. There were, however, two lessons I learned from this little party that I should have already known…

• Whenever there are more than four people at a table, make sure you leave a little bit of liquid in whatever glass you are drinking from; people here like to toast, and you never know when it may happen. It’s never a good thing to be caught liquidless when a toasting round starts…it’s just not proper.
• It doesn’t matter how old you are, or what culture you are in, mothers like to cut up the meat for kids. Even if said mother is in their fifties, and said kid is in his 20s.

I’m sure lots of other things happened that I have since forgotten, but, alas, as I have forgotten them, I am not remembering to write about them.

I’ll pick up the next little update with something exciting in town – Thanksgiving.

A quick note – ironically, as I was writing this update, the water came back.

I made a conscious decision to wait until the end to write about that.

I didn’t want you to feel like you had wasted your time reading that whole intro section.

More importantly, I didn’t want to feel like I had wasted mine by writing it.

НЕМА ВОДА

When I decided to do Peace Corps again, and narrowed my sights on Eastern Europe, I expected there to be a significant number of differences; in the culture, in the language, even among the Peace Corps volunteers themselves.

And I was right.

I also expected some similarities; policies that confound and confuse, challenges and struggles at site, a feeling of not knowing what to do, challenges and difficulties in learning a new language, and a yearning for PST to finally be over.

I think I got all that and more.

What more, you ask?

Well, something I didn’t expect.

As I may have mentioned previously, our language classes here in Sveti take place in a fire station. It’s pretty small compared to those in DC, but it works. It has one engine, and a van to bring personnel various places (like, to the café, or the restaurant, or the…).

Unfortunately, what it doesn’t have, very often, is water.

And for a fire department, that can be an issue.

It sort of reminds me of the time in Ghana where the house across the street from the Kumasi Sub-Office caught on fire. To give them credit, in a culture where time doesn’t have any meaning, the Ghana Fire Service showed up relatively quickly, the engine screaming off the main road, lights and sirens blaring.

Then, five minutes later, after a quick look around they left.

To go get water.

By the time they returned over an hour later, the house was literally burned to the ground.

As they said in Twi – “Nsuo ni ho.” Water isn’t there.

Here in Macedonia, in Sveti, at the fire house, we also often have that problem. But here they say, “Нема Вода.” There is no water.

Not one of the similarities I expected to experience, and one that, as in Ghana, seems like it could be a major issue. I’ve heard water is pretty key in putting out fires.

Instead of getting into the story of what has happened over the past few days, here is one other experience today, involving water, which reminded me of Ghana.

Bucket baths.

Today I did something I never had the courage to do in Ghana.

Today, I got a haircut.

It was, like in Ghana, a scary prospect. How do you tell the guy cutting your hair how you want it to look, when you barely can tell him hello???

The answer – you don’t.

You just walk in, point at the chair, say “може? (can I?),” point at your hair, then just shrug, and pray to whatever gods you believe in that all goes well.

On the positive side, I wasn’t overly worried that getting my hair cut would result in some exotic disease that would make all my hair fall out before shrinking my head.

The haircut went pretty well. Not quite what I was looking for, but it works, and it feels much better than the afro I was growing (not on purpose, my hair just does that).

My host father joined me at the barber, and got his hair cut. It sort of reminded me of getting my hair cut with my real father – he’s got some, but not so much, and the barber humored him…lots of clicking the scissors together right above his head without actually cutting anything.

Anyway, just because I wanted to do something for him, I paid for us both (the haircuts were $4 for the two!). He seemed pleasantly shocked; it’s about an hour later and he’s still asking me how much I had to pay. I mean, I realize he knows, but I keep telling him, “Нула (zero),”.

Last time he asked I told him it costs a pastramilija for lunch tomorrow.

He makes some pretty darn good pastramilija.

It seems to be a tradition, or at least an expectation, that after a haircut you wash your hair. They will do it at the barber, but not before the cut, after. They also charge for it, and no one seems to be willing to pay, so they just use the sink there for washing their equipment.

Since putting on the water heater, and actually taking a real shower is a bit expensive, it seems they wash their hair, and only their hair, by taking a quick bucket bath. They fill up a bucket with some water in a sink, heat it a bit on the wood stove, then grab a cup, bring it to the bathroom, and just wash their hair in the old way.

My host parents were very concerned that I wouldn’t know how to do this, wash my hair from a bucket. It was really kind of sweet – my host father wanted me to lean over the bathtub while he poured the water for me and showed me how to do it.

Little did he know I am a master bucket bather with literally years of experience.

There’s a little saying that many Peace Corps volunteers have; it’s even been printed on shirts. It goes something like this:

“A pessimist says the glass is half empty.
An optimist says the glass is half full.
A Peace Corps volunteer says, I could take a bath with that.”

As my host father was trying to show me how to bucket bathe, I reminded him that I was a PCV in Africa, and that all I ever did was bucket bathe. He literally started laughing out loud, then left me to do my thing.

They had filled up a bucket ALL the way, and it was a pretty big bucket. I assumed it was because my host father, who also had a haircut, was going to use what I didn’t. You know, share the water.

So, I went in, took my bucket bath, and came back out. I told them I was finished, and that my host father could go ahead and wash his hair.

He came back out laughing. He was pointing to the bucket, then making gestures with his hand signifying a little bit. Getting my hair wet, shampooing, and rinsing only used up a couple of cups.

They were astounded.

I figured that my host father would just use what was left, as, as I said, I thought it was one bucket for both of us.

Nope.

Even with only a little used he filled up the bucket all the way, then disappeared to wash his hair.

I showed them some pictures of my ‘shower’ in Ghana, and they laughed when they saw it was literally a bucket and a cup.

I don’t think they were impressed.

КАКОВ БАЛЗ?

Cold. I like the cold. I like crawling into bed, the sheets cold and chilly, pulling the covers up and cuddling up with my cuddle pillow (yes, I am man enough to admit I have a cuddle pillow).

I weirdly like when you’ve got a fever, and get the chills. When you’re warm in your bed, then you move a little, and get that quick, almost not-quite-there chill that lets you know you’re still fighting off something, but that somehow is a nice little reminder of that crawling into a cold bed feeling.

I much prefer to be cold than hot. I’ve always been that way. The first time I did Peace Corps my only requirement was that I didn’t go somewhere hot; of course, I wound up in Sub-Saharan Africa, but that’s another story…

Little did I know when I did Peace Corps THIS time, that my wish of a cold place would come true, and I’d regret it every time I have to get up in the middle of the night and go to the bathroom.

Nothing sucks more than a frigid bathroom when you’ve got a stomach issue going on. Not even sitting in a latrine in Ghana right after seeing the bottom of it MOVING from all the roaches and spiders down there, or after sprinkling poison into the hole before you do-what-you-gotta-do so the mass of ants you saw crawling around just before won’t crawl up you-know-where while you’re doing your business.

Nope, going to the bathroom when it is 20-some degrees outside and even colder inside, really sucks.

When I left the US for this country, and when I was reading about PC life here, I admit I did in fact read about how cold it can get inside at night. In my house there is no central heating, there is no heater, and the family has to keep the windows in the bathroom and other places open throughout the day; sometimes, even the front door stays open all day.

In the kitchen is a wood-burning stove that actually heats the kitchen really well. I now do my homework for language class there – it’s the only really warm place in the entire house. Unfortunately, to keep it warm in there, they have to keep the door to the kitchen closed whenever the wood is burning, meaning it does absolutely nothing for the rest of the house.

The reading about it did nothing to prepare me for the reality. It gets REALLY cold at night. And taking a shower in the morning almost sucks just as much. Actually, to be fair, TAKING the shower doesn’t suck – there’s a hot water heater and the water is actually pleasant. It’s AFTER the shower that sucks, walking out into the below-freezing hallway still wet.

In fact, its not just showers that suck, it’s washing your hands. When I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, when I run back to my bed and DIVE under the covers, my hands are literally frozen. A vampire would probably find my fingers cold.

All I can say is I’m glad I brought a lot of layerable clothes with me. I can handle cold, but this is on another level.

And we’re not even in winter yet.

So, why this dissertation on cold?

No real reason.

It’s just what I was thinking about.

So, this week so far has been pretty much just one more week of PST. I will readily admit that at this point I am very ready for PST to be over. The schedule, the babying, the lack of control, all builds up and does not a nice experience make. We have so much language class, and so much homework that it becomes a bit overwhelming really quickly.

There are communication issues, and difference in what we are told at one place, and what we hear at another. Expectations from one area overlap and almost make it impossible to meet the expectations of another.

The drive to integrate, and have cultural experiences seems to be almost constantly at war with what we are expected to do from a technical and procedural standpoint. It’s extremely frustrating, and the opportunities for mental health decompression are rare and discouraged; I’m ready for it to be over.

That being said, PST is always the hardest and most frustrating part of any Peace Corps experience I have ever heard about, and it was true for me in Ghana as well. Peace Corps has to cram a lot of language, policies, technical learning, and expectations into our brains in what amounts to less than three months.

That understanding doesn’t make it any easier, but it does make it somewhat understandable. At least from a theoretical perspective.

And, I have to admit, I AM learning the language, and I do feel comfortable here. It’s amazing to see how far I’ve come in just the 7 weeks I’ve been in country.

While my memories of exactly how I felt in Ghana are a bit hazy, I feel like in Ghana I was used to being in Ghana by this point in PST, but I was not completely comfortable. Here, I am.

Despite any other misgivings or frustrations I may have, whatever the PST staff, including the LCFs, are doing, it’s working.

Who knew?

I guess Peace Corps.

After Abby left, my host parents spent the next day or two talking about her, and how they want her to come again. Somewhere in there, I’m pretty sure they said I could come back and visit, too.

Maybe.

Tuesday, Jennica, Nana, and Sabrina were doing a workshop with the women’s organization here in Sveti Nikole as their practicum. They were going to present on various topics such as needs assessment, prioritizing needs, and grants; essentially, everything we are learning during our own technical trainings.

The woman’s organization had invited a number of local girls to take part in addition to some of their staff, and I had volunteered to help them out if they needed it. My role – photographer; unfortunately, not a good one.

I can honestly say I was impressed not only by the workshop that was put on, but by the girls who attended. They were all college age or a little older, and almost all of them had graduate degrees or were working on it. One was in law school. They spoke English incredibly well, and all participate in the session – especially when they broke into small groups to practice a SWOT analysis.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable event, and I’m really glad I went. In addition to just being able to help, it also gave me a chance to experience a program that might be of interest to a NGO in my site, and see a little bit how an NGO works; nice, as my primary assignment will be with a municipality.

Wednesday we had a session with Dragan, our monitoring and evaluation person for PC Macedonia. As much as Peace Corps is an experience, it is also a job, and we are required to report on our activities on a four-month basis. We were introduced to the requirements and how to do it, and shown a new workbook that will be introduced to all Macedonian volunteers sometime in the near future.

In a weird way, it was kind of nice to learn something that we can show the MAK19s, and not the other way around! Dragan even made a point to point that out – that none of the other groups had seen this yet.

The next day, Thursday, was somewhat free – we only had language in the morning, and other than our mass amounts of homework, nothing else scheduled. We decided to take advantage of that and hike out to the nearby ruins of Bylazora.

I may have mentioned this place in a previous update, as it was the site that Robert and I were going to do our practicum around, but that never developed. So, this was my first time out there.

It is about 4km from the center of town, and pretty much a straight shot down one road. Walking through the town towards the ruins is sort of like walking down any residential street. If you could sort of tune-out the shape many of the houses are in, you could see it as any street in any US suburb. There were even car ports with BMWs sitting in them, people working on their yards, and plenty of gardens.

Then, all of a sudden, you come to the end. There’s really no transition – one moment you’re in the suburbs, the next, farmland. The houses just ended, and the fields began.

The walk from that point on was amazing, the scenery beautiful. Mountains in the distance, hills close by, with fields ready for planting and fields full of grapes, cabbage, corn, and other vegetables on every side. We saw many farmers out on their tractors, and the weather was perfect.

One thing we had been warned of was dogs. Not wild dogs, but sheepdogs. HUGE sheepdogs. These dogs actually did belong to people, but were extremely aggressive and protective. My host parents mentioned them, and others in the town have warned against them. They can be very dangerous, yet we only saw one, and he was leashed to the ground. He DID have a nice barking fit, and I’m sure it only made it worse when Sabrina and I decided to stand there and point and take pictures…but other than that we neither saw nor heard not a single dog.

Almost all of the way to the ruins, the walk was pretty easy. Once we got close, and turned off the main road, that all changed. It became a winding, steep hill. But again, the views were amazing.

Off in the near distance you could see an old cemetery, a stone-walled church nearby; beyond that a small village.

At the top, we could look out over Sveti Nikole, a few kilometers away. I took pictures, but as usual, they don’t do it justice.

Walking into the ruins was very surreal. In some ways it just seemed like being at the top of a hill, standing and relaxing on the grass, enjoying the view, and looking at the stone walls and unnatural formations in the ground.

In others, you were reminded of where you were. The small length of stone street just over there was walked on by people over two-thousand years ago, potentially as early as 217 B.C. Broken pieces of pottery served to remind you that people actually lived there, and went through the motions of their daily life.

It was pretty cool.

The walk, however, wasn’t. By the time we returned I was sweating like a pig, my shirt stained. My host mother noticed immediately.

She made me change my shirt.

She didn’t want me to get sick.

Oh – and the title?

Каков is a question word – more or less how is something.  The other word, well, that’s not really a word, it’s phonetic.  And I’ll leave it at that.

Let’s just say Nana can be funny.

НА БРОДВЕЈ

I will readily admit I am not in the mood to write one of these, but in the interest of capturing everything that’s happening, I’m going to give it a go.

We’ll see what happens.

Picking up from where we left off at the end of the last update, Friday morning the seven of us here in Свети Николе headed down to the center for our normal, early morning pick up by the bus, stuffed full of the crew from Штип.

Before I go further, I will say, that while I am not always the most verbose individual in the morning, it’s always nice to see them. It’s only seven of 44 here in Sveti, and seeing another part of our group somewhat regularly is a great thing for mental health.

It doesn’t hurt that they’re all pretty cool.

Especially Priscilla (hi, Priscilla’s mom!!!).

All joking aside, without doubt, the talk of the day was sites. If you remember from the last post, both the Stipers and us had found out our sites the day before, and Priscilla and I were, for all intents and purposes going to be site mates.

One of my biggest fears (this time, using the term loosely) was that I would be isolated from other volunteers. Especially after the interview questions asking about how I am with isolation, this was truly at the forefront of my mind.

Having Priscilla so close (according to sources, a bike ride away), and Cameron not much further, was definitely a comforting thought.

One fear overcome.

Not to mention, we can split the taxi fare getting to site…

It’s all about the money.

When we got to the hotel, we were directed into a different room than we were normally in. THIS room was somewhat fancy (comparatively), and most likely a banquet room of some sort, as opposed to our normal conference breakout room.

Or maybe it was a cleared out bar. I’m not really sure.

Either way, there were a bunch of rows of chairs set up, with an easel, projector, and speakers set up in front. Around the room were Peace Corps staff, including the country director, and many of our PCV trainers.

A few others were there as well.

While the whole day is now somewhat of a blur, I do remember the ‘ceremony’ we had. Site announcement ceremony, to be exact.

First, Evelina, the PST manager, showed us a Dr. Seuss video about…something. It was voiced by Tom Hanks, and it was very relevant to the changes and unknowns we were all about to find in our near futures.

After the video, we each received a small ‘passport’; on it we wrote our names, our sites, and two or three things we knew about where we were going.

Then, one-by-one, we each walked up to the front, where a map of Macedonia had been hung, and taped our passports over where we would be. While I still honestly believe that a site announcement involving everyone at once, with a large map on the ground where we could all stand, would have been better, it was really neat to see how our placements looked from a geographical standpoint.

We were literally spread all over the country.

While Macedonia is a small country, I sort of expect things to be a bit like Ghana – many of the ‘regular’ socializations we will have will be based on geography; simply who is nearby. When you need a taste of the US, or just need to relax with another PCV, most often it’s the closest one who will be available. Sometimes you simply don’t have the time or the ability to travel further, and sometimes you just need that decompression NOW.

Regardless, we were all very anxious (well, I was) to see how that plays out. I have become so used to decompressing and relaxing with the other trainees here in Sveti Nikole, it will be strange and difficult not to have them around when we move to site.

But, as I’ve said, I’ve got two great people really close by, and am close to Stip, where other amazing trainees will be placed, and Stip is not so far from some other amazing people, both in the MAK20s and in the MAK19s.

Afterward, there was cake.

I didn’t get any.

Next topic – site visit. In just one week, all of us trainees will be heading out to our sites for three days; we’ll get to know the place we are going to and get to meet our counterparts and host families. We will stay at the place we will be living for two years and start to get to know those who will be a major part of our lives.

Or at least, that’s the idea.

Unfortunately, due to the fact that they wanted rent money now, and not later, the family that was to host me withdrew. So as of now, I have no host family. Which, obviously, means I will not be meeting them during site visit, nor will I be staying with them.

Most likely, I have been told, I will be staying in a hotel.

I’m ok with that.

Really.

Hot showers that don’t require turning the water on and off or contorting oneself in unnatural positions, sleeping in a room where the inside temperature is actually WARMER than outside and over the freezing mark, a heater that most likely can actually be turned on if I get cold??

Yes, please.

That being said, there is every chance that a new host family can be found in time for me to stay there next week, and in a way, I hope that does happen. It would be nice to get that initial introduction to where I will live for at least six months, if not a full two years.

It would also be nice to get some of that first awkwardness out of the way when they realize how much of a picky eater I am, and that I don’t drink alcohol (what? No rakija???).

But, as they say here – тоа е тоа, it is what it is.

Like in Ghana, we are expected to get ourselves to our sites, to meet up with our counterparts and host families, and find our way around and back. Unlike Ghana, I have a feeling I won’t have to spend the night in the med unit on the way, nor will I have the pleasure of a current PCV to take me most of the way the next day.

But, unlike Ghana, there are actual bus routes here, and a schedule that is more or less followed. I asked a MAK19 if the buses actually left when they were supposed to, or if they wait until they are full to head out.

She looked at me like I was crazy. OF COURSE they leave on time…???

Right. Not sure she got my meaning.

But it’s all good, that happens a lot here. Ghana has definitely not helped me prepare for the little details of life here in Macedonia. I’m getting used to asking questions based on being a PCV in Ghana, and getting blank or incredulous looks.

I even realized today at Астра that I still try to hand the cashiers my money with my right hand, and move it from my left. That’s not a thing here, but what can ya do?

It’ll be interesting to see what I do when I CoS from here – when I’ve internalized habits both from Ghana and from Macedonia. But that’s part of what makes this experience so interesting.

I wonder if I’ll do the same in my third country, when I do Peace Corps again?

Ok, maybe not.

Well, maybe.

We’ll see.

Anyway.

The remainder of the day was pretty normal. Sessions all day, and torture in the middle. Literally.

We had flu shots.

I hate shots.

But I survived. This time.

After the day was over, all of us were walked to the Peace Corps office for an office tour and trick-or-treating. Friday was the day before Halloween, so PC put on a little event for us.

The walk to the office was about 20 minutes, but not too bad. It was nice to chat with the other trainees that I don’t usually get to see, and the walk went by quickly. At the office, which looked like just a large house, we were brought inside, theoretically by groups led by PC staff.

After waiting outside for a few minutes, a bunch of us just kind of looked at each other and went in. I honestly can’t remember if we were with a group or not, but somehow we ended up connected to one.

We meandered through the entryway, making our way upstairs to check out the various offices, the medical unit (which, unlike Ghana, is not a separate area with beds for overnight stays), and the PCV room, which was a lot like the room in Ghana that had lots of books on shelves, and some couches. It also had a few computers for PCV use.

In one of the rooms, we were greeted by a witch; one who had candy. And not just any candy, but the good stuff: Twix, Kit Kats, Snickers, and all the good ole US sugar vectors you can think of.

The witch was done up in full costume, makeup, dress, hat, and all. It took me (literally) a few minutes to realize that this was Corey – the PC Country Director. Very cool.

A few group selfies later, and we were on our way (and just a quick thank you to Coco, for giving me some pointers!). We had about an hour and a half until the buses were coming back to get us, and, surprisingly, we headed out to City Mall, and eventually made our way up to the food court.

I played it safe this time – pizza. I’m sure the Chinese place missed me.

On Saturday, all of the CD (community development) volunteers had a session on workshops in Negotino, one of the training communities about an hour’s taxi ride from Sveti Nikole. The seven of us piled into two taxis, and headed out.

The ride was actually one of the most amazing we have taken yet; we went up into the mountains, and back down the other side. The roads wound around the edge so tightly that at times we literally switched back 180 degrees; coming into Negotino you pass over a river.

Negotino itself was a bit bigger than Sveti Nikole. Not MUCH bigger, but bigger. It even had the first health foods store I’ve seen here in country. We were a bit early, so a few of us headed over to grab a coffee and drink at a café near the center.

The session was long – about 4 ½ hours, but relatively fun. It was one of the most interactive we had had so far, and on a topic that all of us will benefit from.

There really was only one part of it that was horrible (and that may not be strong enough of a word): watching trainer Chris put packets of ketchup on his pizza. Sacrilege!

Some integrations are just not worth it…

It’s a thing here, ketchup and mayonnaise on pizza.

Even shito was better.

One more thing I will comment on before moving on in this here blog. Turkish toilets.

I’m pretty sure I mentioned them previously, but many places here that have public bathrooms (thankfully NOT in Sveti Nikole) have Turkish toilets. Turkish toilets are basically holes in the ground that flush. Also often affectionately called squatty potties, they are found in both the school in Stip and, unfortunately, the school in Negotino.

Even when I had food poisoning coming back from Skopje a few weeks ago I was able to avoid using them simply due to mental horror. But this time, it was unavoidable.

And not something I want to repeat. Ever. My legs hurt. So do my arms, from trying to hold myself up from falling back into the hole by grabbing onto whatever part of the walls I could use to support myself.

It made me miss my ‘bathroom’ in Ghana.

At the end of the session, we hopped back into the taxis and headed back to Sveti. I was somewhat anxious to get back; this was a special weekend – my ‘host sister’ was coming to visit.

Abby is a MAK19 who lived with my same host family last year during her PST. My family talks about her all the time, and pretty constantly for the past week. They have a picture of them and her displayed next to a picture of their biological daughter.

During Field Day I had the chance to meet her, and chat with her briefly, but other than about Harry Potter (an important topic, to be sure) we didn’t get to speak much. I was looking forward to not only ‘meeting’ her, but to getting to have a real talk with someone who had gone through homestay in the same place I am right now.

She was supposed to get there before we got back from Negotino, so when the taxis pulled up at the center, I told the others that I was going to head home to greet her, then see if we all wanted to meet up at a café.

When I got back, Abby wasn’t there. She was coming on a later bus, and my host father had gone out to get her.

After she arrived, and after spending a little bit of time at the café with other trainees, we came back to the house and hung out with the host family. It was really interesting, for me, to see how they interacted.

I was a little intimidated by just how comfortable Abby seemed talking in Macedonian, and how much Vasil and Makedonka truly cared for her and were so excited she was there. It was nice to be a part of that, and I truly hope I have the positive impact on our host family that she obviously has.

Best of all, our host mother even made chocolate cake. AMAZING chocolate cake. I hope Abby comes back again while I’m still here, or comes back with me anytime I visit just so I can get some more of that cake. There was even shaved chocolate pieces on top.

Now to be fair, I have to give credit to Abby as well. She had made cookies and brought them to us. And they were REALLY good. I’m not even just saying that so she brings them again when she visits next (although, you know, it would be ok if she did).

One of the cutest (?) things actually happened with the last cookie left. Vasil, our host father, was kind of staring the cookie down. You could sort of tell he wanted it, but he was too nice to say so. He looked at Makedonka and asked, in a quiet, and shy voice, if she wanted it. He was nervous she might say yes.

But Makedonka is psychic when it comes to Vasil, and she saw right through him. You should have seen his smile when he took the last cookie, and shoved it all into his mouth.

I know it seems so small, but that was a great moment, and one of my favorites so far here in Macedonia.

The next day, Sunday, Abby and I took a walk around Sveti Nikole. It was actually really nice – we just kind of decided where to go as we got there, and ended up walking through farms and ‘countryside’ outside of town.

Abby is a really chill, laid-back person who makes you feel instantly at ease, and it was nice talking about our experiences living with the same host family in the same training community. I just feel bad that she had to listen to something like four hours straight of our host parents talking about my eating and sleeping habits…

Her take-it-as-it-comes attitude really came through when we found ourselves outside of town, being waved over by a random man outside his ramshackle house. He was wearing worn out clothing, his hands dirty and rough, and his home small, constructed of wood with a tin roof covered in shingles. Most of his tools he had made himself, some as many as thirty years ago he told us.

Yet, he was the most generous person I have met here when out and about. He invited us in to his yard, and sat us down outside his small, run down house. He was obviously very poor, yet he offered us drinks; Schnapps and homemade wine.

He pulled out two wooden stools so we could sit, then went and picked grapes right off the vine, running water through a hose so they could be washed off. He brought out a mallet and took some freshly picked walnuts, and cracked open the shells so we could eat the nuts inside. He brought out an old, empty plastic case that once may have been a computer monitor, and sat it down so we could have a table for our food.

He brought out a small radio, and turned it on so we’d have something to listen to, and told us about his family, and called his wife over to greet us.

Eventually, he moved us over to a picnic table he had under a small structure under some trees by the side of his field, and his wife came and sat down. He brought out more fresh food – fruit he peeled and cut open right at the table.

I didn’t understand a lot of what he said, but I caught some. Abby translated the rest for me, and she seemed so in her element. One day I hope I can get there.

This was an experience I haven’t had yet here, and yet one that I believe defines the Peace Corps experience. Here is a truly poor man, from a nation still trying to define itself, living in conditions those back home would never imagine. Yet here he is, inviting strangers into his home, giving them of his own food and drink, just finding enjoyment in their company. Everything he offered to us was something he himself, or his wife, would have eaten had we not been there. And yet all he wanted to do was share, and be generous.

It was amazing.

After we left, we walked around some more, then made our way back to the house. Our host father was making pastramilija, a Macedonian specialty, from scratch, for our ‘lunch’, and we wanted to be there to enjoy it fresh.

When Abby left to go back to her site, I walked with her down to the bus station, and she gave me a quick lesson in how to use the public transport here, as I will have to do so this coming week for site visit.

I’m glad she came – it was really great to see my host parents so excited, and to see how well she communicated, and how comfortable she was here; it definitely gives me hope. It was great to be able to talk to someone who understands what it is like to live here in this house, hear their stories, and share mine.

We are now in week seven, and at the last Hub Day they brought up swear-in. Kind of intimidating, and it seems like things are moving so fast. Literally only 30 days until I once again become an actual Peace Corps Volunteer, and am finished with my time as a trainee.

Crazy.

But for now, this week, things are back to normal. Language class, sessions, and all that good stuff.

I’ll get more into it in the next post.

Oh – and as for the title of this blog post?

It means ‘On Broadway’. It was in our language textbook.

No deep meaning here.

BETRAYAL

Before I start this post, I want to first offer an apology.

To Jennica. This weekend, I betrayed her in a way that is almost unforgiveable.

I’ll get into it later, but let me just say, I had this same issue in Ghana.

There were Oreos involved.

Surely that makes it more understandable???

Anyway, some of you may have noticed that the posts are coming less frequently. Nowadays they’ll most likely be around once per week, rather than every three hours as they were at first.

The reason?

Simply that we’ve (more or less) settled into a routine. Language class every morning, hub day once a week, sessions scattered throughout, and the occasional practicum or special meeting here and there. It’s still tough, and still a lot, but it’s somehow become life.

That being said, there were a few extraordinary things that happened over the last week.

So we’ll start with those.

On Monday, we had class. Like I said above, that’s become fairly routine. We also had a culture talk right after. This one was run by our LCFs, Ana and Kalina, and it was really enjoyable. They are both really great people, and it was nice to have a chat just about how things work here.

For the session, each of us was assigned a holiday celebrated here in Macedonia to research. We had to present some details about the traditions of the holiday and how it is celebrated to the group, and then we had a chance to ask questions. My holiday was Easter.

Now, while it was normal to have language class, and normal even to have a session afterwards, it was somewhat ironic that language class and the session on holidays, took place on a holiday. EVERY other school in the town was closed; many of the businesses as well.

One thing about PST – we have class or sessions on EVERY SINGLE holiday that falls during PST – both Macedonian and US. That includes Halloween; sacrilege!

Tuesday was another routine day; language class followed by a session on IT resources and policies presented by the Peace Corps IT guru. Wednesday the same; our extra session after language was on the International Assistance opportunities here in Macedonia. In other words, which organizations are present here that offers support, funding, or other assistance.

Thursday, well, language class and an extra session (you’re probably understanding the whole ‘routine’ thing). This extra session was a medical session on alcohol awareness. The session was held in Stip, and we all piled into taxis to make our way over there for a combined session with the Stipers. While it can be a pain to have to travel for a one-hour session, it’s always good to see and chat with them.

One of the trainees is a counselor by trade, and has counseled many individuals back home on addiction issues, including, of course, alcohol. He actually presented part of the session, and he definitely was in his element; good presenter, and obviously knew what he was talking about.

On Friday we had hub day in Skopje. Hub day is as hub day is. All day sessions on various things, with a few too quick breaks scattered here and there. An ok lunch (if you go vegetarian), and, what was pretty neat, a presentation by a Macedonian who has been employed by the US embassy for over 20 years on the history and culture of the country.

It was very interesting hearing about the country I am now living in, and it seems this country has a very long and violent past. It has changed hands multiple times over the centuries, and not all of those changes have been bloodless. However, it should be noted, some have.

Saturday was back to Stip. Twice.

The first time was on the Peace Corps. We had technical training during the day, and it was a long day – six hours. All of the volunteers from all of the training communities were bused there, and we split into our sector groups – CD and TEFL.

I will make one comment on the sessions. They provided us lunch; the pastrmajlija is much better here in Sveti. Just sayin’…

Now, Saturday evening was anything but routine. After the day in Stip, we made our way back around 5ish. I got back to my house at 6ish; I left my house at 6:30.

For Stip.

Again.

This time it was for a wedding reception. The cousin of my host sister had just gotten married, and it was time to celebrate. I assume that it is my host parent’s niece, but that’s how they kept describing it, the cousin of their daughter.

Anyway, at 6:30 we all left the house, dressed to the nines, to get on the kombi out to Stip. The kombi, which I don’t really think I’ve mentioned before, is the Macedonian tro-tro. It’s the primary form of transportation here, yet this was the first time I’ve actually been on one.

In terms of the car itself, it is pretty much the same type(s) of vehicle(s) used for trotros. It’s got as many rows of seats as can be shoved in there, cracked windows, and barely working headlights.

But what it didn’t have, thankfully, is six people per row, old women trying to pet my arm hair as they gleeful shout ‘obruni’, younger women shoving their babies into my lap as they’re getting onboard, or some farmer shoving his basket full of dead rats under my seat or into my arms. There was not a single goat or sheep in the trunk, nor chickens tied to the roof.

And for that, I was glad. I really hope that experience was indicative of the kombi experience in general. I can handle that.

So after about 45 minutes (much longer than on our taxis during sessions) we arrived at a restaurant in Stip. I don’t remember the name, but it was pretty nice. There were a few people outside smoking, all dressed up, many in outfits that would be right at home at a formal in New York City.

We got out of the kombi, headed up the stair, and walked inside. I have to admit, I was a bit surprised by how ‘fancy’ the setup was. I wouldn’t say it was ultra-fancy, but it was very nice. Flowers, tables done up with white tablecloths, drinks pre-positioned with plates of fresh veggies every so many seats. Each table was numbered and right at the top of the stairs, the reception line.

The parents and grandparents of the bride and groom (at least, that’s who I assume they were) welcomed us, kisses on each cheek, and efficiently passed us off, one to the other. After feeling many a cheek, we made our way to our table, number 16, and sat down right at the end. Which was nice – as it gave me a good view of what was to come.

Moments later, we stood back up. The bride and groom were sitting in state nearby, and each guest, after finding their places, was expected to head on over and take a picture with them. Two quick flashes of the camera later and we were back at our seats, Sprite poured and ready to drink.

As people started to arrive and the table got more crowded, the waiters started to bring out food. The first was a plate of cheeses and meats, followed quickly by a plate consisting of two pieces of fried cheese – one regular white cheese, the other a fried piece of зденка (basically, Laughing Cow). A bit of a pause, then they came around with plates of bread.

Which no one touched; it seemed that was reserved for dinner.

All the while, they were constantly bringing and replacing drinks. My host father even had to laugh at one point when instead of bringing a single beer to replace empty ones, they started bringing two at a time. It was kind of funny.

Eventually, all the guests had arrived and the ceremony started. The bride and groom walked into the center area of the restaurant, made a quick right, then walked down to their tables. People clapped and all was good.

Then the music started. And never stopped. People got up, and eventually started dancing. Dancing here means the Oro. The Oro is a traditional dance where people hold hands, get in a big circle, and move around the room. And that’s it. Sometimes faster, sometimes, slower, but always holding hands, always around and around. For hours. It never stopped. Even during dinner, it never stopped.

Granted, some people dropped out, others joined in, but the circle kept going and going and going. The Energizer bunny would have been jealous.

But no other type of dancing occurred the entire time.

I will say that the music was incredible. Many of the traditional instruments were used, various times clarinets and trumpets moved within the circle, serenading the bride or groom. It was really…enchanting.

At about 10:30 dinner was finally served; at about midnight, the cake. And at about 1am we left, piling back into the kombi for the ride back to Sveti Nikole.

We got home around 2.

I will say a couple more things – not being able to speak to anyone was not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought. My host father does not like to dance either, so that also wasn’t too bad. As with many things here, if you take out the Oro, the traditional instruments, the music they were playing, you could easily imagine yourself at a wedding reception in the US.

Children were running around being children, both men and women were dressed up, people were going outside for a smoke break, and a few guys and girls around the wedding couple’s age were flirting.

It was oddly comfortable and familiar, while at the same time so different.

Just like everything here.

ITS THE PEOPLE

So, picking right up from the last post, on Tuesday we were back to our normal daily life – classes in the morning, then homework in the afternoon.

Or so we thought. The week actually turned out to be the first of what looks like many crazy, overwhelming weeks. And I think it might have been the easiest…

Class on Monday was, well, class. The one great thing about it, though, was that after the crazy amount of homework we had over the weekend, the LCF’s collected our workbooks and we had no homework for the night. Which was great.

Right after class we had a cultural training session. I have to admit, despite being overwhelmed pretty much all the time here, I actually mostly enjoy these sessions. The talk is interesting, and it’s interesting to hear what everyone else is going through. Despite being in the same town, each of us is having such a different base experience – especially when it comes to our homestay families. There are definitely similarities, like how much food they try to shove down the throats, and how much oil the food is swimming in, but the differences, as they say, are in the details.

Anyway, the session lasted for about an hour or so, then at 2:30 Robert and I headed over to the municipality to have our first (hopefully) real meeting with our new contact person there, Hristina.

Hristina is a very personable, and nice person, and she provided us with a lot of information. I’m not 100% sure that she understood what we were doing here (not a language issue, I just don’t think she understood our purpose with our training project), but she actually shared a lot about the municipality and what they are doing. It’s actually pretty interesting.

In addition to a Red Cross office, there are a lot of projects that they support – from a Women’s organization, to a museum, to a project to promote entrepreneurship among the town’s craftspeople. They are also ‘working’ to promote the town as a tourist destination, planning a series of events and attractions over the next few years.

One of these, at an archaeological site named Bylazora, specifically caught Robert and I’s attention. Bylazora is an ancient Paeonian city that dates back to the early classic antiquity period. The ruins and items found there have been dated to around 5^th century BC.   It has a lot of historical significance, and has some features that were not seen in other buildings or construction anywhere else in the world at that time. It’s a big enough of a find that for approximately 5 years, researchers from The Texas Foundation for Archaelogical & Historical Research participated and funded some excavation and research there.

The museum here, called Народен Музеј, or ‘People’s Museum’, is working to create a special ‘holiday’ around Bylazora and its history. They’d like to clean up and expand the site, and have an annual day where they have all types of events, including a recreation of a traditional, time-period appropriate wedding, food and drink cooked and prepared as they did then, and a lot of displays of information.

While this is obviously outside the scope of what we can do as part of our practicum, it is a perfect opportunity for us to accomplish the goals of the practicum – and use the event to create our action plan, goals, and objectives. If what we come up with is of value to the museum, who haven’t really started any planning activities yet, all the better.

Anyway, as often seems to be the case here, Hristina has a solid connection with the Director of the museum: she’s married to him.

Taking advantage of that, Robert got his number and we left Hristina with a promise to call her husband and set up a meeting.

On Wednesday, more language classes, followed by a three-hour technical session on Identifying Organizational Needs. We discussed SWOT analyses and Appreciative Interviews. We finished at 4.

Thursday was just language class. One thing I will add about the week. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I was definitely not feeling well. My stomach was running constantly, and I barely ate. A difference between here and Ghana that I have been grateful for is running water. It’s nice to have an upset stomach, be away from your homestay, but still be able to run to an actual toilet, use it, flush it, and be (more or less) guaranteed to have some toilet paper and soap available. In fact, I had started to take it for granted.

That’s when Peace Corps reality kicked in.

On Wednesday, the water, as they say in Ghana, was finished. No water. For two days. Luckily, it was just at the school, but as we had sessions all the time, it was a bit crazy. I’d have to run back to my house multiple times throughout the day just to go to the bathroom, then run back to the fire station for class.

Unlike Ghana, the entire country is not a bathroom.

Another thing I’d like to mention here. The homestay families are VERY invested in our health and happiness. They serve us mounds of food, and constantly give us more. Every two hours I’m being asked if I’m hungry, and while I’m eating, my host mother is literally replacing whatever has already been put in my mouth with more. If I ask for one cookie, I get six. If I want two eggs, I get five. Want tea with a little suger? Well, I’ll get tea with LOTS of sugar.

While I absolutely realize it comes from a good place, it can be frustrating at times.

No more so than this past week.

As I mentioned previously in this post, as well as in the last, I have managed to contract a myriad of guests in my stomach. While I didn’t go to the bathroom for the first five weeks in Ghana, I’ve more than made up for that. Not surprisingly, I haven’t been hungry in days. When I sit down for meals with my host family, I barely eat anything. I could tell they weren’t happy, and in an effort to stave off the guilt I found myself claiming tiredness and ‘sleeping’ through meals. Initially, the plan was to have me take probiotics for a bit, then start Cipro, then add in the Flagyl. But I was feeling so crappy that I called the PCMO and begged them to let me start the Cipro early (which they did).

On Wednesday night I received a call from the PCMO, Dr. Mimi. She told me that my host mother had called and was extremely worried as I hadn’t been eating anything. Dr. Mimi ‘negotiated’ with her that I will eat breakfast, but only if it’s a single, boiled potato. Dr. Mimi asked if I was ok with that, and I was. Although not hungry, I knew I needed to at least get something in.

The next morning, I woke up to take my shower and could almost instantly smell breakfast It was NOT boiled potatoes. The grease smell was so thick I could literally suck grease fumes in and eventually have solid oil in my mouth. I finished my shower, walked into the kitchen, and there on the table was a HUGE plate of French toast with a side of fried eggs swimming in oil. My stomach literally turned over at the sight.

All I could do was eat one of the smallest pieces of French toast, and even that started me going. I refused to eat more.

That night, I had boiled potatoes. Three of them. But at least it was boiled potatoes. My host mother kept trying to add stuff in, but I flatly refused (my best phrase in Macedonian so far is не фала- no thank you, and my second best is боли стомакот – stomach ache). My host mother has this disappointed sigh she makes whenever I don’t eat what she thinks I should, and I have to say I got many of them during that potato feast.

But at least I ate.

Friday the water was back on in the part of town where the firehouse is, and thankfully I could go to the bathroom without having to run back to my homestay. It’s not that far, but a real pain.

Anyway, after class Robert and I had our meeting with the director of the museum. He seemed really eager to have us learn what he is doing, but as is a Peace Corps tradition, much of the conversation revolved around the museum’s financial woes, and how little funding they have, and how much money would help them.

And as is the Peace Corps volunteer way, we ignored it.

What we DID do, though, is discuss with him Bylazora, and what types of things we might be able to actually help out with in our short time here in Sveti Nikole. We got a tour of the museum’s collection, which is really interesting, and has some amazing pieces that are literally thousands of years old. We also discussed how much of the museum’s collection does not have any language displayed other than Macedonian, and how a prior Peace Corps volunteer was helping them translate some things.

Robert and I jumped on this. Perfect set up for a short-term project. Translation. We are going to try to help the museum translate some of their materials into English. Not only will it increase the professional ‘image’ of the museum and it’s displays, but it will be a first step towards realizing their dream of attracting and international audience to not only the museum, but to the future event planned for Bylazora.

After the meeting I headed back up to the firehouse. On this day we were going through another rite of passage, one that had me somewhat anxious.

We were having our site placement interviews.

My interview was scheduled for 3:30, but actually started around 3:45 or 3:50. The interview itself was with four people, the program managers and the ‘second-in-command’ after the Country Director.

The staff structure here is very different than in Ghana. In Ghana, each sector (health, SED, education) had their own program managers, and they were referred to as Associate Peace Corps Directors (ACPD). Here, there are no APCDs, and the program managers are organized by geographic region, and not by sector (of which there are only two – CD and TEFL). Instead of sector APCDs, we have TCFs – technical and cultural facilitators. I have no idea if the TCFs are with us through all of service, or are just facilitators/trainers for PST. All of the program managers here are HCNs (host country nationals), in Ghana it was a mix.

One of my main concerns with the site placement interviews was a direct result of my experience in Ghana. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that in Ghana, these interviews were literally a façade. They already knew exactly where they were going to send us. We would express a preference and they would either say, “We can work with that,” or they would say, “We can’t guarantee that.” If they’d work with it, you had it, if they said can’t guarantee, you didn’t. One hundred percent of the time.

Here, I think it was a mix. For me, I have the feeling that they more or less knew where they wanted me to go. Same for two other people in my group. We all got directed questions, asking about specific experiences and specific living arrangements. For me, it was my worst-case scenario come to life.

My absolute strongest preference was to be near other volunteers, if not actually have sitemates. Alongside and related to this was not living in a small village. I want to be in a town or city. Maybe not Skopje, but definitely not a village. The village was where I was assigned in Ghana, I want a different experience here.

One of the questions they asked me was this – “What is your experience living in a small country that’s not too big, but at the same time not being near any other volunteers.” I was honest, and told them that my preference is to be near other volunteers, if not have other volunteers in the same town, and that I would prefer not to be in a small village.

That sole question actually brought down my mood for the entire rest of the day. I’m somewhat convinced that they want me to go to a small village in the middle of nowhere. Not at all what I want.

Realistically, I know they haven’t finalized any placements, and I could end up anywhere, but when we all talked about our interviews afterwards, not a single other person got such a question. Again, it seemed very directed.

Saturday was a non-day. It rained nonstop – sometimes really hard. No one seemed to be outside, and I basically stayed in bed all day. I did some of the massive amounts of homework we seem to get on the weekends, and finished up watching the entire first season of Fear the Walking Dead (which isn’t as crazy as it may sound, it’s only six episodes).

One more thing I am going to mention here that I am really glad about. Peace Corps, even Posh Corps, is an intense experience. While the challenges of daily life are not nearly as difficult as I expected, and I haven’t had the homesickness or culture shock that I am expecting will hit at some point, the reality of being essentially a kindergartner, with my life scheduled and monitored by other people and my freedoms severely restricted is tough. I feel overwhelmed every time we have language class, and get frustrated every time I can’t understand someone or they can’t understand me. I get tired of playing charades all day with my host family, and just wish I could actually talk to them. I wish I could hop in my car, and drive out of town to visit friends I’d really like to see. I wish I could eat what I want, when I want.

But one thing that I do have is people, fellow trainees that have become some of my closest friends. The intensity of Peace Corps manifests itself in a way that is truly rewarding – it brings people together so much quicker than in the US. I’ve known my fellow trainees only for three weeks, yet I feel so much closer to them than that implies. It’s something that happened in Ghana, and it’s something that I’m truly happy happened here.

I’ve heard from volunteers around the world that this happens, and I’ve got to say, these people I’ve met are one of the things that makes all the challenges worth it.

SEATBELTS AND OLD FRIENDS

Before I get into the meat and potatoes of this here post, I want to briefly mention two things that happened during the previous post’s time frame, but that I forgot to include.

First, kids and bars.

One thing that is pretty certain in America, is that if you are in a bar, whether at the bar itself or out on the patio, your probably are going to be surrounded by adults. Sure, there will be those one or two (or more, if you are in a college town) of 18-20 year olds with fake IDs, but most people will at least have passed puberty.

Not so here in Sveti Nikole. Here, going to the café (which is, really, the bar) is an activity enjoyed by peoples of all ages. Even those who haven’t hit the double-digits.

While we were sitting at the café the other day, in walked to guys and two girls, looking like nothing more than two couples out for a nice relaxing drink. They sauntered up to a table, sat down, called the waiter over, and ordered their drinks. The girls started chatting, the boys, relaxing.

After twenty minutes or so they paid, stood up, and went on their way.

So very normal.

Except, of course, that they were about ten years old.

Needless to say, us Americans were a little blown away by this. It just seemed so out of place, but no one else seemed to think twice about it. We figured that maybe these kids were an anomaly, but no one questioned it.

Until, a few minutes after they left, three more boys, maybe between 8 and 11, came in, sat down, and ordered their drinks. In fact, we quickly realized it was NOT an unusual thing, as older women walking by waved at and greeted these kids.

Then, after they left, we looked out and saw three girls, about ten or eleven, all standing around a stroller with a baby in it, looking like a bunch of mothers out for stroll just chatting.

Kids here have a very different idea of fun…

The other story, one which actually highlights something I now realize is EXACTLY like the US, is about the police. In Macedonia, no one wears seatbelts. Unlike Ghana, most of the cars actually have them – but no one wears them. In a taxi, in a private car, on a bus; no one.

So when we were getting a ride back from the University by Ana and our other friend, they, of course, were not wearing their seatbelts.

All of a sudden, almost perfectly in unison, they both quickly reach up, grab the belts, and pull them on. Sabrina, Jennica, and I just looked at each other, no idea what was happening. Were we about to crash?

Jennica even said something about it.

In response, the girls started giggling, and pointed.

Up ahead – a police car sitting on the side of the road working traffic. Even halfway around the world, on another continent, with a different culture, one thing hasn’t chaged:

Cop cars make people put on their seatbelts and slow down.

And of course, as soon as we passed, off come the seatbelts; again, in perfect unison.

Ok, it was funnier when you were there.

So, picking back up from my last post, which I believe took us through Saturday night, on Sunday I pretty much relaxed. A bunch of us met around noon with the intent of studying, and while there was some studying done, there was more talking and drinking.

After a few hours, we all drifted our separate ways, then I headed back to meet my host father so that we could head up to the football pitch for the game. Stumica was playing Sveti Nikole, and again, I am not sure if this was a professional game or semi-professional, but I am almost 100% sure it was not high school; the players looked too old.

While it cost about 40 denari (less than a dollar) for us to get in to the handball game, the football match was free – seating was outside on stone ‘bleachers’ that were really just a cut stone block put into the hill.

When we first arrived, sort of like with the handball match, there weren’t that many people there. But more definitely came. Not quite as many female spectators as at handball, and a somewhat older crowd as well. Chris, another PCT, joined a little bit after the match started.

While I won’t bore you with the details of the game (it was a tie – 2-2), one thing I will comment on is the difference between the late-teen girls playing handball, and the twenty-something men playing football. Unlike what stereotypes might tell you to expect, the girls were brutal. No one from one team helped the other at all – it was all just a flat out battle. They DID give each other five at the end, but that was it.

During the football game, there were definitely some injuries, but every time a player went down, the player who they hit or a player from the other team ran over to make sure they were ok, or to help them up, clapping them on the back for support. It was almost gentlemanly.

Moving forward, on Monday we had out first hub day. Hub day is the day where the entire training group gets together in Skopje for sessions. It is the only time during PST when that happens, and we have hub day about once a week; our next one is a week from tomorrow (Friday).   Other than those in our training community, and the brief visit in Stip, this marked the first time that we have seen everyone else since Orientation Week.

At 7:15am, we all boarded the bus near the municipality to head out to the big city. Our friends from Stip were already onboard, and when I walked up people were standing around and/or grabbing a last minute snack from the bakery.

The ride, as usual, was amazing. The landscape and scenery in this country are breathtaking. There is no way to do it justice in written form. Even pictures don’t do it justice. We looked out on mountains, clouds down among the small valleys, we saw a lake, and churches. We passed a sheep herder, walking his herd along the roadway.

And then we got to the city. Even in the city the sites are amazing; a castle seemed to loom over a river, churches in competition with modern buildings, statues everywhere. After even only six days in Sveti Nikole, Stip was overwhelming; after ten days, Skopje was incomprehensible.

Eventually, after making our way through city traffic, we arrived at the hotel where we will have all of our hub days. We were the last group to arrive, everyone else was already upstairs.

When we made our way up, the room was filled with PCTs, staff, and PCV trainers chatting and reuniting. It was, in a word, overwhelming. I didn’t know how to process it at first, and sort of froze.

But lots of hugs were incoming, and that, obviously, helped.

The sessions themselves were pretty standard for Peace Corps, and involved lots of activities and skits. I was Oscar-worthy in my role as a bus driver for one of the skits, and Igor shined in his role as the sound effects man, making truly realistic noises – of a bus breaking, and the whoosh of air as the compressed air is released when the door swings open.

During one of the breaks we all sang happy birthday to one of the volunteers, and we had lunch in the hotel restaurant. It was the first meal since I’ve been here that wasn’t literally drowning in oil. While it was a bit bland, that was a good thing in my opinion.

During lunch I had an impromptu meeting with the PCMO. As with PST in Ghana, my stomach doesn’t seem to enjoy being in the Peace Corps; unlike Ghana, where it just didn’t go for weeks, here it just won’t stop.

Dr. Mimi reunited me with some old friends – Cipro and Flagyl, and the ever wonderful and exciting stool sample kit. I’ll end this particular little story here, but I’m sure my PC Ghana readers can mentally fill in the rest…

After sessions finished, we were given about an hour just to go out and do our own thing. Two of the trainees in our group actually have friends here in Macedonia – one from grad school and another from couchsurfing. Their friends met us, and a bunch of us headed out to a nearby café for chat.

The café itself was adjacent to two things – a high school, and what appeared to be a tennis club. I’m making an assumption here, but tennis seems to be a relatively popular sport in Macedonia – we even have courts here in Sveti Nikole.

When time was up, we all headed back to the hotel to catch the ‘bus’ back to our homestays. Once again, Stip and Sveti Nikole were traveling together, so we got to hang out with the self-named MAK20 Under 30 group for another two hours or so.

Back at the hotel, one of Miranda’s friends, who was still at the café, called to say that one of the trainees had left their bag. Of course, that was me. I’m not sure, but as the only things in it were my ‘school’ books, I think I may have done that subconsciously on purpose…

I ran back to get them, came back, and the bus still hadn’t arrived. It seems that Macedonian time is very similar to Ghanaian time.

Overall, the day was good. As I said earlier, it was honestly, and unexpectedly, a bit overwhelming, and I didn’t get to hang out with everyone I wanted to as much as I wanted to. But that’s PST for you.

We got back to Sveti Nikole around 9pm, and we all called it a night.

One comment on the ride back, before I move on.

Often here it seems surreal that we are living in Eastern Europe, on a different continent, in a country that many people in the US don’t know (I can’t tell you how many people said, “Oh, you mean Madagascar,” when I said Macedonia). It’s crazy that we are surrounded by countries that so many people couldn’t name or find on a map. But the road signs made it more real.

Among others, we passed signs for Athens, Sofia, and Belgrade.

Going to end this for now. Haven’t been feeling well and just realized I’ve reached my limit for the night…will pick back up tomorrow.

FEMALE AGGRESSION

I debated for a while on what to name this post. I vacillated back and forth between many an impactful, meaningful, or otherwise ‘ful’ name. After an entire 27 seconds, I decided to go with female aggression. Why?

No, it is not a comment on the female species, nor is it a comment on the wonderful ladies and fellow PCTs who I find myself sharing this here experience in Sveti Nikole with; rather, it is an apt description of the way I just spent the last hour and a half.

But more on that later.

As hinted at in my previous posting, yesterday Robert and I had our first meeting with the municipality to start planning out and working on our practicum. The meeting was scheduled for 1pm, almost directly after our daily marathon language lessons. Language class was quite intense – for me, it was exhausting. It’s tough to do four hours straight of one subject, especially one so foreign (literally and figuratively) as a new language. And this was the fifth day in a row.

As I don’t like coffee, or кафе in Macedonian, I’ve gotten into the habit of grabbing a small Coke, or кока-кола, during our breaks. Considering the fact it was day five-in-a-row, plus the fact that we had our first meeting scheduled with the municipality, I got myself a big Coke this day. And I was glad I did.

At ten to one, Robert and I found ourselves waiting outside the municipality, a little bit early for our meeting. We didn’t want to go in too early, so we stood outside and chatted for a few minutes before heading in. The building had a big open space as soon as we walked in, and a stairway heading up to the right. On our immediate left was a security booth, and as the obvious outsiders walked in, the security guard came right on out.

After getting him to understand we were looking for our contact person, Daniela, at the municipality, he led us up the stairs and into the first door on the right. Inside was a pretty big office, with a nice desk, computer, bookcase/display case, and a door on both the left and right sides. The window in the back looked out over the center of town. Seated at the desk was a woman, probably in her 40s, with blonde hair. She introduced herself as Daniela and seemed a bit surprised to see us; she was obviously occupied with other things.

After we stated we were her Peace Corps trainees, she seemed to be even more confused, and expressed that she expected us to be over at the Woman’s group, a NGO that she is president of. Although she spoke great English, we had to spend a little bit explaining that we were a different group from the trainees that were over at the Woman’s NGO waiting there. We let her know that we were given her name as the municipality contact, and the NGO trainees had a different contact person there.

She stated she had no idea what she was talking about, and had no idea that we were coming. They were not at all prepared for us.

Images of dealing with the Ghana Health Service flashed in my brain.

Thankfully, she was a very nice woman, and called one of her staff in to help us. While we were waiting the mayor of Sveti Nikole walked in, and we got to spend a moment chatting with him. As with almost everyone we’ve met so far, he was extremely personable and welcoming. They even had someone bring in a tray of ‘something sweet’ for us.

SERVICE INTERRUPTION

I’m typing this as I sit in my host family’s living room; my host father is watching football on TV, and I just realized it was a DC United vs. New York game! And it’s happening at RFK. Very surreal how I can be halfway around the world, watching a game taking place twenty minutes from my hometown…

SERVICE RESTORED

Shortly, in came Hristina and Tatiana. Hristina was to be our contact, and also spoke English. Like us, she is not a native of Sveti Nikole, moving here six years ago after marrying a local. Unlike us, she is Macedonian. Tatiana, I don’t know anything about. In essence, she seemed to be serving the role of observer. She didn’t speak to us in English, but I honestly have no idea if she does or not. She didn’t seem overly lost during out conversation with Hristina, so I have a feeling she at least spoke a little.

All in all, the meeting lasted about 30 minutes, and, just like many a meeting in the States, basically accomplished us setting up another, official, first meeting for next Tuesday. Although they didn’t expect us, they were all very accommodating, and extremely nice. It seems to be an issue in this country. How can everyone be so nice????

It’s just not proper.

After the meeting, Robert and I texted the Women’s group participants, and we all met up at one of the local cafes to discuss our experiences. Sabrina, Jennica, and Nana joined us, and we grabbed a beer, water, or a Sprite, and chatted for a while. It seemed that not only were they expected, but it was somewhat of an event. Photos of their meeting even made it to the organization’s Facebook page, and they received little welcoming gifts.

Not that I was jealous….really…

Anyway, after chatting, we all split our separate ways with promises to text and meet up later. Our friend, Ana, had invited us over for the evening, and we had every intention of taking her up on that (and not just because her couch is EXTREMELY comfortable – as she says, “It’s an American couch!”).

As it turned out, not EVERY intention was focused on going on. None of us ended up venturing out of the comfort of our own homestays; I was exhausted (a ‘quick’ nap at 5pm turned into not getting out of bed until 9am this morning)., Jennica was dragged into some evening aijvar making, and I believe Sabrina was just over the day, much as I was.

This morning I got to do something I haven’t been able to do in a week – sleep in. Until 9am. It was wonderful.

After my standard egg, bread, and зденка (basically Laughing Cow cheese), I disappeared into my room to do some homework. The evil LCFs had given us A LOT of homework – more than we have had all week – to be finished by Tuesday. Which may sound like a long time, but when you consider that on Monday we will be gone all day to Skopje for Hub Day, and over the weekend there are café’s to visit and pizza to eat, well, its not that much time. We also had an assignment for our CD (community development) technical training to complete, though it went pretty quick, as we didn’t actually have the meeting we were supposed to write about.

Many a ‘N/A’ appeared as answers in my workbook…

At 12:30 I headed out of my house to go meet up with Jennica and Sabrina at the АСТРО to grab a bottle of water before we were going to go on a walk through the пазар, or outdoor market, on the way out to the University to visit Ana and our other friend who work there. While I was walking down to the store, I passed Nana and her host mother. Nana had just become the first in our group to get her very own track suit, and it was a beaut. Nice and dark, with some pink highlights.

Now, while that may not sound so exciting to our American readers, the track suit is a staple of life here in Macedonia. Probably in Eastern Europe as a whole. EVERYONE who is ANYONE has a track suit. Ana has like ten. We all plan on getting one at some point, but of the Sveti Nikole crew, Nana crossed that intercultural barrier first. Браво, Ана!

After greeting her host mother and checking out her new threads, I continued on down the street, where I quickly saw Jennica chatting with a strange man on a bicycle, standing in the middle of a traffic circle. Making my way over, Jennica introduced me to her host father, the man on the bicycle, and after a few moments, Jennica and I headed over to the supermarket.

Heading inside, we bought our bottles of Coke and water, and were joined by Sabrina. After a quick tour of the store, we made our way to the cashiers, paid, left the store, and meandered across the street and over to the пазар. The bazaar is the open-air market here in Sveti Nikole (or any Macedonian town), and Saturday is bazaar-day. There are a lot of different vendors, selling things from bras to toys to clothes to fresh vegetables. Lots of fresh vegetables. It was sort of reminiscent of the Kumasi market in Kajetia, but MUCH smaller, less chaotic, and significantly less crowded. In other words, it wasn’t anything like the larges open-air market in West Africa. But it was kind of cool.

One of the coolest parts, was actually recognizing some of the people we passed. Or, to be accurate, Jennica and Sabrina recognizing them, and me not realizing who they were till later. But it says something, when we actually come across people in town we have talked to before, and they know who we are, and we know who they are.

Once done with the market, we headed out of town along the road towards Stip and made our way to the University, MSU. Ana and our other friend were working there, and we were going to meet them for a quick drink.

It was a nice walk, about 20 minutes from center.

When we got there, Ana took us on a quick tour, and showed us where she works. We then made our way out to the campus restaurant for a quick chat and drink, then piled into a car and drove back to center. After getting dropped off, Jennica, Sabrina, Ana, and I headed over to one of the cafes in center, the only one that serves food, and grabbed some more drinks. This is definitely a café culture, and we were definitely trying to integrate! J

We sat around and chatted for a while, occasionally greeting and meeting people that Ana or Jennica knew, and eventually Ana had to go back to work as a favor to her boss. The three of us remaining stayed for a bit, then decided we were hungry enough to order some food.

And that was when we got our first reality check.

When we asked for the menu, the waiter brought a menu that, like many we have seen, has English written alongside or below the Macedonian. We decided that we wanted one large pizza, without ketchup. We ordered from the waiter, and then congratulated ourselves for doing it so well.

Then the food came. We got three separate pizzas, with a side of a large bowl of ketchup.

Oops.

Just before 7pm, my host father, Vacil, and I headed up to the gymnasium next to where we were all dropped off by the bus when we first came to Sveti Nikole. Tonight was a special night; tonight was ракомет. In English, this is handball. In America, this is unknown.

I am not sure I can explain handball, but suffice it to say that it consists of two teams that run around with a ball, trying to score a goal on the other team. It is a VERY high scoring game, with professional teams scoring anywhere from 20 to 35 points each during the two 30-minute halves.

Tonight’s game was not professional level. I’m honestly not sure what level it was, if it was the regional teams, or if it was a high school match. But whatever it was it was brutal.

The match was Свети Николе vs. Куманово, and it was the girl’s league. While it seems like it shouldn’t be that physical, as it simply is passing around a ball until you can score, it is essentially rugby-lite. The girls were tackling each other, punching each other, and literally throwing each other to the ground. A few of the girls banged up their knees, or their arms, one couldn’t move with an obvious back injury. Two others had to be helped when they couldn’t breathe, after being karate chopped to the throat.

In fact, the aggression and full-contact nature of the sport was so ingrained that at one point a girl was hit so hard she went down and wasn’t moving.  At the same time, one of the other players on her team got the ball and was driving towards the goal.  The ref saw the girl down, then waited until the other girl scored before calling a time out and calling out the ‘medic’ for the basically unconscious girl laying on the floor.

It was crazy, but it was actually kind of fun, also. It’s a neat sport, and watching it on TV doesn’t do justice to how much of a contact sport it is. The girls playing tonight looked so innocent and sweet, but the aggression hidden in those smiles was crazy. I was scared.  But after the match, both teams were smiling and congratulating each other, giving high-fives and shaking hands.

I’d like to go to a men’s league game some time and see how it compares…

The fans were getting into it also. When we first got there, the stands were pretty empty, but by half-time it was packed. And let me tell you, people were standing up and screaming at the refs, booing and cheering, and really getting into it. Not in a scary, Ghana World Cup qualifier way where they had to have a platoon of infantry as security, but in a fun, entertaining way. Old men would stand up and shout, then chuckle and sit back down.

One young girl of about thirteen would scream at the top of her lungs when the refs made a call she didn’t like, then turn around and basically bow to the crowd. Even a little boy of about six got into it.

It was a great experience, and I’m grateful for my host father for bringing me.

Tomorrow we may go to a football game.

Hopefully it’ll be less violent.