I am a currently-serving Peace Corps Volunteer in Bulgaria. The views on this blog do not necessarily reflect the views of the Peace Corps.


Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Checking in on Your Summer



I decided to make an English class for adults this summer. It's about 200 times more work than I imagined but it's so much fun for me. I teach a class in the morning and one in the evening because I figured that a different group would come for each session. The same people from the morning come in the evening though, plus more people. So much for one lesson per day; I have to plan two.

When I'm not teaching I'm doing everything else that someone 1/3 of my age would be doing.

I can remember, 18 years ago, going to school before 6th grade was about to start and one kid told me that he was bored this summer and that last summer was better. No way. Each summer, better than the last.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Room Service





Here he is. The one who left me a plate the other night. Such delicious food.
I love this kid. He is bigger than books and teachers let you believe life can be. One day we ran up the mountain together; he excused himself half-way up because he had to shovel some manure and we caught up for the run down the mountain. He was wearing flimsy rubber shoes, less than a Ked. He's super smart but not the kind of smart that people easily recognize.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Kindness of Neighbors, I Think



Walked outside to buy some bread. 2 minute walk to the shop. Ran into friends Elza and Zlatka. I told them that I heard that Danielle has a black rose in her garden. They said I was correct. She has a black rose. She has maybe 200 roses. Pink ones, white ones, red, purple, champagne and a tall black beauty. After admiring the flowers I walked with Elza to her garden and we picked strawberries and ate them. Then I ran into Nasko and he told me his sister is in town. He had just run out to buy smokes. I ran and bought bread then joined his sister and him at the cafe. After a few hours I came home. There is no light in the stairway leading up to my apartment so I pretend I am walking through a cave every night. Tonight there was a treasure. Someone, I have no idea who, left me a still hot dinner.

I hit the bag with the door as I opened it. There was a bowl full of grape leaves and cabbage leaves stuffed with rice and maybe meat of some sort. They were delicious. There was also baklava, delicious. I feasted! Nothing like stumbling upon a home cooked meal. I'm sorry for Justin Bieber because in an interview he said that fans often send him candy and food but his mom doesn't let him eat it. He has 187 million views on Youtube for that track with Ludacris. Guess you have to protect yourself at 187.

Just a ramble for a second before I do the dishes. With the end of the year national tests taking place, I had to use the computer room, instead of my regular room, to teach English today. I was alone with the 8th graders. It was fun. I let them look at whatever they wanted. One kid played Justin Bieber, 2 Live Crew and Twisted Sister videos. That is amazing. How does a 14 year old boy, living where he lives, know 2 Live Crew and Twisted Sister?

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Village Newspaper


I am happy to say that I made the first issue of a village newspaper. I'm proud of it. And, people like it.

Two days after printing, the mayor called in an order of ink, and everyone knows how expensive ink is, and an entire village jumped on board.

We did three interviews and one 8th grade girl wrote an essay about the environment. I wrote an essay and hyped up my partners. Just wanted to let you know. I'll scan it in later. It's all in Bulgarian but I'll translate.

Monday, May 31, 2010

ESSAY on MIGRANTS


(this photo is not from Bulgaria but I recently received it and it's o.k. for the following, an essay I just wrote on 'MIGRANTS')

Same Game

I celebrated like I was part of the team when the Chicago Bulls won their first NBA championship in 1991, and in a way, I was. After having watched or attended nearly every game that season and proved my grandpa wrong—a Detroit Pistons fan who claimed that Michael Jordan was a one man show who’d never lead his team to the Finals, let alone win—I ran outside after the Bulls’ victory to join the neighborhood celebration. Mr. Ristonovitch, who was born in Serbia, and Mr. Walsh, who was born in Ireland, were shooting off bottle rockets and lighting Thunder Bombs with kids whose families had lived in the neighborhood for a couple generations. Lucretia, an old woman from Poland, only flicked on her light to see what the commotion was, and just as quickly, flicked it off. Surely, there were others who just read about the victory in the next day’s newspaper.

Although there were only 12 players on the roster, coaches, and a few ball boys, a world of people took part in the Bulls’ championship in 1991, as well as their loss to the Detroit Pistons in the Eastern Conference Finals the year before. The Chicago Bulls were more than just a few men dribbling basketballs. Ticket sales, advertising during televised games, merchandise, newspaper headlines and magazine cover stories, a hero for kids who wanted to ‘be like Mike,’ as well as a target for adversaries of the franchise, were all part of the phenomenon. I use this example of a professional basketball team, and its far-reaching affects on culture, economics and society, to explain the way in which all people are migrants. The only thing that differs from person to person is the degree to which he or she is a migrant. From this understanding, one will not have to rely on a law to guide one’s treatment, acceptance and encouragement of migrants. Instead, that treatment will reflect one’s treatment of self and friends, and with that personal touch, we’ll be ‘getting it right.’

There are four degrees of migrants and I will continue using the NBA franchise example to explain these degrees. The first is the migrant himself or herself. This is the player and the coach. Their hearts are exposed. They’re on the court or in the huddle, taking the bumps and bruises that come with the terrain they’ve taken to. They provide entertainment and inspiration, open up dialogues between people from different cultures and from different backgrounds. They enjoy the praise and bear the pain that comes with the challenge that they’ve undertaken. This first-degree migrant is the Peace Corps Volunteer in Bulgaria. It is the villager who leaves home to study in Sofia, Plovdiv or Smolyan, as well as those who travel to Greece, Spain and Denmark to work as drivers, harvesters and servers.

The second degree is made up of people who have a vested interest in the franchise or the players. For the NBA team, these are players’ families, advertisers, TV stations and gamblers. For migrants, these are also family members who don’t get to see a parent or child because he or she has left home to pursue work. While family members may benefit financially, they miss out on spending time together as a family and the village itself loses some of its positive role models. This group includes politicians, legislators and owners of businesses who employ migrant workers. They are very much involved with the laws regarding these men and women. Jobs, money, and reputation depend on these ‘players.’ The United States Government and a Peace Corps Volunteer’s co-workers and family also comprise this group

The third degree of migrants are people who are conscious of the fact that men and women from various societies and from differing political and economic backgrounds have left home to find work because their needs weren’t being met at home. These migrants correspond to fans and foes of teams in the NBA. These fans cheer or boo but they don’t remain silent. Carrying this example further and outside of the pro basketball realm, this third degree migrant is someone who understands that such contact will enrich his or her own life. And conversely, a third degree migrant may avoid contact with people they see as ‘foreign’ for fear that such men and women will take away jobs and spoil the status that they themselves have worked to achieve. Third degree migrants are also students who have a PCV as their English teacher. These are the villagers who have formed relationships with PCVs, those who have intentionally stayed away from PCVs, as well as locals whose conversations around the dinner table have been affected by the presence and influence of a volunteer in their village. A third-degree migrant is not necessarily relegated to this status only.

The fourth degree migrant is rare. This is the person who has no direct contact with migrants and isn’t even conscious of their existence. While this qualification may seem to contradict itself, I argue that the 91 year-old woman, who has never left her village, is a migrant. Even if she does not know anyone who has left her village for work, the jobs available in her village, are affected by migrants. And, similarly, the person who isn’t conscious that the NBA team exists, doesn’t watch the games or read the newspapers, is affected by the far-reaching economic and social effects produced by the team.

We don’t act in a void. Everything we do affects us, the doer of the action, those around us—whether they have a vested interest in us or whether they are conscious or unconscious of our existence—and ever more apparently, the world itself. The implications of our actions run ad infinitum and shape the world, from the attention we give to a particular cause, to the way we greet or ignore a stranger, choosing paper or plastic, or following or not following a sports team. We cannot count on legislation alone to direct our treatment of migrants. Instead, we need to begin by recognizing that we are all migrants.

A migrant is a symbol of change and while change can be frightening, terrifying to some, as Heraclitus said over 2,500 years ago, “All that endures is change.” The degree that one is a migrant may change too, but now, as we are all humans, we are all migrants, and recognizing and embracing this will enable us to reap the benefits of celebrating our differences and learning from one another.

The 2009 Human Development Report states, “Migration has the potentiality to greatly improve human welfare if we ‘get it right.’” This ‘getting it right’ does not come from regulations but from a migrant’s own personal touch to the work he or she does. The Peace Corps provides this personal touch. Instead of only providing technical aid, the PCV instills a quality of humanness in that aid. The PCV builds up those with whom he or she comes into contact by recognizing the others’ humanness, not simply filling a quota.

We don’t only teach students about our culture and traditions but we organize Halloween parties, show films in our village and play basketball after school. We travel to neighboring villages for Ping Pong tournaments to show our support of the participating students. We share meals with host families and new friends and learn about their culture and traditions. After helping men filling out applications for seasonal work, we don’t simply say, “Good night.” We go out for coffee with them and listen to their hopes and fears. We set up informal classes to teach basic language skills. We help write letters. We share photographs and stories about our families with co-workers and neighbors.

Our role and our actions in Bulgaria must constantly be evaluated because what might seem right today will not serve tomorrow. By adding a personal touch to the work we do, and living as migrants among migrants, acknowledging and respecting our differences, we’re on our way to ‘getting it right.’

Memorial and Forgetorial Day




There is a Bulgarian shoe company called Bulldozer. The shoes are not very durable but they’re simple and comfortable and if you think about your feet while walking your feet tell you that they’re doing fine and that you shouldn’t worry about them. I’ve got three pairs in black but it’s getting warmer and I woke up the other day thinking about white ones. How can I get white Bulldozers? I talked to someone who talked to someone and someone else drove my size in from another town.

I went to get them at a little store in my village and in the store was this really nice girl. I told her that I was going to walk up the mountain and ride one of the horses and that I wanted her to walk with me. We walked and talked. I couldn’t convince her to ride a horse. She said that she was scared of horses and when I stopped to pet a cow she stepped back and said she was scared of cows. It struck me as strange; I just didn’t get her fear.

Then I asked her, “How is your love life”? She told me about a guy she likes who hasn’t returned her text message and she doesn’t know why. She was a little slow with the details but they came and I broke down how I could imagine he was feeling and then told her that maybe she is a horse or a cow and he is scared to touch her. So corny, I know but I’m not a Bulgarian speaking pro yet.

I said goodbye and turned off the main road towards the farm. When I arrived though, no one was there. I figured I’d wait and began doing pull ups on a bar the farmer made to practice gymnastics. 50 was my goal. I haven’t done pull ups in a while so it took a lot of sets to get to 50. An 11 year old girl wandered by, wanting to ride a horse too. She laughed at me because at this point I was struggling to do 2 pull ups in a row but I got to 50. After we’d waited for an hour she asked me whether I wanted to come to her house and see her new baby goat. ‘Of course,’ I told her. A baby goat is my new favorite animal after playing with three of them last week.

We walked through a small forest, saw a mushroom that looked exactly like a mushroom from Super Mario Bros. It was red and white. I’ve never seen a colored mushroom before. That was awesome. Before seeing the baby goat we walked into her house and her mom was sitting at the kitchen table starring out the window. We hung out and talked a while and then went into the girl’s bedroom. She wanted to show me her posters. She had about 40 posters of horses on her walls. Her mom and I and her talked some more and I was remembering kids’ rooms from when I was 11.

We saw the goat and all of her hens. One was separated from the rest because another one didn’t like it and pecked out one of its eyes. It was a clean peck and the hen lives.

Across the way I saw an older couple who I really like. They were working in their garden. I said bye to the girl and her mother and went to talk to the couple. I picked strawberries from their garden and rinsed them and we ate strawberries. The man pulled out a garbage bag full of tobacco leaves, diced some of them, laid them in the sun to dry for a few minutes and then began rolling cigarettes. I smoked a cigarette and then ate a soggy cookie that was offered to me. We sat around watching Turkish soap operas and then my favorite guy came through. He is 58 and he goes to grade school. You have to have graduated from 8th grade to get a driver’s license in Bulgaria. He has a motorcycle and wants to do some work that requires having a driver’s license. He needs to be official.

We were way up in the mountains, staring out at the mountains in Greece and my phone rang. It was my brother. I told the man to sit next to me and listen to me talk and tell me what words he understood. My brother gave me the update on my nieces and sister-in-law and we shared some stories. Afterward, I had to give the man a ‘D;’ he only understood, ‘hello.’ That’s a start.

My friends gave me spring garlic and potatoes from their garden and I began walking home before it would be too dark to see.

I ran into an old woman with four silver teeth on the bottom and no teeth of any sort on the top. She was probably 60, very slender, had a soft yet striking face and she was carrying a load of hay on her back. We talked for a while and as she turned one way and I continued straight. I met a baby. I helped her put her coat on. I’ve never helped a baby do anything before. Then I ran into a girl’s dad who is in my 6th grade class. He walked me to his garden and plucked some lettuce and parsley for me and I got home just before a heavy rain. I ate all my food and needed to zone out and not do anything for a minute so I punched the keys.