Finally have internet, and while I am quite out of practice when it comes to blogging, and in the hopes that this will lure you into skyping with me, instead of telling nearly a month's worth of stories, here are ten crazy things you might do or say when coming to live in Romania for the first time:
1. You'll eat this wonderful bread (actually all the bread is wonderful...) called paine de cartofi which means potato bread. What you'll call it instead in front of about eight Romanians is: paine de pantofi. Shoes bread! **Also, when I typed this last night, I managed to translate pantofi as pants instead of shoes. It gets crazier and crazier.
2. You'll also say ce ciorba (how sour soup!) instead of ce ciudat (how strange). Hopa!
3. And speaking of being confused, if your name is Sara you will have the unexpected advantage of being the only one. However, instead of having to determine which of the four Sara's is being addressed in a group, you will find yourself saying poftim? (pardon?) every time you hear these words: seara, tara, sare, sarea, and so forth. They're close, too, particularly when your name's being spoken by a non-native speaker, so about ten times a night you'll be greeted by good evening and asked to pass the salt and you start to tune out your name. AND THEN when they put your name in the dative (Sarei), you'll be so used to ignoring it you won't even know they were addressing you.
4. You, along with about thirty other eager students, will be tied to the back of a van well after midnight in the middle of the countryside and you'll be dragged down a long, icy road. There will be sledges involved, and also loss of feeling in the fingers, and you'll probably fall off and then accidentally get dragged or have to run alongside them so you don't get left to get eaten by wolves. It will be glorious. You will bond with students in all kinds of new ways.
5. You will nearly burn down the bloc (apartment building) when attempting to make microwave popcorn on the stove because you don't have a microwave. You'll be unaware of the need for oil and will accidentally start a small fire, which of course will be put out quickly enough, but then there's the waving of a white towel out the window in order to get the smoke out. And hey, you're not frantic, you're not panicking, but you figure there are only so many ways waving a white towel out a smoking window can translate and then you'll hear sirens. Turns out they're not for you, but oh man.
6. And surprise! They use real wine with communion at your church here. I don't think this is terribly uncommon in the States, but as you have never had it with communion before, it will catch you quite off guard. Imagine accidentally spitting out the blood of Christ. Buuh.
7. If you come sometime around the beginning of March and you're a girl, you'll feel pretty special! It's pretty much a week for women sandwiched between Martisor and Women's Day. And you will receive lovely flowers.
8. Also, if you blend in well, you will be asked four times (already) for directions in the metro. The first two times will be early on and you won't be able to say much except nu stiu (I don't know). The third time you'll not only understand what you're being asked, you'll know about where you're being asked and you'll give them directions. Only later will you realize you confused Sun Plaza (a mall) with City Mall and gave a fourteen-year-old bad directions.
9. You will realize that, as of now, this blending in will be both to your advantage and terribly problematic. It helps because everyone speaks to you in Romanian because they think you are and therefore assume you understand. This helps your language learning a whole ton. However, sometimes they think you understand a lot more than you do and you end up with one of two problems. The first is that when you don't understand, people don't think, oh you're foreign, they think, oh you are really stupid. The second is you wind up not knowing things you should know. The question now is: will you be stubborn and continue to insist on Romanian, or will you get over it and ask that it be said in English?
As a quick addendum, the problem with stubbornness and wanting to say so many things in a language you just can't yet is that you really want to know people better, you want to ask them about their lives and what they love and why so many things, but you're stuck behind a language wall you can only half-climb at the moment. So again, resigning to English with the benefit of having real conversations? Or holding out a few more months, shouldering through, and then all those good things?
10. Yes, you will say lots of really whack things. You will watch a lot, listen a lot, want to engage more and pray for people so much more than you have before. You'll miss your friends dearly but also feel at home here, will think lots of things about how life works in new places, where it all is leading, and you'll want to understand it the way a Romanian does. With lots of appreciation for how Americans do. You'll have to be very patient, and while that will not be easy, it will help that your friends here are so patient with you. And then, bam! You'll realize that all those years back home you spent learning about grace are coming in handy, and surprise, it's not so much that you have to be graceful, although you do, but instead you are given grace daily and abundantly.
The funny surprise is it always seems to be turned back on you like this. What a surprising place.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
bucuresti
All I want to do is write and I have no idea at all how to begin. As I'm writing in English, phrases I know in Romanian come to mind: at all--deloc, and I can see in some ways how the changes are already begun. I wonder what God will make of all this, what he'll do, where he'll bring it.
Last week it was Martisor and as I walked to the metro, the streets were even more full than usual with people selling things. One man I saw twice (going in one direction--I don't know how), first when I got off the bus and then again right at the entrance to the metro and he was clearly homeless, selling lighters and tissues. I don't want to write about the homeless people, I don't want to play the poor-Romania card. And I've seen these things before, have been in big cities, but Bucuresti is my city now. I live here, I buy groceries, my room is filled with its light in the mornings.
There's a lot of sitting back and watching, especially when things are so new. And I have seen a strange, eclectic collection of things. My first day I saw a little three year old boy go up and kick one of the sleeping street dogs and an old lady swept down out of who knows where and gave him a scolding even I understood. And the other night, it was late and I was waiting for a bus, hoping the last one hadn't already come, and it started snowing again, fine enough that I could turn my face upward and watch it fall in the orange streetlight. There's the Asta E Romania billboards that say things like Romanian youth are superficial and Romanians don't know how to enjoy themselves and at first I couldn't believe what I was reading, it was so negative. But I've since learned it's part of a campaign about pessimism, and I don't know much but I'm interested to see what they do with it. And of course there are the mountains, the ones that surprised me one morning in Rasnov, this line cutting into the sky, reaching upward in the distance, lit up pink catching high light. That place was so vast.
Here in Bucuresti I spend as much time underground as above, and there are so many people, little snatches of whole worlds for five minutes on the metro. Sometimes it's enough to have me praying and praying, wondering how their stretch of life brought them to that moment. Maybe that sounds presumptious, but I see more here than I did in the States, but it's somehow less accessible. What I mean is that, while back home everyone puts on a happy face, the other day I watched a man who looked like he'd lost his job, and he kept starting to dial his phone and then would put it back in his pocket and hold his face in his hands a while. But what can I do?, the potential presumption being that I feel I should do anything, but my stomach lurches forward and I find myself speed-praying until he gets off or I do, for a man I'll never see again.
I could go on with all this. The people are what kept my heart turned toward this place, and still it is true. I mean the people in church and OSCEB and how they love God, and also the man on the metro, my Romanian professor who spent an hour telling me how fatalistic her people are. Whether and to what extent any of this is true, I don't know for myself yet. I've been told from all kinds of people all kinds of things, but I won't pretend to know this people, this city. It's all still watching and seeing, and there is so much to learn.
There's a verse my old staffworker used to talk about all the time, Jeremiah 29:7: "Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare." I don't feel like I've been exiled here, and I don't mean bringing 'American optimism' and 'fixing' anything. It's still early on, and of course I think the dog poop is gross, that it smells on the bus in the morning, and I have been cold for three weeks straight. But despite the extent to which I may still be glorifying and romanticising it, the city is beautiful to me, and I hope dearly for it, the same way I hope for my own Wilmington down by the river at night. And it is surely a God of hope we serve.
And I am praying for Bucuresti, for its people. I think of my home in the south, how it is beautiful and also broken, also so dark. I don't know Bucuresti in this way yet, nor do I know its people but I ache to. Why was it so hard for that man to make a phone call? I don't know. It's all just questions right now, and I know God is at work here and somehow my students are a part of that, my friends here and those of you reading this. I'll be in Bucuresti at least six months--the truth is that right now I hope it will be longer--in Romania much longer. Whether God will bring me to a new country after this one as my roommate is convinced, o sa vedem. But that verse spoken to Jeremiah by a God who did bring his people back from exile, who promises to restore and redeem them, is underscoring all the questions. O sa vedem means we'll see, and I really believe we will.
Last week it was Martisor and as I walked to the metro, the streets were even more full than usual with people selling things. One man I saw twice (going in one direction--I don't know how), first when I got off the bus and then again right at the entrance to the metro and he was clearly homeless, selling lighters and tissues. I don't want to write about the homeless people, I don't want to play the poor-Romania card. And I've seen these things before, have been in big cities, but Bucuresti is my city now. I live here, I buy groceries, my room is filled with its light in the mornings.
There's a lot of sitting back and watching, especially when things are so new. And I have seen a strange, eclectic collection of things. My first day I saw a little three year old boy go up and kick one of the sleeping street dogs and an old lady swept down out of who knows where and gave him a scolding even I understood. And the other night, it was late and I was waiting for a bus, hoping the last one hadn't already come, and it started snowing again, fine enough that I could turn my face upward and watch it fall in the orange streetlight. There's the Asta E Romania billboards that say things like Romanian youth are superficial and Romanians don't know how to enjoy themselves and at first I couldn't believe what I was reading, it was so negative. But I've since learned it's part of a campaign about pessimism, and I don't know much but I'm interested to see what they do with it. And of course there are the mountains, the ones that surprised me one morning in Rasnov, this line cutting into the sky, reaching upward in the distance, lit up pink catching high light. That place was so vast.
Here in Bucuresti I spend as much time underground as above, and there are so many people, little snatches of whole worlds for five minutes on the metro. Sometimes it's enough to have me praying and praying, wondering how their stretch of life brought them to that moment. Maybe that sounds presumptious, but I see more here than I did in the States, but it's somehow less accessible. What I mean is that, while back home everyone puts on a happy face, the other day I watched a man who looked like he'd lost his job, and he kept starting to dial his phone and then would put it back in his pocket and hold his face in his hands a while. But what can I do?, the potential presumption being that I feel I should do anything, but my stomach lurches forward and I find myself speed-praying until he gets off or I do, for a man I'll never see again.
I could go on with all this. The people are what kept my heart turned toward this place, and still it is true. I mean the people in church and OSCEB and how they love God, and also the man on the metro, my Romanian professor who spent an hour telling me how fatalistic her people are. Whether and to what extent any of this is true, I don't know for myself yet. I've been told from all kinds of people all kinds of things, but I won't pretend to know this people, this city. It's all still watching and seeing, and there is so much to learn.
There's a verse my old staffworker used to talk about all the time, Jeremiah 29:7: "Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare." I don't feel like I've been exiled here, and I don't mean bringing 'American optimism' and 'fixing' anything. It's still early on, and of course I think the dog poop is gross, that it smells on the bus in the morning, and I have been cold for three weeks straight. But despite the extent to which I may still be glorifying and romanticising it, the city is beautiful to me, and I hope dearly for it, the same way I hope for my own Wilmington down by the river at night. And it is surely a God of hope we serve.
And I am praying for Bucuresti, for its people. I think of my home in the south, how it is beautiful and also broken, also so dark. I don't know Bucuresti in this way yet, nor do I know its people but I ache to. Why was it so hard for that man to make a phone call? I don't know. It's all just questions right now, and I know God is at work here and somehow my students are a part of that, my friends here and those of you reading this. I'll be in Bucuresti at least six months--the truth is that right now I hope it will be longer--in Romania much longer. Whether God will bring me to a new country after this one as my roommate is convinced, o sa vedem. But that verse spoken to Jeremiah by a God who did bring his people back from exile, who promises to restore and redeem them, is underscoring all the questions. O sa vedem means we'll see, and I really believe we will.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
back from camp!
If you ever wondered what jumping into a whole new culture and language is like, let me describe it to you in one short story:
First let me say that I've been learning a ton of Romanian, and it's really difficult but coming along quite quickly (and everyone has had lots of encouraging things to say about it!). That said, I'm still really limited in what I can say. So all the last two weeks at the ski camp I've felt a lot like a little baby who can't say much or understand much.
That in mind, on the first day of skiing when we left the slope, I had boots with me to change into while waiting for another bus to come get us. Now apparently I do not take ski boots off quickly enough, because one of our instructors and someone I work with in OSCER decided that it needed to be done for me. So they grabbed my boots, and here we are on an icy sidewalk on the side of a mountain in Romania and I'm getting dragged across the ice by my feet. Haha, whoops!
I can hardly communicate, people are dressing and undressing me! It's like being a baby all over again. It's been wonderful, though, and very challenging.
Something I realized a few days into the first camp: I was getting frustrated because in small group discussions I couldn't really contribute the way I normally would, couldn't have in-depth conversations. And it occurred to me how much I rely on that, how much I have in the past. It made me think of that quote by Francis Chan about trying to be the Holy Spirit to people. But of course I can contribute (ba da!). And perhaps more so than on my own: I've been praying for people like crazy these last weeks because there's really not much that I'd normally do that I can do yet, and it's been wonderful to see how God answers prayer, how he moves. And of course it's one of the most important things I can be doing. Thankful and certainly humbled.
So, more stories to come. And hopefully soon.
First let me say that I've been learning a ton of Romanian, and it's really difficult but coming along quite quickly (and everyone has had lots of encouraging things to say about it!). That said, I'm still really limited in what I can say. So all the last two weeks at the ski camp I've felt a lot like a little baby who can't say much or understand much.
That in mind, on the first day of skiing when we left the slope, I had boots with me to change into while waiting for another bus to come get us. Now apparently I do not take ski boots off quickly enough, because one of our instructors and someone I work with in OSCER decided that it needed to be done for me. So they grabbed my boots, and here we are on an icy sidewalk on the side of a mountain in Romania and I'm getting dragged across the ice by my feet. Haha, whoops!
I can hardly communicate, people are dressing and undressing me! It's like being a baby all over again. It's been wonderful, though, and very challenging.
Something I realized a few days into the first camp: I was getting frustrated because in small group discussions I couldn't really contribute the way I normally would, couldn't have in-depth conversations. And it occurred to me how much I rely on that, how much I have in the past. It made me think of that quote by Francis Chan about trying to be the Holy Spirit to people. But of course I can contribute (ba da!). And perhaps more so than on my own: I've been praying for people like crazy these last weeks because there's really not much that I'd normally do that I can do yet, and it's been wonderful to see how God answers prayer, how he moves. And of course it's one of the most important things I can be doing. Thankful and certainly humbled.
So, more stories to come. And hopefully soon.
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