Day 2

And just like that, all energy to blog has flown out the window (in a word, exhausted). Another extremely successful day at the build and I only have one photo to share. More to come soon, I promise, at the end of the week. But for now, this is what the house looks like after day 2.

Peace Corps Romania/Habitat Build, Day 1

Today we kicked off our Peace Corps Romania/Habitat for Humanity partnership house build in honor of 20 years of Peace Corps Romania and 50 years of Peace Corps worldwide. We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day, weatherwise, with sunny skies and an occasional cool breeze. And we couldn’t ask for nicer group of people to be working with.

After preparing financially and logistically, a little spiritual inspiration was called for.

Below, Tara, Jenny, and Chris demonstrate a little Peace Corps pride on the job site.

Below, the folks from the Habitat affiliate had prepped the foundation ahead of time. This first day was largely about nailing. We all took advantage of the opportunity to work out a little aggression.

Above, off to a great start!

Above, Connie giving it her all. Below, yours truly helping Adi cut lumber.

Above, Nelu, the father of the Petrus family who is receiving the house, and PC volunteer Jenny. Below, Claudiu and his mom Alina Petrus (photo by Alin, the older son)

Above, approaching the end of Day 1. Below, PC volunteer Ben getting in the last few nails of the day.

The end of the day, the hardhats have come off and we are ready for a jump in the creek, a shower, and a cold Timisoreana to quench our thirst. Great day everybody!

Unencumbered by the Environmental Assessment Process

Arrived in Beius today where we begin tomorrow our Peace Corps/Habitat for Humanity Partnership house build. Yay! We've arrived and we're ready to go. In the meantime today, we enjoyed a big event in town with 4-wheel-drivers from around Europe (maybe the world) who drove up the river through town, building ramps along the way. I have to say, I got a special thrill as a Jeep driver. Maybe guilty pleasure is the correct term. Anyway, here it is. More this week from the build.

Photos with Andrei

I might have mentioned a time or two that I don’t love taking pictures. And fans of photography are surely disappointed with my artistic eye. I much prefer a thousand words to one of my pictures. Which is not to say that I don’t enjoy and appreciate photography. On the contrary, I quite enjoy, even crave maybe, the work of others.

And so let me share with you a small bit of the work of my friend Andrei Nichita, a young man assisted by my agency here. It helps that he has been mentored by Petru Solca, the Romanian director of NOROC and an amazing photographer. Andrei comes to many of our kids activities and takes wonderful pictures. He also took photos at the recent wedding I attended (Petru’s daughter). Even more, Andrei takes really lovely nature photos and recently had his first show at the university in Galaţi.

So let me share a few of his photos with you here, and then you can visit his website to see more. He’s also more than a photographer. He is also a very friendly and thoughtful young man. I’m glad to know him.

This is Radu and Oana, the happy couple. Isn't her outfit just perfect?

Below, this is the Easter Pageant. On the left is Vasile, the one I'd like to sneak into my suitcase. Alas...

Above, the older kids from our Thursday night group, including Iuliana and Dolar, the readers for the program. Below, the younger group that with whom we meet on Fridays. Everyone sang, and some acted too.

Above, Florin as Jesus, praying in the garden. Below, the younger kids. The two on the right with the green striped headwear (Lulu and Iulian) played moneychangers that Jesus threw out of the temple.

Below, more pictures from our horse party, and me in my easter bunny ears. Yes, we have our fun.

Cristina with Sergiu. This little guy was fearless in being the first one to ride Norocel, the pretty paint horse.

Why We Build: Remembering Millard Fuller

I remember being a teenager and listening to a sermon by our Episcopal priest, Loren Gough. She talked about saying goodbye to friends as she was leaving a Latin American country (which one I don’t remember) and having a poor neighborhood woman press coins into her hand for those less fortunate. Loren shared that she doubted there was anyone less fortunate than this woman, but it pointed out the fundamental human need to give.

Those of us in the Peace Corps are fortunate that we found a way to exercise our service muscles. Particularly as I near the end of my service, I can see how I have grown immensely in my ability to locate and take advantage of opportunities for service. Peace Corps has that in common with Habitat for Humanity—a pre-existing structure for those of us not-quite-Mother-Teresa-types to get involved in a meaningful way in the lives of others. The Habitat formula lets everyday people use their compassion, together with others, in a deeply satisfying and enriching way.

Habitat for Humanity was started by Millard Fuller in the mid-1970s after rejecting a life of material wealth. With support from his family and following his Christian faith, Fuller realized his dream of service. In an interview on David Freudberg’s Humankind radio show, Fuller explained, “I want to be a loving person. I want my life to be characterized as a person who spreads love abroad. I do it imperfectly, of course. But that’s my heart’s desire.” Not only did Fuller realize his dream, but today thousands of people around the world participate in this twofold dream: building affordable housing for those in need and providing a tangible outlet for our need to give.

Fuller goes on to explain the connection with giving and building houses—in reality, explaining what it means to make a community. “What does it mean to love your neighbor as yourself? Practically every person in this country knows that expression—love your neighbor as you love yourself. And nobody would take exception to that kind of statement. But when you build a house for a family, you know the name of a neighbor that you didn’t know before, and you understand their situation. And you realize at the end of the day, or the end of the week, that this neighbor—because of your activity—has life a little better. And you feel, I have made a difference.”

Fuller won many awards and honorary degrees for his work with Habitat, but continued to live a modest life in rural Georgia with his wife Linda. In 1996, President Clinton awarded Fuller the Presidential Medal of Freedom, saying that Fuller “has literally revolutionized the concept of philanthropy.” Fuller did more than give money and build houses, he found a way to touch people’s hearts—both the recipients and the donors. He died in 2009 at the age of 74.

Now as we count down the final days before our Habitat build here in Beius, Romania, and finalize last minute logistics of directions and lodging, we take satisfaction in joining the growing ranks of Habitat volunteers all around the world. We join with friends and family who have built houses in communities at home. And we offer up our sweat as a testament to the need in our hearts to give. We do it imperfectly, as Fuller confessed, but we do it with love.

Linda and Millard Fuller on a build in Abilene, Texas, in 2008.

Working Down the To-Do List

The week is young and already I’m making funny and strange additions to my Romania memory bank. This episode begins last night when Aurelia gave me a call to invite me out. Oh, I have a skype meeting coming up, but really…I can ditch that. I wasn’t quite sure what I was in for, especially when they said they were picking me up in the car. But I’m game, much gamer in fact than when I arrived two years ago. So it turns out the purpose of our evening was to finally feed me some ciorba de burta (tripe soup). I’ve been afraid of this traditional and beloved Romanian delicacy, but recently announced to Aurelia that I really should try it once before leaving. They drove, thinking we would go to a restaurant in town, but in the end we went to the place across the street from their apartment, run by a neighbor.

I found the ciorba to be satisfactory. The broth was good, but nothing to write home about. And the stomach itself was chewy, a bit like octopus in texture. I understand why I don’t need to be afraid of it, but honestly I don’t know why it’s on anyone’s list of favorites. Aurelia promises that she can make it better, with carrots, onions, and herbs. Oh good, I get to try it again! Anyway, I like to say that I was kidnapped and taken to eat ciorba de burta. Aurelia and Gabi had a delightful friend visiting and after ciorba we went home and played scrabble.

Above, adding some garlic sauce, a welcome addition that makes anything better. Below, before and after pictures. No, I didn't eat all my stomach.

And then Galina and Aurelia noticed the wall decoration and couldn't resist being delightfully silly. Yay, laughter!

Today I made a long-awaited trek out to Manasteria Saon, a gem of local architecture and history. Turns out it was a short trek, only 3 kilometers off the main road where the bus dropped me. Although perhaps a longer 3 km than expected. I had expected a pleasant and quiet stroll through the countryside. But the county, according to the signs, got an EU grant to fix the road for the purposes of rural tourism. So there was a lot of road work going on, specifically today digging the drainage ditch. The road has been graded and graveled. I had to contend with a couple of backhoes and a gravel truck, plus some cars, and cattle dogs barking at me.

The monastery proved lovely, maybe my favorite of the local ones. Smaller, but beautifully painted inside. And it smelled really good inside—like incense, but just lightly. Then I popped in the little shop to look at trinkets. I said hello, but the woman really didn’t respond. After I selected a couple of items and said something like “OK, that’s all” in Romanian, she perked right up and was amazed I spoke Romanian. She said, “I thought you were a tourist!” Well, I am, but a tourist that speaks some Romanian. She invited me to stay til noon and have lunch with them. Stroll around, look at the peacocks and pheasants in cages, and listen for the bells. Then have my lunch with the nuns of Saon. Sounded good.

There wasn’t much strolling to do around the small compound, but I found a shady place to sit next to a field where I could watch magpies, hoopoes, and even a vibrant oriole. I could also see some women working a vegetable garden. I was joined by a family of Roma women who wanted money. I told them no and they left me be.

When the bells rang, I hopped up and began my search for the lunch table. The Roma women saw me and told me to come with them as they led the way. Out in back of a large house, on a long porch near the turkey pens, the nuns had lunch set up evidently for anyone interested. We were the first ones there and the nuns asked the Roma women to sit at the far table. I sat with them, not knowing protocol. But then the nun asked me if I wanted to move to the other table. I answered that it didn’t matter to me, I was happy to stay where I was. She then brought us bowls and spoons followed by a large bowl of soup with chunks of grisly meat in it. One of the Roma women served me soup. I told her not too much, partially because I knew they were all very hungry and partially (mostly) because I didn’t want to have to choke down too many pieces of grisly meat. Because there are times when you know that you must eat everything put in front of you. And I did. Then we had grilled fish and mamaliga (thick corn mash with cheese). Again, with the fish, I was grateful that somewhere along the way I became adept at eating a fish. Sylvester the cat would be proud of my little pile of bones. They I busted out my chocolate bar and shared with the family.

As I was leaving I chatted more with the women. I gave them the bread and cheese I had brought for my lunch. The woman that apparently was the mother of the child grabbed her breast and told me she had no milk and she needed money for powdered milk. I again told them that I only had money for the bus home to Tulcea. I stopped and petted their horse, waiting patiently for their return. As they climbed into their caruta to return home to the nearby village of Niculitel, I explained how nice it was for me to walk on a day like this. I did not want an invitation to ride in their caruta out to the main road. Yes, I would love to ride in a caruta, but this was not the one: the horse was small and scrawny (although very friendly), the caruta itself seemed ready to fall apart, and it was already to carry three substantial women and a small child. I smiled, wished them a good trip home, and said goodbye.

My walk back to the main road was more in line with my ideal. It was the lunch hour and the workmen were variously asleep under a tree or in their trucks. Indeed I had a quiet walk with the birds and the cowbell in the distance.

And amusingly, I amazed more Romanians with my smokin’ language skills. I laugh at this because generally, in my everyday life now, no one comments on my language. It is what it is at this late date. But I think today people had very low expectations for the obvious foreigner. And in that situation, I’m a winner!

Middle Spring

If early spring in Romania is marked by snowdrops being sold on every corner and the storks arriving back from Africa, this time of middle spring can be marked by its own set of rites: warm Saturdays of honking wedding processions, lily-of-the-valley ever-so-briefly at the florist, fields of rapeseed in bloom, and the first few vibrant red poppies seen from the train.

This week's treat was a handful of lily-of-the-valley, lacrimioara in Romanian (literally, tears). Exquisitely fragranced and cheap. I returned on Friday to see if I could buy some for Aurelia, but they were out. I asked the woman if they expected more. She said she didn't know; it depended on what they found in the forest. Hence the cheap, hence the fleeting.

In other news, the progression of spring means, too, the general progression of our time in Romania. Not having a job lined up at home yet, the passing of time is beginning to feel uncomfortable. I tell myself not to worry, and largely I'm not. And, too, I'm ready to move on to the next chapter.

Oooh, and is that cottonwood fluff I see in the air?

This week I will get out into the countryside to the third and final of our renowned Tulcea County monasteries. A few things like this still on my to-do list. And with our warm May weather and a break in my schedule, time for now is on my side.

Out the train window at the rapeseed in bloom.

Liquid Courage

Late Tuesday night a small group of us got in the company van driven by our patient, wonderful, and safe driver, Mr. Barbu, and we took Mary to the airport for her early morning flight to Texas. After ten years of service in Romania, she is hanging up her hat—well, this particular hat anyway. I look forward to seeing where the next chapter takes her.

Meanwhile, the past weeks have been largely devoted to helping her achieve a good closure. We had one last outstanding pageant at Easter, one last big party with the kids at the horse club, last lunches, last dinners, last bible studies, packing and organizing sessions, hauling sessions—all cementing lasting memories of our time here together.

Along the way, I recently discovered that Mary is greatly revived by an afternoon Co’cola. So the day that Cristina and I met at Mary’s to pack some suitcases, I arrived with some bottles of Coke. Liquid Courage, I announced. And not of the ţuica variety. We made a good joke of that. And it was not the last time I arrived so armed. Probably not the healthiest thing, but Mary was recently tentatively diagnosed with a serious blood problem related to a lack of absorption of B12. Should be pretty easy to fix now that she’s home in the States, but it explains her extreme exhaustion the past few months. So probably a little afternoon caffeine pick-me-up is not the worst thing either.

Although it is hard for me to say goodbye to Mary who is single-handedly responsible for giving me a purpose in Romania, it’s even harder to watch and understand the reaction of others. As one of her friends told me at the airport, tears in her eyes, Mary cared about people that no one else cared about—orphaned children, people with disabilities, Roma. She is a Presbyterian missionary who encouraged children to celebrate and embrace their Orthodox tradition. She built a network of angels who shared her love of children and empowered them to make a difference. She fought with the system, when necessary, on behalf of the children and dispossessed. And most of all, she made it abundantly clear to the children, through her words and actions, that they were loved and valued. She courageously changed lives.

We sometimes say, don’t we, that we wish we could bottle that feeling or that quality that someone has. If I could put Mary in a bottle, we would have our own liquid courage. Better than any soda pop. Thank you, Mary, for making a difference. Adevarat, te iubim.

Casa de Piatra

Last Saturday I had the good fortune to attend my first (and alas, my only) Romanian wedding. Romanians love a good celebration and the wedding is the ultimate party: piles of flowers, innumerable photographs of happy guests in fancy clothes, course after course of delicious time-honored food, local wine and ţuica (distilled plum home-brew), and hours of dancing. For a Peace Corps volunteer, a wedding is an opportunity to display all the traditional dance steps so carefully cultivated during training. For a Romanian family, a wedding is the event of a lifetime.

In toasting the bride and the groom, guests wish them “Casa de Piatra.” This translates to “house of stone”, a wish to build a solid life together as a couple and a family. It should come as no surprise that here in Romania, like in America, the house is a symbol of stability, of family, of a solid future. Wishing a new couple a house of stone is a wish for a solid foundation and a structure able to weather any storm.

Despite the centuries-old society in Romania, there are some serious housing issues. In the waning years of Communism, in the 1970s and 1980s, the Ceauşescu regime implemented a policy that forcibly removed whole communities from their homes, moving them into city apartments and converting the villages to farmland. Today’s economic crisis has hit Romania particularly hard as well. Many adults leave Romania to find work in other European countries with better opportunities. Corruption still defines a government inching slowly toward full inclusion in the European Union.

In this climate, Romanians struggle to maintain hope for a good life for their children and grandchildren. But to look at the faces of a beautiful bride and groom on a sunny Saturday in April with flower petals falling down like rain from the ubiquitous plum trees, we do in fact have hope. And our wishes are sincere and deep.

And we Peace Corps volunteers will do the small thing—the one thing—that we can do. We will build a house with our own hands. A house with a solid foundation that will be able to weather the storms. A house big enough to contain the hopes and dreams of one family. A house of stone.