a case for space

27 November:

a case for space

I know I should study more geography when I start coming up with (and then sharing publicly to top it off) titles for blogposts like ‘a case for space.’ if only because further study might lead to somewhat more nuanced plays on words (kind of puts a whole new spin on “space-case.” maybe? maybe?)
anyhow.

I’ve been thinking about those flags.

firstly, however, a couple disclaimers: yes. the Albanians haven’t invented nationalism—let alone the mass-production of flags. it’s not so much the Albanian part of the flags as the flag part of the flags which I keep coming back to. it reminds me of the opening essay in Slavenka Drakulic’s book “Cafe Europa, Life After Communism” where she talks about being raised on the pronoun “we” (read Socialism), and how such an all-encompassing identifier eliminates or seeks to eliminate so much of the diversity, the individualism (and individuals) we actually encounter in the world. For me, this whole notion of space takes the argument one step further—because using “we” implies that “we” know who “we” are (and perhaps more importantly, who “we” are not). combined with space (shift to the pronoun “ours”) so much of that beautiful space where meaning, identity, self get explored, expressed and re-explored, re-expressed, depends upon these pronouns—those we’s and ours’—as being flexible, mailable. as not being monolithic or static. But, it also begs for space (physical, metaphorical) where these identities can be teased out, some safe space were it’s alright to be unsure (and my mind’s eye cuts to Shana’s second-grade-self-face saying “sometimes girls just want to be a boy for a day”—ask me for a copy of the Claire [Oglesby] movie). because (thank you Brene—I knew it’d come back to you [http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html]) vulnerability, well, it’s key.

the flags, to me, feel like big honking pronouns, tacked up all over town—except that they’re either “we/ours” or "they/theirs" depending on how you hold your head, squint your eyes and read the text. but it’s slightly more complicated than that—they’re anonymous pronouns, they’re public pronouns. I don’t know how to dialogue with these pronouns—these flags (but it could be graffiti, symbols) purely because they are static (of course the meaning I ascribe to them is not but…). Furthermore, to me, having them placed strategically in public spaces forces the question of pronouns into the public—except that it feels like it’s in the form of a yes/no question. there isn’t a lot of room for “maybe.”

and one hundred years later

25 November:

and one hundred years later…

(thank you Ardit for the clarification!)
I’m not sure it’s totally clear—but that big red thing at the end of the street is actually an Albanian flag covering the House of Culture in celebration of the Albania’s 100th birthday (Nov 28), the 104th of the adoption of the Latin script for the Albanian language (Nov 22), and the 569th anniversary of the adoption of the two-headed eagle (symbol of Skenderbeg family) as the official seal/symbol (Nov 28). So November is a big month. Tetovo has been totally decked out in the red and black two headed eagle. A few days ago, maybe Wednesday, I passed a tailor shop and there were these three young guys slaving away over these mounds of red fabric—and I gave them  a pitying look—and only today realized that they were actually making flags upon flags upon flags. They’re everywhere. but they’re hand-made (and locally at that!), so it’s ok. 

I think the best we saw was a beach umbrella made out of Albanian flags—but they’re on cars, in windows, on buildings, I even saw a guy a few weeks back wearing the flag like a cape (although I’ve also seen quite a few young guys wearing hooded sweatshirts with American flag pockets—so, take that as you will). 

it’s exciting: one hundred years is a nice round number, and I’m all for a good cultural celebration, but it’s a little overwhelming—in the way the 4th of July is overwhelming when people start getting their stars and stripes whirligigs out and Uncle Sam garden gnomes. it’s the way I feel about the Alexander craze in Skopje currently—‘can’t you go anywhere without him lurking about?’—redefining, dare I say intruding on, public spaces. and now there’s a big portrait of a local political big-wig in the city square (which is also carpeted in a nice layer of the pamphlet they must have been passing out at the event or rally last night)—watching over the comings and goings. 

One of the stories Culi told on the road trip was about how right down town (where the McDonalds now is—so Tetovo prime real estate—except that it’s been a construction zone for the past month [election season anyone?]) used to be the cafe where on religious holidays (typically you go visiting from one relative to the next to the next (or, if you’re a woman: hosting relative after relative after relative—somethings never change, eh?)….) all the hard-core socialists used to sit and judge their weaker, less devout comrades who would still partake in the religious customary visiting. we’ve now entered the high-tech era, so rather than having real, live people sitting, watching, judging, we’ve just stuck a portrait (or a statue-as the case may be) up, so he can gaze down on us mortals. 

I know I don’t exactly have my finger on the heartbeat of Tetovo (speaking neither of the local languages) but I was also surprised by the lack of activities happening around the centennial (or surprised by how hidden they were from me): as far as I can tell there were two art exhibits (one that was taken down three days after it went up), this rally last night where the portrait was unveiled, and a volleyball tournament (I’m sure there’s a link to the Albanian language somewhere in there), and then the flagging of the town. To me, the flags are oddly aggressive—and yet not very descriptive as to what is actually being celebrated (other than the generic Albanianess). What do they (the flags) tell me about what it means to be Albanian, what aspects of their heritage people are so proud of—some of the most obvious—poetry, literature, text-based-arts in general were markedly absent (there was a conference at SEEU on Albanian language, although I’m not sure how widely publicized it was, or how wide it’s reach was other than the SEEU community), or folk arts, history.. But this text-sword cuts both ways, I know. I very may well have been just been totally oblivious to these events—especially as text-based celebrations are, well, text-based, and therefore somewhat hidden from the view of non-Albanian speakers, and thus, not really accessible. where as the flags, well, they’re certainly not subtle, and rather hard to miss.

пријатно!

25 November: 

пријатно!

Probably the more realistic way to think about things, is to see “epiphany” as a process—so I guess I’m epiphanizing. I’m not sure I’m totally there yet, but, honestly, when will we ever be?
A few nights ago, after a rough day of shooting, Culi, who also works as a cameraman for the local TV station, said “in two minutes, they [politicians] could completely destroy everything that I work for.” and then he smiled his wry Culi smile and continued, “and yet. we keep going.” What other options are there?

what else can we do, other than keep pursuing what we believe in?

sometimes that sounds super corny. sometimes it sounds like revelation.

but we’ll see how things go tomorrow—as my mother kindly reminded me—I don’t actually know that things will go horribly, so why not give them the benefit of the doubt. Already one student wrote asking if the university has equipment for simultaneous translation, and suggesting that students could be hired to work as translators for the Parliament—encouraging on both counts. mind you, he was one of the students who would benefit from translation being provided, and even with translation, if the other people participating in the discussion aren’t mindful of the translators/translation, inclusivity gets a lot harder.

enough politics.

I’m still basking in the post-thanksgiving glow of a day spent utterly thankful for good friends, good food, good wine and good laughs. I brought ‘bite the bag’ to Macedonia, and spread the telephone-pictionary gospel. Jake drew a mean Shmizla mafia man in the Balkans, and Culi drew Darko falling on his head to the T. thank you to everyone who came and made the evening delightful, and to the neighbors for not minding our ruckus (too much). пријатно indeed!
I’m just waiting for the christmas music to start.

waiting for an epiphany

21 November:

waiting for an epiphany

that’s not entirely true: although I wouldn’t really call this an epiphany because just about anyone could see this—but Culi and Julie are really wonderful people.

when I arrived at Loja today on the verge of tears (I’ll get there) they didn’t do the whole “oh but what’s wrong? don’t cry!” shpeel which usually just makes me feel worse, but just kind of let me do my thing, and then tried to cheer me up.  they offered to be my back-up (I was unfortunately on my way to a conversation class followed by a thanksgiving)—and come as clowns if I needed a few laughs. although the image of them as clowns kind of terrifies me
.
so how did I find myself crying at Loja? to be honest, I’m not quite sure. I knew that the holidays would be difficult being away from home—but it’s not even thanksgiving proper (and I’ve spent plenty of thanksgivings away from home), but I think I’ve been getting a lot of “cultural grit” (the residual effects of culture shock) under my nails—and it wears on me.

but in addition to grappling with the more mundane people honking while you walk home alone late at night (as if I’m not already aware of the fact that I’m alone and I’m a woman and it’s nighttime), today I had the realization that there are a lot of things I can’t change, I’m not in control of. And I really hate that—because for me that’s the first step in killing creativity is accepting powerlessness, of just taking things as they are. and it all comes back to the student parliament. and politics. and the unfortunate realization that however much we try to hold free and fair elections—that doesn’t ensure that free and fair governance will follow.

no siree bobba.

because student politics—even things like chairing the coordinator of the student clubs—is inherently a political position. and where there is political power, and politics (and money!) more generally speaking, dirty things follow. And I feel like we’re getting to that part of the student parliament’s life-cycle: we’ve done the elections, and now things are only going to get uglier as money gets fought over, territories get staked out and marked and people get marginalized. and I really don’t know what we—the commission, staff, the administration— can do about that. or, perhaps more poignantly, what will there is to do anything about that.

let me remind you all that the views expressed here are mine and mine alone and do not reflect the university or Fulbright or the state dept or anyone else.

I keep coming back to a lecture I attended while in Belgrade where the professor was talking about the difference between guilt and responsibility (in relation to Hannah Arendt, but that’s another story). She said that guilt is purely individual—but responsibility, that can be both individual and collective. she then shared that a colleague of hers after the war calculated the number of bullets the Serbian government could have bought using just her tax dollars (which she paid during the time of war). is she responsible for those bullets? [I think she might have even gone further with her calculations—along the lines of number of bullets spent/civilian killed—so how many people did my bullets kill during the war? but I don’t really want to go there intellectually, it’s a little to much for midnight].

I know I can’t feel guilty for what the student parliament chooses to do—but can I feel responsible?
it’s a heavy thing to carry. even to eye before picking it up for the long haul. because I’m not sure I trust this thing we have created and I don’t know how to say “well, that’s no longer my problem because I am not the student parliament. I am not guilty of those crimes (figuratively speaking—I hope it’s not going to be engaged in illegal activity).” but I still feel responsible in-advance for all the trouble that might yet come. this too is my beast, my Frankenstein. (or at least it could be, I’m in a bit of a pessimistic mood (if you couldn’t tell) right now and don’t have all that much faith in them turning into altruistic do-gooders).

further complicating things—we’re supposed to train the newly elected parliamentarians—but it’s really really really unclear how much authority we (the trainers) have and how easily the parlimentarians will be able to access people who can say “yes” or at least half a yes while we are saying “no.’ (for example: no you can’t have your budget until you finish this training (sounds reasonable, eh?). This is what the board said (so what we are doing), but we’re going to need some serious back up on that one to convince the students who want to go to Albania next week (which, oddly, I learned from a student at the neighboring university—which means it’s already been decided among those who will make the decisions). and thirty against three foreign women—well, it’s probably not going to be pretty). this meeting is monday and I’m already really nervous. because if we (three staff members, non-citizens, non-political) can be intimidated by these guys, how can we expect students to stand up to them?

but seriously. how?

today it frustrated me to the point of tears—and I became upset not only by feeling totally stuck, powerless to change things, but terrified that I’ve given in to this way of thinking-a way of being totally foreign to me. powerless? how can I feel that? write it? speak it? believe it? and yet where do I find empowerment?

and so, I’m waiting for an epiphany.

Budapest: an election sandwich

18 November:

Budapest: an election sandwich

The approaching of Thanksgiving is doing nothing good for my food-blog reading habits. This is my first time hosting a thanksgiving, even though my kitchenette isn’t exactly designed for dinner parties. but I can’t wait. The guests, thus far: two other fulbrighters (Malvina—living here in Tetovo, and Jake—doing research in Skopje), Julie (aka Foto), Culi and Darko (another Loja volunteer, good friend of Culi’s). I’m also going to invite Rezehana—my roommate, but I haven’t seen her in over a week (I was in Budapest, she, I presume, is overwhelmed with the Board Meeting—going on this weekend, and “University Day” celebrations on Monday). Sometimes I feel like we’re ships passing in the night. But there are little details which make me nervous (alcohol—will that be a problem in mixed company? Culi and Darko are the most easy going anti-nationalist Macedonians (other when they jokingly rag on the neighboring town (sorry Village) of Gostivar*)), so I can’t see that being an issue—but I just want everyone to be comfortable.
*Gostivar is the neighboring town, and we (Malvina, Julie, Culi, visiting German artist Oliver and I) went to on Friday for an opening of an art exhibit. Gostivar is known for it’s baklava and for (in the eyes of Tetovo) being the biggest village in Macedonia. There’s a bit of a running rivalry going, if you cant’ tell. but it also has real night-life—something that only makes the Tetovarski (if that’s what they’re actually called) a little jealous.
So Budapest.
All of us ETAs from the Balkans met there for a Fulbright training/check in session—and, in addition to hanging out with a bunch of great people who love the Balkans (we’re a quirky bunch), it was so wonderful to hear about the experiences of other ETAs. Sometimes, especially earlier in the semester, I was a little uncomfortable with how little teaching I was doing, and much administrative work  (or what felt like administrative work) I was involved in. Although I think I always knew in the back of my mind that I was involved in really exciting projects—sometimes I found myself asking “is this what a ETA is supposed to look like?” Seeing the diversity of projects my colleagues (is this a commonly used word back home? I feel like I hear it everywhere here), I felt a lot more comfortable owning the diversity of projects I’m involved in. and got so much needed inspiration from being with them. We spent three days together in trainings—but what was most helpful/important were all the conversations over breakfast and lunch and dinner (and in between) with the other ETAs about their contexts—projects, struggles, ideas, ambitions. Some friends in Montenegro want to stage the first ever Vagina Monologues in Montenegro this year—and we were all trying to brainstorm how to get the Embassy to get behind it. Being with them I also felt so much more a part of a community here in the Balkans—not some rogue english teacher.
On a side note: THE ELECTIONS ARE OVER! Both in the States—thank you to all who voted! I woke up at 6:30 in Budapest and watched Obama’s acceptance speech in the kitchen of the hostel (we arrived on the night of the 6th (here)—and polls were just starting to close) with the hostel attendant. I almost started crying.
but—the elections for student government are also over here at SEEU (thus the election sandwich)! It’s been quite a journey, to say the least and has given me a nice picture-window into local politics, and the position of the University within the community in general. But first I’ll start with the positives. One of the huge issues we struggled (and struggled and struggled) with in our hours of Friday afternoon meetings (maybe not the most productive time of the week) was how to ensure that the Parliament represent a diverse base of students. The University—I think I can safely say—is majority Albanian (defined by ethnicity—ugh! or language use—a little safer), and while women do make up just about 50 percent (or just a little less) of the student body, this is a markedly patriarchal society/community. Thus, we were both worried about ensuring that Macedonians (or other non-Albanians, Macedonia has considerable Turkish, Vlach, Roma, Serbian… communities) got elected (probably not possible if we just took the 30 people who received the highest number of votes) and women were represented in the Parliament. I won’t get into the particulars—and bore all of you non-Political Science geeks—but basically we (this feels strange to say) wrote into the Rule (governing elections/the Parliament in general) that additional seats could be made to ensure that 1/3 of the Parliament was made up of women and 1/6 of national minorities.

We had four days of elections to accommodate Masters’ Students, Undergraduate students, and the fact that the University has two campuses—Tetovo and Skopje, and Masters’ students only meet every other week (what a scheduling nightmare). The last of the elections was yesterday—which meant that Heather (chair of the committee, lovely Brit) and I spent 12 hours together in one room on campus, first conducting the elections and then counting the votes. it was a long day.

Amazingly it all went smoothly. There was a little concern that members of the previous student union would make a stink—we had to invalidate one person who applied to be a member of parliament because HE WAS NOT ENROLLED IN THE SCHOOL AT THE TIME HE SUBMITTED HIS APPLICATION (seriously dude?) but tried to fight (verbally) about it earlier. We were worried about voter fraud (and I find myself thinking “Voter fraud in student elections? really? would it really be worth the trouble?)—ballot box stuffing—but thankfully, none of that. although that doesn’t really mean that pressure was applied on students in other ways.

But we had more than 10 women elected on their own merit in the elections—really exciting. Minorities are a little bit of a more complicated issue as students didn’t declare their ethnicity/mother tongue on the application form—so we’re still working things out on that front.

Now we just have to get everyone trained (can I say herding cats?) and have them elect a president/officers, figure out how they will be paid/if they will be paid, and get things moving. I proposed to Heather that as a first action—to see how the Parliament could work, and experience “getting things done”—the Parliament could figure out how to ensure that all the bathrooms on campus have toilet paper and soap—because most (even staff bathrooms) have neither, or, if you’re lucky, one. It’d be an easy fix, students would be happy (probably it’s a rather uncontroversial move), and parliamentarians would get some instant gratification—literally and politically. Parliamentarians (might) learn that parliament actually is about the need of the student body, not political interest. and students might also get a taste of the parliament responding to student needs, and that they can both expect and demand that the parliament actually do things to improve the quality of student life. I’ll keep you posted on how it develops.

I might propose that this be my contribution to the PM training. I’d love to just see their faces.
But the darker side of the elections. I think it’s kind of safe to say that political processes aren’t the most well respected. A lot of things happen as a result of connections—and the local opposition political party has a lot of connections, and that the previous government used their connections to get things done (although what they actually got done is somewhat in debate). The son of the president/head of the local opposition party was the previous president of the student union. And let’s just put this in perspective here about what kind of politics we’re talking about (and this is not specific to this political party, I wouldn’t characterize Macedonian political parties as totally kosher): the head of the party can’t leave Macedonia, lest he want to be arrested for crimes abroad. His brother ([Mom please just skip this sentence! and more importantly—PLEASE DON’T TELL GRANDMA]—a prominent mafia don—was gunned down in a cafe in Tetovo two years ago (Yes, I still feel safe here). Not only are politics kinda dirty—but people also play dirty.

So—it’s still really unclear if/how the new parliamentarians will use their positions of power in the university to promote/play political games.

That was quite a honking-big side note.

Budapest.
Budapest probably has, hands down, the most beautiful McDonalds in the world. Walking through the city I came upon this beautiful brick, yellow, blue building with these amazing towers and all this glass and thought ‘hmm. I wonder if I could get married in this building.’ And then I noticed the golden arches. Perhaps I’ll reconsider.

Turns out it’s the train station (hence the McDonalds)—also perhaps not the best place to stage a wedding (no worries Mom, no plans up my sleeves). but it’s gorgeous. and the trains. This might be incentive enough to come back to Budapest by train—just to arrive in this station.



.


(just think—we can also take our bikes in it. could it get better?)
And that was the bulk of my reactions to Budapest—total awe of the architecture. It’s a stunning city—with history to boot.

and delight with the indian food. such happy happy tastebuds. the only things I brought home with me were cayenne (no surprises there folks), red curry paste (! I was salivating in the store looking at the siracha but didn’t want it to explode in my bag on the flight home), and a pair of shoes (imagine shoes Ines would wear). They’re beautiful and totally funky.

We also spent a day taking the bus out to Monument Park—where, after the fall of communism, they uprooted and replanted all the communist statues. It’s almost like visiting a Communist art zoo—all of these pieces that you wouldn’t expect to see together, but create this whole experience when juxtaposed. I was amazed by the range and dept of motion the statues conveyed, and perhaps this was amplified by seeing them all together, because I usually don’t feel that when looking at Socialst-realist sculptures. My favorite was a collection of people made out of shiny metal, with these soldiers charging forward.


What characters.

After that, Tiffany—the other ETA in Macedonia—and I stumbled upon a St. Martin’s Day celebration (all the restaurants had goose-themed menus in honor of the day)—a crowd of kids with hand-made lanterns following a woman with a cape on a white horse, with a community band trailing behind. Oddly everyone was speaking German—and if anyone has insight I’d love to hear it.
I also visited the Terror Museum. and I wouldn’t recommend going alone. It focuses on the victims of the fascist and then communist secret police in Budapest—and is housed in the actual building where the Fascist Red Arrows and Secret Police had their headquarters (talk about continuity through space—actually the same guy headed both organizations, which really begs some serious questions about the re-branding of repressive regimes). It was a really well designed museum—you start at the top floor and work down to the basement—where they have recreated some of the cells prisoners were held in. I only needed about four minutes down there before I got totally claustrophobic and needed to get back above ground, back into the light.

I don’t want to analyze the exhibition too much—or downplay the repression of religious figures by these regimes—but I found it interesting how prominently religious figures (particularly Catholic) featured in the remembrance—granted, not much of the exhibit was in English—so my information is limited other than my impressions (like the big lit-up cross in the floor of one of the exhibition halls. a subtle signal I know). I don’t really know enough about the WWII history, but Budapest also had a significant Jewish community—and I don’t know if they aren’t considered “victims” of this branch of terror, but it’s certainly something I would love to examine further. except that I’m not sure I’m quite ready to jump back into the Terror Museum. it was a bit of a heavy space.
Well. I had all these plans to do pre-Thanksgiving cooking today (the test kitchen) so I should boogie.
thanks for reading,
lovingly,
claire

Tetovo Vignettes

3 November:

Tetovo vignettes

‘That’s quaint” I thought, ‘that guy’s got a bike light. That must be the first one I’ve seen in Tetovo.’ But it was only his cigarette. oh my beloved Tetovo. oh sheltered Amerika.

[a few weeks ago Julie (Canadian, volunteer at Loja, fellow-roadtripper, great person in general) hiked up to the ruins/Kale (meaning Fortress) above Tetovo and were followed the entire way (a good 45 minute hike) by these three giggling (giggling giggling just to emphasize) boys (maybe 10, 11). Every time we stopped (Julie had just twisted her ankle and this was the first major hike post-hospital visit) the boys would find a patch of shade and wait for us. After a while they asked if we were speaking Albanian (ummm… not sure what kinds of conclusions to draw from this, but not exactly heartening), and when I replied no, English—I’m from America (giggle giggle), we were christened as ‘Amerika’ and ‘Foto’ (Julie has a nice camera—and takes nice pictures with it. check out especially the one of Culi and I sparring with paper swords in an ancient ruined amphitheater. we’re certainly good tourists, eh?)  and the entire hike was peppered with “hey Foto (giggle giggle)” “oh Amerika… (giggle giggle).” They were our unofficial guides—taking us into and then around this new building that’s being built at Kale which has virtually no windows and some serious electrical cables. I’m not quite sure what the plan is for that. and then they tried to convince us to take the (really) long way back to Tetovo—through some villages and then twisting and winding back down into the valley. but we just cut back through a field and headed home sans gigglers.]

There are so many beautiful old Peugeot bikes here—with a lot of cute (if cute is the right word) old men with their taqiuahs (white cap worn by observant Muslim men—I think that’s what it’s called here) somehow stuck to their heads. and it’s gotta take some seriously strong faith to bike on these roads. Thus far this week I’ve seen a car going the wrong way through a traffic circle, someone else back up into the traffic circle (to pull a U-ie), cars park two deep along the street (reducing the flow of traffic to one lane), guys in their flashy cars speed and screech their wheels late at night. As much as I would love to have a bike here—just the thought of sharing the roads with all that (from horse-pulled cart to tractor pulling a wagon piled high with cabbages, to BMWs or Ladas or old Yugos that look like they are going to keel over and die at any minute, to tractor-trailers, it’s all here) puts a few more grey hairs on my head. so don’t worry Ma. but man, those bikes are beautiful.

now that autumn is really upon us—first snow in the mountains, changing leaves, crisp air—parts of town look like there getting decked out for the best party in the world. Families are putting away peppers—stringing them on long threads, and drying them from eaves and balconies. They look like streamers or decorations and they’re gorgeous, and edible—so doubly wonderful. Like beautiful enough that I’d almost consider decorating my room with them.

Since Evan and Tasha left, I think I’ve been grappling with what it really means to “own” living in Tetovo—and being both of here and acutely aware of not being ‘of here.’ Last week I did an identity workshop/activity with ‘my boys’ (the boys club at the American Corner) and while what they talked about was fascinating (one guy, for example put down both Albanian and Muslim—and when asked to pick one, changed Muslim to ‘I’m a good guy,’ which he promptly crossed off. it was also a mixed gender group—and I seriously wonder how that impacted things—I got a strange vibe from that group. in another unconnected incident, one guy said “I’m Macedonina, but I’m Albanian too”—and another woman (also Albanian) almost yelled ‘You’re not Macedonian. you can’t be both!” what a conversation to have. but probably not for a Friday night. oh constructed identity—how I love you). but for me—I found myself putting down all these words associated with ‘otherness’—either ‘otherness’ within myself (identity ascribed by others, like “teacher” which I still don’t really feel like I am), to ‘listener’—which I would say is a large part of myself wherever I am. but here, there’s always the tension of listening because you can’t speak—or don’t feel comfortable speaking. And yet—this is also my city, something I realized showing it to them [Ev and Tash] and feeling some odd sense of belonging. in many ways it still feels like a superficial ‘belonging’ (the man who sells me vegetables and I don’t exactly have a deep relationship).

people here are always surprised when I say that I like it here—and of course some of that is making a simple answer to a complex question, because of course there are things that drive me crazy about here—like the pollution which I’ll save for another discussion. but there’s also a lot of beauty. but it’s a subtle beauty—and I can see how it would be easy to overlook it—or to never find it in the first place because it’s tucked down cobbled streets (or, perhaps more pertinently in the ‘wrong’ (in the ethnic sense) neighborhood) or early in the morning, when not many people are awake, or so common-place, so every-day that it passes unnoticed (like the overlapping calls to prayer heard across the city). for example, last night (like 7pm, but it gets dark at 5, so anything feels like night) I went exploring a neighborhood up towards the hills. It’s only about ten minutes from the center, but everything about it feels different there—the streets are narrower, usually only a car and a bit wide, cobbled streets, people have grape trees (not vines! I kid you not, they’re a good inch or two in diameter) growing by their front stoops, roads end and begin and end in these crooked, winding paths. houses are old—generally—with flickering TV lights, and every so often a voice, a conversation. or an old man, smoking. there’s a quiet, a stillness, that I haven’t been able to find in the area where I live—straight wide roads perfect for fast cars. The strip (2.5 km) between SEEU and the center isn’t really residential—you find that a few streets to either side.

I can’t tell if I also feel—in general—more comfortable in neighborhoods with significant Macedonian language presence. I haven’t been able to figure out how strong the correlation is between language/signage and ethnicity. or how integrated neighborhoods really are. although I get the sense that they are rather diverse, although it’s hard for me to really read that diversity other than eavesdropping. and I’m sure that’s not the most effective way to read a community or a neighborhood—because language use is so fluid. but it’s interesting to watch how things like the styles in clothing stores changes depending on what neighborhood you’re in—and of course there can be some store selling skimpy clothes next to the head-scarf store, but I feel like I can see the clothing styles getting more conservative the further from the center I walk. not that the way people dress follows the store fashions. so there you have it.

of course there are also problems in these quaint neighborhoods—much of the city doesn’t have 24-hour running water, and electricity comes and goes. the University is, I’m realizing, rather unique in that it has running water (and hot water too!) 24/7.
small gratitude. small gratitude.
big love

Caps for Claire

30 October:

Caps for Claire

It’s been so long that I’m not quite sure which adventure to start with—so instead I’ll start with two small confessions. One: I’ve become one of those people who reads food blogs—specifically cooking blogs with really good food photography. Two: I started a Raverly account, which, for those of you who aren’t quite so thrilled about knitting as I am right now, is an on-line forum for sharing knitting projects. I don’t think either of these new-fangled habits are in any way related to neglect of my blog, but I’m starting to see them as logical outgrowths of my life here: the day to day adventures of living in a vibrant farmers market (romanticizing just a little here) but only having two and a half pots to my name (the half is a metal bowl which functions as a no-handled pot in a pinch), and thus limited cooking opportunities. The other—knitting envy—I think is a reflection of my rocky adjustment to having a desk job, or at least a job where I am rather firmly pegged to my e-mail. I feel busy most of the time (just about all of the time really) but don’t really feel like being busy always amounts to something tangible—like for instance, a pair of mittens (something I’m going to need shortly).

But (and there is always a but!) I think I just found my adopted grandmother (hopefully the sentiments are mutual) and she puts the handy in handywork (or the work in handywork—either fits pretty gosh darn well). Her name is Baba Sava (Grandma Sava), and oh man is she’s prolific—embroidery, weaving, crocheting…and just about everything she’s made has a little label pinned to it—indicating to whom (and on what occasion) each piece should be given (eg. for my grand niece upon her graduation from secondary school, for my grandson’s future wife). She’s got it all planned out. She also informed us that she’s signed a pact with God and will live until 101—so no worries. Shes got another 14 years of smooth sailing ahead. and I can’t wait to hang out with Baba Sava some more. Last night, as Culi (her grandson) was driving us home from their Slava (family saint’s day party—I’ll get back to that) he said “but seriously, come spend as much time with my family as you like.” And Culi is one of those earnest people, so I have a feeling he meant it—at least within reason. Luckily I don’t have a sleeping bag, so I can’t just show up at their gate one day and move in (although a Peace Corps Volunteer [PCV, not to be mixed-up with PVC] is selling one before returning states-side, so there is time yet to just camp out at Baba Sava’s).

But I think before jumping into all that (not to mention the first snowfall on the mountains above Tetovo. beautiful. just beautiful), let me get some of this descriptive stuff out of the way.

I get this question  “so what are you doing here?” (which usually is followed or follows (depending on the questioner) by “so why are you here?” (with all sorts of accents or emphasis on theherepart of the question) quite frequently. And it’s a terribly difficult question to answer neatly, briefly and without totally confusing the listener. So technically I’m here as an English Teaching Assistant—although teaching, I’d say, is the smallest of the hats I wear these days (although that’s going to change soon). The semester—at least school-wise—got off to a really slow start, which, it seems like, is a product of the students, the crazy bureaucracy (different logic, excuse me), and bout of holidays.

For the first few weeks I felt a little stir-crazy because classes were still being opened and sections closed, students moved. My class that I was co-teaching became an on-line course—which then again slowed down the process of really jumping in because now we had new students, had to revise the syllabus, try to meet with the students, wade through the complicated mess that is the university web-portal-thingy…..thankfully the class is alive and kicking right now. We’re actually not just kicking but blogging. It still feels a little too high-tech for me sometimes. but students are actually starting to have on-line discussions! they’re reading what the others write. Small miracles, I know, but they still feel like miracles nonetheless. So that is ‘Education and Society,’ which I’m co-teaching with another professor in the Faculty of Languages, Cultures and Communication. although I still wish it was an in-person class because I’d really like to actually get to know my students a little more. It’s a lot easier to be silent on line than in a classroom—and it’s a lot easier to see silence in person, than virtually.

I spent much of today going around to classes giving a five-minute shpeel about two/three of my other hats at SEEU (South East European University): encouraging students to run for the new Student Parliament, promoting a Writing Center, and getting a little buzz about a reading club.
So Parliament. Whenever I tell people that I studied Political Science before coming here to teach English, I usually get a little bit of a puzzled look. But, and this is really for anyone out there considering a liberal arts degree, you never know what’s going to be useful. From my first few weeks here, I’ve been part of the four-person commission charged with totally revamping the old student government and creating a completely new Student Parliament (writing the election rule, figuring out how diversity is going to be handled, getting people to run for office, creating the offices, writing an interim working rule for the Parliament to adopt, holding elections, overseeing elections, mopping up after elections, helping train the parliamentarians, and hopefully no riot-control). It’s been a hell of a project and really really amazing to be a part of.

In addition to some of the more mundane aspects of forming a new (NEW! can I just say that once more? NEW!) government (how long will the president be elected for? who is an eligible voter? who is eligible to stand for office?…I can keep going) we also spent hours approaching (and then usually backing away from) the issue of how to both have a democratically elected government which will still ensure that minorities will have a voice/place in the parliament. And there are so many different kinds of minorities: making sure all years of study are represented, all faculties of study, both campuses (SEEU has a Tetovo and a Skopje campus. The Tetovo campus is significantly larger than the Skopje (like a factor of 10 maybe)) have representation, Masters’ students and PhD candidates, gender-equality, ethnicity, linguistic…Some kinds of diversity are easier to manage—or at least write rules about—than others: for example, one seat for each year of study in each of the five faculties. But that doesn’t really mean that a diverse student parliament will be elected—and it was really difficult to figure out how to proceed from there. I think it took me a little while to catch on to why this was such an issue worth worrying about so much: issues of ethnicity (specifically majority/minority relations—at the scale of University/City/Country) are incredibly hot. and I don’t mean sexy. and it’s always good to have (strong) women in politics.

I think we’ve finally reached our agreement-adding seats to get to pre-determined percentages of gender/ethnic/linguistic minorities (we had a hell of a day trying to figure out how we wanted to define minority—was it ethnicity or language? language or ethnicity? and do we even want to use the term minority because that’s got some bad connotations in this context) -and now we’re just hoping that enough people will run for parliament, so that we can enact policies. But it’s been a fascinating process to be involved in—and I feel incredibly grateful to be treated as an equal on the committee. but am looking forward to having a few fewer meetings once the elections are behind us.

Hat number two: writing center. A colleague and I have been working on creating a writing center (writing lab-esque) for students to bring their writing (assignments, outlines, drafts) and to get extracurricular help with their writing. This also is new territory for SEEU—and it’s been interesting to say the least the number of meetings it’s taken to get this thing off the ground. Jeta and I are spending this week visiting English for Specific Purposes (the highest level of English class for non-English lang/lit majors) available, to promote the center. Our doors open (meaning the doors to my office open) on Thursday. We’ll see who comes in. But it’s again something that I believe in—I know from my own experience that these kinds of resources are invaluable to a student (or can be, if the student takes advantage of them), and especially, it seems like writing is a skill a lot of people are intimidated by or struggle with. But I also do feel a bit like a spectacle (“Step right up! Step right up! Come see Claire the Native [English Speaker]! right here in our very own LaRC!”—and that part of the allure is having a Native—although I’m probably not quite as exciting as they think).

Hat three: and this is still being developed but another colleague wants to start a reading center—which right now  (other than not existing yet) is a cross between another class and a bookclub. This one has been harder for me to wrap my head around—in part because reading—let alone love of reading— isn’t something I know how to teach. Other than reading aloud—which is how I think I fell inlove with literature—and I don’t really want to be reading aloud to university students. if anyone has suggestions, send em my way. I think this project could use a new set of eyes.
the other miscellaneous hats I wear at SEEU are

• proofreader
• substitute teacher
• American studies guest lecturer
• general entertainment

and starting in a few weeks, I’m going to teach each of the ESP classes (so Law, Business Administration, Public Administration, Political Science, Computer Science (that’s going to be a riot, I just know) Business Informatics and maybe more) for 50 minutes, as their Clinical Teaching (ie teaching with a native speaker). Until yesterday, I thought that I was going to have to teach every section (Levels 1-5, plus ESP) for 50 minutes—and there just weren’t enough weeks in the semester to accomplish that—so this seems like a more chewable hunk of project. But it should be fun—to have the flexibility to do anything (just do a speaking activity, my colleagues urged me) and work with students who are advanced English speakers.

I’m also starting a new class this week (mind you this is week 7 of a 15 week semester) for 4th year students (this is a three-year degree program) who need a fourth year for recognition of their degree in their home country. This class was so slow to start that I thought it wasn’t happening, and then three guys showed up in my office on Monday and here we go.

If going around visiting classes (to promote these projects) is my “spectacle” hat—my “dancing bear hat” is most certainly donned every Wednesday evening for “Learn English through Games” at the American Corner (cultural/educational outpost of the Embassy here in Tetovo, and around MK). Don’t get me wrong—I love it. but keeping 40+ kids engaged (especially when the word Games is in the title of the class) requires just a little song and dance some times. there’s a lot of full-bellied laughing that happens from 5-6 on Wednesdays (I feel like most of it by me)—and tomorrow we celebrate Halloween (I’m going as a tourist. I’m getting pretty excited about getting into character).
My other hat at the American Corner (Caps for Sale anyone?) is leading a youth club for highschool-aged boys—just my demographic. Thus far it’s been interesting—I really like the kids, and there’s one guy who’s really assumed a leadership role and man is he great! but high school is kind of an awkward stage—no matter where you are. we’re struggling to get some focus and direction—in part because I don’t want to be ramming my agenda down their throats, and in part because I’m not sure they quite know where they want this to go themselves—other than playing sports. But, especially in a town without a lot of organized activities for youth, I’m happy to spend an hour or two every Saturday afternoon with the boys. I’m hoping we’ll do a short film festival—getting people to submit short films (maybe less than a minute) about something like “our Tetovo”—something addressing inter-ethnic relations here (something the kids are concerned about and talk about, but I’m not quite sure know what do to with). and also translating the film ‘the story of stuff’—and hopefully doing a little critical thinking along the way. check out the film if you haven’t heard of it.

my final hat—more of a cap really—is as a volunteer at a local NGO—Loja. My fellow Fulbrighter in Tetovo, her roommate is a volunteer (for reals) at Loja—and through her I got tapped into this amazing network of people/thinkers/act-ers. I find myself describing it as part Sandglass Theater, part Centar za Izgradnju Mira—a blending of cultural work (for example putting on a poetry reading or a knock-your-socks-off good concert (trio: clarinet, oboe and flute, followed by classical guitar)) and peacebuilding/conflict resolution work really aimed at the educational system. being with people from the organization, attending their events, helping out, I started to feel at home here in Tetovo in ways I hadn’t quite found before. I’ll write more about them/it later on. But Culi is one of the employees at Loja who went on a road trip with Julie (volunteer at Loja from Canada/Quebec), and Ev and Tasha when they visited, and who is super. He invited us to day three of his family’s Slava celebrations (the kid’s day—when they invite their friends over for food and rakija and some passionate shouting and good table thwacking). Baba Sava is also Culi’s grandmother. There we are, full circle. I’ll get to some of the juicier details (going to Ohrid, going to the hospital (twice!), the adventures of Foto and Amerika, first snowfall in the mountains, Bajram and the time of Balkava, and the road trip to end all road trips at some other point. Thanks for sticking through this long one—I’ll try to par it down in the future.

you know you're an american when...

23 September

you know you’re an american when…

[or I guess I should say, I know I’m an American when…forgive the generalization.] But I know that is this is just the first of these aha moments. but shock me nonetheless it did. I was walking down the street in Skopje, just having crossed the bridge from the main central square (with a towering statue of Alexander the Great [the man on the horse], complete with colored lights, fountains (timed to the) classical music, which is oddly interspersed with the Star Wars theme, the Indiana Jones Theme and one other which escapes my mind right now. The statues—part of the Skopje 2014 project are also positioned in relation to each other. For example, Alexander is facing his father, who stands on the other side of the bridge, who in turn, has his back to someone else), into the older Albanian/Ottoman side of town. At night, when Jake (fellow Fulbrighter, kind and gracious host) and I walked around there, it felt like an integrated part of the city—people who actually live in Skopje spending a friday night out drinking (tea or beer depending on the establishment, probably with not a lot of cross-over). But by the light of day, complete with tour-groups of western europeans, people pedaling their wares on fold-out tables along the sides of the bridge, it felt much more like a tourist attraction. and thus, I felt much more like a tourist. One of the gentlemen I passed was a guy shining shoes who literally followed me four or five paces down the path to insist that I get my shoes shined because they were, in his eyes, embarrassingly scuffed up. After he shined the first shoe, he kept saying “see. like new.”

(symbolic salute?)
So while I’m standing there, in that awkward pose with one foot up on the little shoe-shining stand, I was reminded of my first night with my host family in Belgrade. When I woke up in the morning, Marica (my host mother) had polished my boots. And how the status of my boots was the last thing on my mind—and yet, was the first thing where I experienced Marica’s motherly instinct kicking in.
The status of my shoes aren’t really the first thing on my mind—and I feel like I can speak for many Americans in my age cohort. When I think of embarrassing myself in public, let’s just say, not shining my shoes isn’t high up on my list.  but now, I know it’s just a matter of time before I take his advice and by my own polish, and stop making a spectacle of myself.

Tetovo, Tetova

18 September:

Tetovo, Tetova

My first evening, already a week ago, I fell asleep with the evening call to prayer. From my window in the dormitory (which are called convicts here—always throws me for a loop) I can see three minarets, poking over the apple trees and never-ceasing construction projects, although many others can be heard. STUL/SEEU (South East European University) is one of the few private universities in Macedonia, and aside from that, was one of the first accredited institutions of higher education to offer courses in the Albanian language. For many residents of Tetovo, as one of the hearts of Macedonia’s sizable Albanian community, this was (and is) a significant issue during the 2001 conflict, and is now a source of pride, or so it seems. As a non-Albanian speaker (and perhaps more importantly, non-Albanian reader, as many of the signs are also in Albanian) arriving in Tetovo was a bit of a linguistic shock. It’s been a while since I’ve traveled some place and felt totally adrift linguistically.

But, as I’m getting to know Tetovo better, my picture of what Tetovo means is also shifting—however slowly. One of the peace corps volunteers described my side of town as “the dry side.” And I think this can be interpreted in a number of ways—yeah, alcohol isn’t widely available around the university—but honestly, I haven’t been looking for it, so I can’t really vouch for this, but I think this section of Tetovo is more Albanian; signs are pretty predictably in Albanian, people don’t speak Macedonian on the street, and thus far, I haven’t found a church in the near vicinity. However, up into the hills from the city center, the landscape (linguistic, topographic, religious) shifts, cafes have awnings sporting Skopso beer, rather than coke. Linguistically, things really range from only Albanian signage, to Albanian followed by Macedonia, to Macedonian followed by Albanian to only Macedonian. There is so much I have to learn.

The person in the next dorm room over is playing “somebody that I used to know.” Oh college. (oh the convict). Having all the new students here makes me feel suddenly old.

Tetovo is somewhat nestled between two shoulders of mountains—the Sar mountains whose foothills I see outside my bedroom window, and some un-named (to me thus far) mountains across the plain from Tetovo, but clearly visible on a day like today, sunny and warm. The Sar mountains separate Macedonia from Kosovo—although from this vantage point, literally the base of the mountains, I can’t tell if there are mountains beyond these mountains, or just Kosovo. The University is located about 2.5 km from the city center, along a main road, at the end of the development. Just beyond the university is the highway, going from Skopje to Gostivar to points beyond. Eventually the road bends around to Lake Orhid, but I haven’t made it that far yet. You can tell that this stretch of road has only recently been developed because it’s only one building deep. Across the road from the university, there’s a building (maybe five stories) being built, and behind that, someone’s corn crop. In the middle of the university campus is an apple orchard—although I’m not sure how productive it is, in part because it looks like it could use a good prune, and in part because it’s been a really dry summer, and everything’s suffered from it. Although the birds are having a ball out there. There’s also a pear orchard on the walk in from the university to the center—although whose, I have no idea. Although the pears look mighty fine.
(here’s the apple orchard. This is also the view out from my window, with the Sar planine (mountains) in the background).

I’m still figuring out what it means to be in Tetovo—in many ways it has the feel of a small town, while still taking up quite a bit of geographic space. I’ve already run into one colleague from the university twice, a student from the American corner, peace corps volunteers. For not actually knowing that many people, I feel like I see a remarkable number of them out and about. but there’s also a lot that’s almost overwhelmingly new, most of which hinges upon language. Even the most basic things—ordering a cup of coffee—all of a sudden take concentration and time. I’m sure if I needed to I could fall back on English and and good old pantomime—but I want to make myself understood—I just don’t speak Albanian.