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
[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
No comments:
Post a Comment