I am feeling too good to report to work today

We're getting back into that time of year when the sun and I seem to be on the same schedule--waking up in the morning, the tree outside my window is bathed in that first sunlight,  the peak of the mountains, the neighbor's laundry all take on a softness. and the sun rises directly in line with our kitchen window--yes, I know in a few weeks it'll have shifted away, but there's something oddly beautiful about it, something surprising every time I wake up and there it is. Granted, we've also had our fair share of grey, cloudy, wintery (but not cold) days, so waking up to a beautiful day (and now I can say it in Albanian, sot është me diell--thanks Suzana for the language lessons yesterday!), well it's just glorious.

And all I can hear, repeating over and over and over again in my head is the poet Pedro Pietri's voice saying "I am feeling too good (rising tone) to report to work today!" a quote from his poem, Telephone Booth Number 905 1/2 (please watch the Poetry Foundation's video of him reciting it, right here right now right below), a poem I first encountered in seventh grade. And somehow, his voice has stayed with me since then (so yea middleschool teachers, be careful what you teach your seventh-graders, they might actually remember it).
And here he is, the man himself, 

 

 and today is one of those days--the mountains are out (on both sides) and I could spend all day watching the way the light changes on the mountainsides (and yes, Mike, you are right. there is red in everything. especially these leaf-less tress outside my windows).

But perhaps I'm not as hard core as Rev. Pedro--because here I am, at work. drinking tea with Suzana, and waiting for professors to return their books. and watching the light change on the mountainside.

Finding Freire in Religious Freedom Day

Last night was an event at the American Corner of Tetovo around the day of Freedom of Religion (a holiday I didn't know we celebrated back home), and Gezim and Saranda asked me to lead the discussion. As a rather agnostic person myself, I must say at first I was a little unsure about leading a discussion about freedom of religion, especially in a place where religion can be linked to issues of ethnicity--a volatile issue to say the least. But, being me, I said ok. and I'm so glad I did. Not because I've had some religious revelation, or some political epiphany about the importance of choice (something I believed already) but because it gave me yet another perspective on life here. It was a small group--not more than ten or eleven--but included a really eloquent (enough that even though he spoke in Albanian I could tell) professor at Tetovo State University, and the leader of the Bektashi community here in Tetovo (as well as regionally). The Bektashi are a branch/sect of Islam which have a Tekke here in Tetovo (although it's contested space--although between whom is somewhat up to debate). There were two comments from the leader of the Bektashi community which struck me profoundly--the first was "religion is not a profession."

In this he was commenting on some of the corruption within the religious leadership, but it mirrored oh so closely another conversation I had (the night before) with friends about how ethnicity was becoming a profession--or if not a profession, than at least the most important job qualification someone could possess. It's a scary thought, especially because it not only speaks to the degree in which ethnicity is understood as the primary "identity umbrella" as Malvina put it, but also, if this is indeed true, sheds light on the vicious cycle of identity reificaiton in process here. how do we transcend this process?

and again, I think of sitting next to one of the small rivers in Sanski Most, outside the CIM office, with the sun on our backs, laughing with Vahido, writing down different identities we felt we belonged to, and then slowly (sometimes painfully) crossing them off.

The second comment the Bektashi leader made was a bit more spiritual: he said "Religion. that is simple. The first step is to know yourself. and once you know yourself, then you can find the right (for you) path to God."

There's a simple beauty to it. Enlightenment as coming from within.

It, oddly, feels very Feirian--very praxis-ish, reflection first, then action.

and I want to just say something light--like 'sounds like my kind of religion.' which perhaps is true, but I think for me it speaks to a larger philosophy of being--which I guess could be religious, if that's how you see things, but I think I prefer the terminology spiritual. because I don't think the path from knowing yourself just leads to God--it leads everywhere. if you want to accept God as part of that--that's your personal choice, part of your personal path.

Over the weekend, I visited the other ETA in Stip and we got talking about religion, and she asked me what I believed in. In perhaps a roundabout way, I responded 'curiosity' which I'm not sure is really the answer to "what do I believe in" (other than papuci--house slippers). but it's certainly one of my  sources of motivation. But I think what the Bektashi leader said perhaps speaks more eloquently to what it is I believe in--which is self honesty, self-knowledge. and for me, this process has no end. there is no finite conclusion to a reflective process, a reflective practice. And that, for me, is where curiosity comes in.

It's also given me a chance to revisit Freire--I'm actually thinking of assigning sections for my classes next semester (and ooh is reading Pedagogy different here. it feels a lot more blunt to say the least, and I think my challenge will be to get students thinking about "oppression" as being broader than just ethnicity--because of course it is, but I think it can be easy to forget about the multidimensionality of oppression. or to be able to situate yourself within another system of oppression (for example gender)). and so much of what speaks to me about Freire is his emphasis on the role of dialogue, and how this pedagogy is a life-long project--a life philosophy in a way (what's that old civil rights song--they say that freedom is a constant struggle?).
There's a lot about Freire's presentation style which I'm finding myself jarred by (perhaps it's that it was 8am. brain calisthenics to say the least.)  and he does say that overthrowing oppression will require just as much violence as the initial oppression brought--and here I disagree, because I'm not convinced that this won't only lead to re-oppression, lead to more violence (is violence ever justified? I'm going to have to table that question for another day.)

I haven't found the conclusion yet for this piece--perhaps the subject matter itself lends itself to inconclusive writing?

oh what a night: Badnik 2013

I think, my friends, I have a new favorite holiday.

Badnik is some beautiful mixture of Halloween, Easter, Block party and a disco. and I hope no Macedonians are reading this, because for true Badnik-ers, that probably sounds kind of sacrilegious. For Julie and me, the night had an added twist: we went to the Frizer (salon) to get our hair done. and then had to walk through Tetovo in our jackets with huge '50s hair.

For quite a while I'd been hearing stories about this "badnik" holiday--something about dressing up, and kids going around the neighborhood asking for money, and an oak tree. Up until we stepped out of Culi's house, I really didn't know what to expect. and was delightfully surprised.

Early on in the preparations (a few weeks ago) Malvina, Julie and I decided we wanted to go in joint costume--and somehow we settled upon 1950's housewife. If things got slow at any point in the night, I had a batch of cookies, and Julie some yellow rubber gloves, so we could get down to business. Malvina, instead, took the more glamorous route, and I hear she was on local TV--but can't verify this myself. Between Julie and I is Darko--who dressed as some character (Freddie?) from a film I didn't recognize. Culi--in case this needs clarification--is Aladdin (note the curls on his shoes). and Nebojsa (friend of Culi's, one of the poets who read at the Scardina Fest back in Sept) was a ninja (although I was hoping he'd transform it into a super mutant ninja turtle. (thanks for the photos Sandra!)

So Badnik.
After our adventures at the Frizer (it was really beautiful to watch this woman transform Julie's hair), we all met at Culi's house to get ready. When we arrived, his hands were covered in green, and he was two thirds of the way finished with transforming Nebojsa into a ninja. All the while, groups of kids would come to the door, ring the bell and then start singing this song asking for gifts. and every so often Baba Sava would pop in, saying either "the priest is coming! hurry up!" or "don't you lose those cooking utensils." after we were all dolled up (quite literally), we went outside into the street where they had constructed a pit for making fires (two halves of a metal drum) and a table with food on it. and music! there were people dancing oro (and other variations) in the street, and it was only a little while before I passed my dish of cookies off to someone else and jumped in. I had forgotten what it felt like to just abandon myself in music and dance, although as the evening progressed the music got more and more turbo-folky. After a while the priest came and blessed this big round loaf of bread and the rest of the food ("sarma!" Malvina smiled), and then we all took a piece of bread. Inside the loaf is a coin, and whoever gets the coin is responsible for hosting next year's fire. Thankfully (unluckily?) none of us got it--I'd love to be back for another Badnik. but probably not as host. After the breaking of the bread, an oak branch was blessed and everyone took home some sprigs--and now if you walk through some neighborhoods, all the doors are adorned with little oak twigs. 

What was so beautiful to me was not just that we were all hanging out in the street, chatting, talking, dancing, drinking rakija, but that it felt truly like a neighborhood party. a neighborhood event. it was beautifully multigenerational--dancing the oro were both Baba Savas and little kids. and everyone in between. and each neighborhood (a small geographic area by my standards) had their own celebration, their own party and music. Some seemed a little less active than ours--no dancing (and no Baba Sava yelling "hush" as the priest was giving the blessing. I have a feeling she keeps this neighborhood running like a well oiled machine), but it was beautiful nonetheless to walk through and see this group of people, standing around a bonfire, smiling. kids knocking on doors, singing. many people were in costume--which I hear is a Tetovo tradition, rather than part of the Badnik kit and cabootle. and there was always some laughter.
 after a while, we moseyed into town, into a hall formerly owned by the local textile company and now a restaurant (where, as Culi informed us, "you can get the best breakfast soup in town.") which for the night had been transformed into a place for dancing. and we danced.

dancing isn't a huge part of my life these days--there aren't really places to dance in Tetovo, in part, I think, because the community is generally a bit more conservative. and oh how I miss it.

but the other thing Badnik got me thinking about was space. no surprises there. But walking through Tetovo (our Frizer was by the painted mosque--on the SEEU side of the center of the city, but a good 15 minute walk from Culi's house), we definitely got looks from people. and then it felt like we crossed the street and suddenly there were kids in costumes going door to door, the glow of fires burning just up the street. music coming from somewhere. the looks shifted from inquiring to impressed. all of a sudden it felt like something was happening. that it was a holiday (I felt that again today--Orthodox Christmas--walking around the older parts of the city, up the hill towards Kale (the fortress) where all the shops that usually have a small gaggle of old men sitting outside, basking in the sun, were markedly empty, or the basketball court by Sveti Nikola church had no kids playing games--some neighborhoods were totally quiet, everyone at home eating Christmas lunch). And I know that Culi's neighborhood (or probably any neighborhood in Tetovo) isn't solely Macedonian or Albanian--and so I wonder how the celebration is (or is not, but really I suspect is) made accessible to all--if people get turned off by the religious rituals around the priest and blessing and crossing yourself. because I see in a celebration like Badnik great potential to celebrate community--ours in the most open way. Certainly, there's a lot about Badnik--the symbolism, rites, history, context--that I don't know, and knowing it could change my impression (or at least supplement it) of it as a community/neighborhood party and not as a deeply religious, spiritual, national/nationalist hoedown (although--like any celebration, that really all depends on what people make it, and how they celebrate it. and for those who wanted their religious experience, I'm sure you could find it, and for those who wanted to do their Macedonia chest-thumping, I'm sure they found space too). so. yeah. a lot would need to change for Badnik to be a truly open holiday--but somehow in my gut, I can see it happening. slowly, surely. but happening nonetheless.one Badnik at a time

 maybe I'm drawn to Badnik because a lot of American holidays are either super family centric--or crowd focused (I'm thinking of all the 4th of July day parades I've been to in my life, and I guess they're about community, but to me it feels like it's more about spectacle). and maybe it's that I love this idea of having a strong sense of community at a really localized level, and finding ways to celebrate or build those relationships.

and maybe I just am looking for excuses to dance in the streets.