Bean Season

After my last post, I spent the remainder of summer traveling, going to PC trainings, working with the bean harvest, and reading. All that considered, I am glad to be back in school. Teaching is not a career I will pursue beyond PC, but I am thankful for the things it has brought into my life. First, I love my students. It's a joy to get to know them as people. One of my goals is to learn everyone's names. As I am not Albanian, mistakes are made. Last week, I misheard a name and called a student "Shalqi" ("Watermelon"). It struck me as a little odd as I said it. Laughter subsequently erupted, and I feel badly for embarrassing the student. I fear my error started a joke that will plague him for years. Second, teaching has helped me grow past my comfort zones. In April, I was nervous to get in front of a class and assume the center of attention. No longer! Convincing a room of different personalities to pay attention is a challenge. In fact, it's a competition between you and distractions, and luckily I am competitive. My mentality is now "I crossed an ocean for your undivided attention! Look here and listen up!"

This will be my only full school year as a PCV, the ideal time to commence projects. As a PCV, you hear stories about PCVs finding inspiration in dumpsters and dusty storage closets, transforming abandoned "junk" into life-changing projects. That hasn't happened to me yet. Just last week, I stared into a storage closet waiting for an epiphany to slap me across the face. Still, I have my work as National Coordinator for WriteOn!, a creative writing competition. I judged essays for WriteOn! International last school year, and I am excited for my own students to participate.

Autumn has brought some changes. Beans were harvested. First, the bean plants are pulled from the field and left to dry in the sun. After removing the dried, yellowed pods, you beat the pods with a piece of wood. This knocks the beans out. My neighbor fed the leftover bean pods to her cows. Waste not, want not. Next, remove the remaining debris from the beans and separate the good beans from the bad ones. Sorting through thousands of beans is tedious to say the least. Good beans are bagged to be cooked later. After the beans were mostly finished, potato and corn harvests started. Grapes also ripened. Many people use their grapes to make raki, a strong alcohol, but my host family does not really drink. One day, my host grandfather requested that I pick a bunch since he endlessly yet fruitlessly (get it?) endeavors to fatten me up.*** As I approached the sink, and he said "you don't need to wash them, the rain does that!" I washed them regardless because I have a "better safe than sorry" mentality when it comes to my non-Albanian gut microbiome. A few days afterwards, I watched a chicken climb a grape vine and peck a bunch of grapes. It was cute and amusing, but I am glad I washed those grapes.

In addition to the seasonal harvests, our water schedule changed! We have water on a (spontaneous) schedule during the summer. I regularly kept about 2.5 L on reserve in my room for toilet flushes and hand washing etc. That's probably no longer necessary! Additionally, my host family's hot water system is not easily understood, so I spent June showering in water that felt like 32.001*F. I have since mastered the art of the brief, economical, maximum efficiency shower.

***Historical context puts this cultural norm into perspective. During the Hoxha dictatorship, food was scarce. Having starved, the older generation makes a point to stuff others - especially guests. Many of us PCVs were raised to clean our plates, but that's not the way it works here. We've learned to lay a firm line because the pressure to eat more is intense and overwhelming. Repeat a firm "no," and do not finish all the food on your plate or more will be piled on. Even still, several volunteers have been forcibly spoon fed by particularly persistent Albanians. My host family now knows my appetite, so I eat suitable amounts. However, my host grandfather has a specific vision for my ideal weight which, to his eternal chagrin, I do not share. ("Not as fat as Neighbor A but fatter than Neighbor B...") I am thankful for his efforts which come from a place of love, concern, and history.