Moldova, installment II
On the train to Italy earlier this month, I sat in an internationally populated compartment trying to speak Italian with the woman across from me. When she asked me what other languages I spoke (possibly to end my disastrous exercise in Italian small talk), I mentioned that I had learned Romanian.
"In Bucharest?" she asked.
"No, in Moldova."
"I'm from Bucharest!" she exclaimed. With a sigh of relief, we switched into Romanian.
I hadn't spoken it for about nine months, but the information that had lingered unused in the dark corner of my brain surprised me. I could use the conditional. I could say "snow." A couple of months earlier I had not been able to think of how to say "because" - only "why." As I spoke to this woman I said it without thinking.
It took me a couple of tries not to say the little words, the "in"s and "for"s, in French. But we had no problems communicating. I discovered this woman had moved to Florence with her husband and worked taking care of an elderly woman. She had found Italian very easy to learn due to its similarity with Romanian, but she got tired of listening to this Italian lady talk all day. When we got off the train, she kissed me on both cheeks and thanked me for the opportunity to speak her own language.
It turned out she had plenty. As I walked with my friends following John's dad through the streets of Florence, I heard Romanian conversations everywhere.
Last week in Moldova, my host mother told me that since joining the EU, Romanians had flooded into Italy. And shut the door on Moldova.
Moldovans live in a country about the size of Maryland. But at least they share a language and culture with nearby, bigger Romania. They were almost citizens; many were issued passports. They could hop across the border to buy groceries on a Friday evening. They worked in the market in Botosani. They go to school in Iasi; they have family in Bucharest.
"Now we are in prison," my host mom told me. It wasn't the last time I heard a Moldovan say that during my visit.
An article published recently by Radio Free Europe Radio Liberty quoted Romanian president Traian Basescu declaring in a speech in Chisinau that the number of applications for Romanian citizenship had nearly doubled since Romania joined the EU, and that many of the applications were for multiple people. "By our evaluation, this means that there are, realistically speaking, around 700,000 or 800,000 requests for Romanian citizenship," he said.
While I was in Calarasi, I visited my neighbor and former student, Violina. She's in the 8th grade, but is a year or two older than her classmates. She lived in Italy with her mother as a child and started school late once she returned to Moldova. I had earlier avoided her house because she lived with her overbearing aunt, who never failed to ask me overly personal questions and show her concern about my fast-approaching old maid status.
It was pouring rain outside and Jim and I had to walk all the way to the end of the road and double back to avoid walking through the mud soup that had earlier been the street. I called Violina on my cell phone to make sure she still lived in the same house, but the signal was too bad for her to understand my question. But when I rang the bell on the green gate around her house, she appeared.
She invited us in, shoes and all, to the living room where she had been watching Russian MTV. No adults came to offer us tea or admonish us for wearing our shoes in the house, only Violina's grandmother shuffled by to peek in on us and smile.
"Shouldn't we go over and talk to her?" I asked.
"No, she's just curioasa," she said. Her grandmother stood and stared while we spoke to Violina in English. I wondered how much she took care of Violina and how much Violina took care of her.
Violina told us her mother and cousin were still in Italy, and that her aunt had gone to join them. (thank goodness, I thought) Her father was in Romania, where Violina could no longer visit him. Violina lived with her grandmother and a boarder, a woman who was at the bank as we spoke trying to take care of some financial problems.
The house was bare, but Violina had just gotten internet access. Jim noticed these kind of disparities often on our trip. Internet access, but no bed. A sauna, but no toilet. It seems every single one of my students has a cell phone ten times as complicated as my iPod. They certainly could have spent that money on something more important.
But these things are important. Moldovans might be poor, but they are not content to let it show. Maybe no one knows you sleep on a mattress on the floor, but everyone can see your mp3-player camera cell phone. Even if everyone knows you wear the same two outfits all week, you keep them clean without a thread loose and your shoes are somehow always shining.
The boarder at Violina's house came home and offered us tea and sweet Easter bread. Moldovans might be poor, but they will always share what they have.
We spoke to Violina only in English, and she still spoke so well. She took Jim's email address so that they could write to each other and she could practice her English.
"In Bucharest?" she asked.
"No, in Moldova."
"I'm from Bucharest!" she exclaimed. With a sigh of relief, we switched into Romanian.
I hadn't spoken it for about nine months, but the information that had lingered unused in the dark corner of my brain surprised me. I could use the conditional. I could say "snow." A couple of months earlier I had not been able to think of how to say "because" - only "why." As I spoke to this woman I said it without thinking.
It took me a couple of tries not to say the little words, the "in"s and "for"s, in French. But we had no problems communicating. I discovered this woman had moved to Florence with her husband and worked taking care of an elderly woman. She had found Italian very easy to learn due to its similarity with Romanian, but she got tired of listening to this Italian lady talk all day. When we got off the train, she kissed me on both cheeks and thanked me for the opportunity to speak her own language.
It turned out she had plenty. As I walked with my friends following John's dad through the streets of Florence, I heard Romanian conversations everywhere.
Last week in Moldova, my host mother told me that since joining the EU, Romanians had flooded into Italy. And shut the door on Moldova.
Moldovans live in a country about the size of Maryland. But at least they share a language and culture with nearby, bigger Romania. They were almost citizens; many were issued passports. They could hop across the border to buy groceries on a Friday evening. They worked in the market in Botosani. They go to school in Iasi; they have family in Bucharest.
"Now we are in prison," my host mom told me. It wasn't the last time I heard a Moldovan say that during my visit.
An article published recently by Radio Free Europe Radio Liberty quoted Romanian president Traian Basescu declaring in a speech in Chisinau that the number of applications for Romanian citizenship had nearly doubled since Romania joined the EU, and that many of the applications were for multiple people. "By our evaluation, this means that there are, realistically speaking, around 700,000 or 800,000 requests for Romanian citizenship," he said.
While I was in Calarasi, I visited my neighbor and former student, Violina. She's in the 8th grade, but is a year or two older than her classmates. She lived in Italy with her mother as a child and started school late once she returned to Moldova. I had earlier avoided her house because she lived with her overbearing aunt, who never failed to ask me overly personal questions and show her concern about my fast-approaching old maid status.
It was pouring rain outside and Jim and I had to walk all the way to the end of the road and double back to avoid walking through the mud soup that had earlier been the street. I called Violina on my cell phone to make sure she still lived in the same house, but the signal was too bad for her to understand my question. But when I rang the bell on the green gate around her house, she appeared.
She invited us in, shoes and all, to the living room where she had been watching Russian MTV. No adults came to offer us tea or admonish us for wearing our shoes in the house, only Violina's grandmother shuffled by to peek in on us and smile.
"Shouldn't we go over and talk to her?" I asked.
"No, she's just curioasa," she said. Her grandmother stood and stared while we spoke to Violina in English. I wondered how much she took care of Violina and how much Violina took care of her.
Violina told us her mother and cousin were still in Italy, and that her aunt had gone to join them. (thank goodness, I thought) Her father was in Romania, where Violina could no longer visit him. Violina lived with her grandmother and a boarder, a woman who was at the bank as we spoke trying to take care of some financial problems.
The house was bare, but Violina had just gotten internet access. Jim noticed these kind of disparities often on our trip. Internet access, but no bed. A sauna, but no toilet. It seems every single one of my students has a cell phone ten times as complicated as my iPod. They certainly could have spent that money on something more important.
But these things are important. Moldovans might be poor, but they are not content to let it show. Maybe no one knows you sleep on a mattress on the floor, but everyone can see your mp3-player camera cell phone. Even if everyone knows you wear the same two outfits all week, you keep them clean without a thread loose and your shoes are somehow always shining.
The boarder at Violina's house came home and offered us tea and sweet Easter bread. Moldovans might be poor, but they will always share what they have.
We spoke to Violina only in English, and she still spoke so well. She took Jim's email address so that they could write to each other and she could practice her English.