Wait, WHAT?

I guess I am moving to Belgrade, Serbia. Wait, what? Who moves to Serbia?!

I guess I do. I'll be teaching kindergarten and working in a center for education and counseling for victims of trauma starting in August. Here is my new job description:

The last 15 years have been difficult and traumatic for all citizens of the former Yugoslavia, due to the long and devastating war. These events also struck Serbia. In the beginning there was a great fear of possible mobilization, causing many people to hide and live in fear. As well, the number of refugees that came upset people and brought fear.

Sanctions for Serbia lasted for years and caused serious economic crises. It was very difficult for people to provide even the basics for their families. The future seemed unpredictable, causing feelings of uncertainty and insecurity. In addition, the spread of the war to Kosovo ended with the bombardment of Serbia, a traumatic experience for all Serbians.

Apart from traumas caused by wars, many of the traumas Serbians are dealing with occurred within the family. Family violence multiplied during these years. General disappointment and insecurity as well as economic and political uncertainty caused anxiety that was felt within families, where the victims are usually children and women. Men are usually victims of crime, and the reason they engage in illegal activities is in order to provide for their families.

Noah’s Ark Kindergarten: SALTer will help the kindergarten teachers in their everyday work with children. This placement represents an opportunity to build bridges and to strengthen one of the few church-sponsored kindergartens in Serbia.

Psihoorijentir: SALTer will assist the Center in organize files and the library, developing materials, consulting and fundraising. SALTer's observations and analysis will be sought as to help the Center develop better.


Assignment Description:

Kindergarten - The kindergarten Noah’s Ark is situated in the central part of the city of Belgrade. It was founded in 1996. The founder is the Baptist Church. At the moment there are 35 children attending the kindergarten, including 2 children that are handicapped. There are 4 teachers working in the kindergarten and usually one trainee. The kindergarten is financed by the donations and contributions of the parents.

Psihoorijentir - is a center for education and psychological assistance. There is a team in the Center trained for education on trauma. Educational trainings are held in the center, designated for teachers, kindergarten teachers, pedagogues and psychologists employed in education and social institutions (orphanages, social work, reformatory schools…). Beside education the Center offers support to adults and children that experienced traumatic events. This is conducted through individual therapy and support groups. The Center also educates volunteers for work in support groups.

Duties:
Throughout the assignment and especially at the beginning the service worker will focus on learning Serbian to fulfill the duties listed below.

Noah’s Ark Kindergarten: SALTer will work 3 days a week (Monday to Wednesday) from 9 A.M. to 5 P.M. He/she will assist one teacher: will observe what the teacher is doing and will follow her instructions. Working in the kindergarten involves playing with children, helping them with dressing, helping them in drawing and all sort of creative work, setting the tables for lunch and removing the dishes after lunch together with kids, setting the mats for their afternoon naps, helping them dress and most of all be able to answer to their questions, instruct them in their work and observing their behavior and interactions with other children.
It also involves some extracurricular activities. Together with the teacher, depending on activity, he/she is to help in doing it, for instance: an excursion outside the kindergarten area, sport activities, going to theater for children, kitchen activities and so on.
SALTer is expected to be present at all activities that are organized for children and parents by Saturdays and after the working hours. She/he is also expected to be present at the meetings where we plan and analyze our work.

Psihoorijentir: The working hours of the SALTer would be 2 days a week (Thursday and Friday) from 9 A.M. to 4 P.M. Our project is a specific one because of the seminars and consequently we are forced to work on Saturdays. Therefore the volunteer will be expected to participate in working on Saturdays, with the option that whenever the volunteer works on Saturdays he/she could take a day off during the week.
Filling and organizing the library – SALTer will help in organizing files and library which will help the Center in learning what other resources are needed and how to obtain these (via web, buying books and so forth).
Development of materials – Since the SALTer will have access to materials from the US or Canada which are designed for people in helping professions, we expect that volunteer would help us in the choice of material as well as in advising us how to use them.
Observation – A SALTer would attend seminars as an observer. He/she will be the observer of our teamwork as well. If SALTer shows interest and would like to be part of the team that leads the seminar we would be open for this (the Center’s staff). However, we understand that this might take some time after volunteer would feel comfortable with the language.
Analysis – A SALTer would help us to analyze the work that has been done and also to evaluate it. The participating of the SALTer in analysis will be the result of the observations that he/she has observed.
Fundraising – To research the web and learn about grant possibilities from organizations and individuals that would interested in supporting the work of the Center.

As far as working on Saturdays SALTer will in conversation with the director of Psihoorijentir and the Kindergarten make decision when to be working at the Kindergarten and when at the Center. Just to make a note that not all Saturday will be work days.

SALT participants are expected to demonstrate an active interest and commitment to learning Serbian language and to engage within the local community where they serve.

Location Description
Belgrade, the capital of Serbia and Montenegro as well as the biggest city with a population of more than 2 million, is strategically situated at the confluence of the Danube and Sava rivers. Because of this it is a city that has been destroyed many times due to wars, and is now a mixture from charming old architecture to plain somewhat neglected concrete apartment buildings from the communist era. Because of the recent conflict in the region hundreds of thousands of displaced people have migrated to Belgrade, straining public services and causing a very tight housing situation.

Despite the recent history Belgrade remains a safe place to live, generally without fear for personal safety. It is a bustling city with constant activity 24 hours a day. There are many theatres, cinemas, cultural events, good restaurants with reasonable prices, and coffee shops which spill out onto sidewalks and side streets for 6 months of the year. Public transportation is readily available, with buses and tramlines providing good connections to all parts of the city.

The climate in Belgrade is temperately continental. Winter temperatures are usually around -5 to -10 degrees Celsius, but it can get as cold as -17. It is normal to have some snow in the months of December to February. Summers are fairly hot, with temperatures climbing to 40 degrees Celsius for brief periods of time. Fall and spring are fairly long and pleasant seasons.

I still feel like they are lying to me about the winter, but I think that is because I am mixing up Serbia and Siberia (they're different, I looked on a map).

Happy ash Wednesday!

Oh my.

There are times this job feels daunting and thankless. When I sit in my office and look out the window and can LITERALLY watch drug dealers hand out testers (free samples of drugs) to people- mostly kids- to get them addicted, I feel discouraged. I think that is probably a normal reaction.

But then there are certain days and certain clients that are filled with gratitude. I have one client who said that he was feeling bored and restless and that he wanted something to do. He said he grew up on a farm and loves animals and misses his dog. I went online and printed out three applications to volunteer at different animal shelters in the city, and I filled out some of the basic information for him. Today when he came in to the office, I showed them to him and told him he could fill out the rest, or I could fill the rest out with him. He looked up at me, astonished. His eyes filled with tears. He thanked me repeatedly and told me I had really helped him out, that he would work on them right away, that God would bless me for this.

This is not something I deserve that kind of gratitude for. The entire process of printing and starting the applications probably took less than 15 minutes. What touches me is not that I was finally shown some gratitude for my hard work, but that I was shown gratitude for almost nothing. These people have been beaten down- figuratively and literally- so many times by so many people for so long that they begin to see themselves with the world's eyes. They start to believe that they are worthless, that they don't deserve love or attention or affection, that their disabilities or addictions or illnesses define them. This client is so used to being ignored that the simplest act of kindness became monumental to him. His tears are not a testament to my love or service, because I didn't do anything particularly noteworthy. They're a testament to past cruelty and pain. As such, his thank-yous were more painful than pleasing to me.




In other news, I have to decide by Thursday if I want to take a job working at an orphanage for kids with developmental disabilities in Managua, Nicaragua, or a job teaching kindergarten three days a week and working at a center for people with PTSD two days a week in Belgrade, Serbia. Both jobs are a year long, starting in August, and are through the Mennonite church. I have no idea which would be better. Serbia sounds awesome, and would be new, but I love Nicaragua and have close friends there. Nicaragua has mangoes and monkeys. Serbia has... well, I don't really know, I've never been there. I'm thinking of flipping a coin. After all, I agonized over my decisions of what to do with this year and ended up in a job that has nothing to do with my interests or skills, and I'm pretty happy. So deciding between two jobs that ARE relevant to my interests and skills should be refreshing. And terrifying. I'll let you know on Thursday where you can start sending my mail.

I used to think it was a bit silly when people would say things like, "It's the little things that make life worth living!" Part of me still thinks it is. The little things, after all, are just what fills in the space between the BIG things. I like the Big Things. I've always liked Big Things, and tend to end up with a lot of big events in my life. This is partially because of luck (both good and bad) and partially because I have a flair for the dramatic and tend to thrive on change, movement, even crisis.

This is changing somewhat for me. I am not doing the most glamorous job in the world. I spend a lot of my days entering urinalysis results into a computer, on hold with the department of social services, or trying to fit a new shipment of food from the food bank into a pantry. Most days, there isn't too much to tell about what I've done. There are rarely measurable accomplishments, and sometimes there aren't even clear goals or benchmarks. I would prefer a job where every day something really breathtaking or beautiful or heartbreaking or scary or hilarious happens, but really, how many jobs are like that? The fact of the matter is, Big Things are big because they don't happen every day.

I tend to see God and learn about myself and form really lasting friendships during or immediately after Big Things, but I guess that doesn't mean God isn't in the small things, or that nothing in my character is revealed in how I deal with the mundane, or that genuine relationships can't be born out of boredom. Lately I've been really enjoying watching the flowers on my windowsill grow. I've been trying to be fully present and really looking with open eyes as I walk home from my new job (although, honestly, this is AT LEAST as much to prevent mugging as it is to see the neighborhood, which is TERRIFYING). I have found joy in attempting to perfect a cupcake recipe and seeing how happy it makes my housemates that I've started baking so many cupcakes. I've been trying to really taste the coffee I make. Not just drink it, but taste it, feel the warm cup, watch the sugar dissolve...


Life is short, but sweet for certain.

sigh

I started a new job today, kind of. I'm now working with external clients at another facility. They're funded by Project PLASE but are housed in an outside agency. Six of these will be my clients, in addition to the two at the co-ed facility. Today all I'm doing is reading files and looking at charts and trying to get to know the people, where they've been, and what they need. It's so hard to try to understand people from these little blurbs that counselors write.

"Client reports witnessing incest between father and daughter."

"Client was diagnosed with HIV in 1985. He called his sister to share diagnosis and she told him to never call her again. His uncle said 'you turned out to be a real bum.' Client has no other family to speak of."

"Client began using heroin at age 17, cocaine at age 20."

"Client dropped out of school after grade 5."

"Client dropped out of school in 7th grade, aged 17 years."

"Diagnosis: Adjustment disorder NOS"

"Diagnosis: Adjustment disorder with depression"

"Diagnosis: anxiety disorder"

"Client is more irritable than usual."

"Client has passive suicidal thoughts but no plan."

Counselor is in over her head.

Rebirth

Reason Number 468 Why I Need to Live South of the Mason-Dixon Line:

One of my biggest complaints about Minnesota is the lack of flowering trees. Living there for 4 years was rough for me. Not only is winter really, really, really long, but spring isn't even that pretty. It's mostly muddy from all the melting snow, and then just when it's getting warm and you're wearing skirts and flip flops it will snow AGAIN, and there are no dogwoods or cherry blossoms, and then the next thing you know, it's summer. I'm not OK with that.

Walking home from work today I was in a pretty bad mood. As I crossed over 83, I looked up, and a tree by the side of the sidewalk had little buds on it. I think they were flower buds, they were about the size of a large olive and were fuzzy. I pulled one off a low-hanging branch and rubbed it between my fingers the rest of the walk home.

It made me feel like I was holding a tangible representation of a promise. "Spring is coming!" it said. "And there will be flowers!" No winter lasts forever, and even things that may seem dead for months can produce fruit.

It isn't that I'm unhappy here, per se, and it's not that I'm counting down the days until I leave (although I am counting down the days until I go to Minnesota to visit friends- 27 left!). I just feel stuck in winter, in a ground too frozen to til and temperatures that kill seedlings. I long for a warm spring breeze and FLOWERS and the scent of honeysuckle. Today I was reminded that they're on their way, and that party of the beauty is in the patient waiting.



"Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing."

Goodbye?

I'm not very good at letting people go. I still talk to my best friend from when I was 6 about once a week on the phone. This weekend I'm going to visit my two best friends from high school. I talk to my roommate from college on the phone about twice a week and email with her a few times a day. I am in regular contact with college friends who are now living in Kazakhstan, Tanzania, and France. I email my host sister from Nicaragua and my host father from Kenya. Thanks to Facebook, email, gchat, Skype, and cell phones, it seems that no one is ever REALLY gone. Even if I don't communicate directly with friends from high school and college, I, in most cases, can still see when they get a new job, move, start dating or break up with someone, and any number of other things through Facebook and blogs. I, and most of my generation, have come to expect and demand ties that withstand any distance or length of time, however informal. I'm not even at the forefront of this communication and connectivity craze. I am notoriously hard to reach by cell phone, partially because I leave it places and partially because I refuse to answer it during work, meals, or meetings (and it appalls me that this surprises people). I only use one online networking site, despite invitations to join MySpace, twitter, and any other number of resources that would invite even more people into my life.

I'm not trying to say that all of this is good or bad; like (almost) everything else, there are benefits and disadvantages to hyper connectivity. This week I'm learning about some of the disadvantages.

My favorite client from work is gone. He arrived at the shelter the same day I did. I even did part of his intake interview (which with LITERALLY no training was an interesting experience). He is friendly, funny, and very intelligent. He was a source of encouragement and joy for staff and clients alike. We had frequent conversations about friendship, relationships, family, religion, and politics. A recovering cocaine addict, he had relapsed and used drugs once while a resident here. He immediately told staff, was placed on contract, and even publicly apologized to the other residents (which he did of his own accord with no prompting from us).

Last Sunday he didn't come back to the shelter. His curfew had just been moved from 4:00 PM to 6:00 PM. At 10:00 PM he phoned to say that he was waiting for a bus, and would be back soon. That was the last we heard from him. The veteran's administration, who funds his placement here, has said that they will no longer pay for him to stay here. If he returns to the shelter, we are supposed to escort him to retrieve his belongings, and then ask him to leave. As the days pass, however, it is seeming less and less likely that he's coming back. We have called central booking and every hospital in Baltimore, and he's not there.

I feel betrayed. He specifically told me when I pointed out that he and I had the same first day that "we came together and we'll leave together." He said he wanted to have permanent housing before I leave in August. It was quite a realistic goal, he was doing well in recovery and worked very, very hard. And now? He's just gone. I'm not offended if he has started using drugs again, because I know that addiction is bigger than I am and that nothing I can do can make it go away, but I'm hurt that he would not at least let us know what's going on.

More than anything, I'm worried about him. Did he die? Is he staying with family? Is he living in a park? There is no Facebook status update or blog entry or group email I can check. I can't call him because he has no phone. I can't send him a letter because he's homeless. Ours was a relationship built entirely on face-to-face interaction; now one of those faces is gone. While going home from work I found myself looking closely at the people I pass on the street. Maybe he's out there. Maybe I'll run into him at the inner harbor or Lexington Market. But most likely, I'll never see or hear from him again, and that is a concept that is incredibly difficult to wrap my head around.

who needs insurance?

Today is my first day in a week wearing real pants instead of my awesome organic sweatshop free yoga pants from Maggie's Organics (www.maggiesorganics.com). I have been sick for about 10 days now, and didn't leave the house for the last 6 of them except to go to the thrift store to buy decorations for an Edgar Allan Poe party.

The worst part of this illness, which I at first referred to as tuberculosis until a friend mistakenly thought I actually HAD tuberculosis, is that I am so unused to being sick. I don't get sick, and if I do, I'm over it in a day, two tops. I often joke that it's OK that I don't have health insurance this year because I have the strongest immune system in the world, with the only caveat being that I am incredibly accident prone.

In the past 8 years I have fracture my skull, broken my ankle, ruptured an ear drum, and sustained three compression fractures, several bone chips, and a ruptured disc in my back. I have had to seek emergency medical care for a severe allergic reaction to an antibiotic and been hospitalized overnight for a drug overdose. I contracted a parasitic worm and, as a result, dysentery while in Kenya. I haven't been to the ER in over a year, which is the longest I have gone without going to the ER in 8 years. Some would say I'm due for an accident of some kind, and I am inclined to think they might be right.

I deal with pain pretty well, and know the drill for riding in ambulances (which, by the way, is really, really fun, except for the intense pain and fear of death part that often comes along with the ride). But sickness I do not do well with. I get incredibly frustrated- irate, even- when I am unable to breathe. I refuse to give in to the sickness, which means I often refuse to rest or stay home from work. I try to show the virus (or bacteria or evil mutant space germs) who is boss, but in this case, I just ended up feeling worse and worse. I TRIED to go to work, and they sent me home because I looked and sounded like death herself. So, I stayed home for a whole week. I cleaned everything in our house, drank my weight in tea, drank a WHOLE BEAR full of honey, and made cupcakes (which will probably infect everyone else in the house, oops!). I stayed in my pajamas and sweatshirt and caught up on my reading. But it was still awful. For all the days I lie in bed and wish I could stay home from work, I now know that the flip side, staying home all day every day, is worse. So today, despite a lingering cough and brief periods of light headedness, I am at work. And I'm not in yoga pants. And it feels good.

Please pass the honey.

life

I'm good at taking care of things, I like to think. I have been told on multiple occasions that I'm quite good with kids, and to be honest, I think I am. Few things give me more pleasure than talking or drawing with a child between the ages of, say, 18 months and 4 years. Holding a baby is a unique kind of bliss. I have recently decided that after 4 years of art school and a year of social work with the homeless that my TRUE desire is to be a preschool teacher.

I'm good with animals, too. I spent two summers working as a zookeeper, and was the ONLY keeper for whom the zebras would approach the wagon rides. You want to see a zebra up close or have a chance at petting one? You better hope you were on one of my rides. In fact, I was the chosen keeper for training the camels and tagging baby deer, too. I spent 3 years in college volunteering at the local humane society, and at no point in my childhood had fewer than 3 pets, including, at most points, 2 dogs. If you're small and/or furry, there is a good chance that I will love you and take great pleasure in caring for you.

This is all to point out how sad it is in comparison that I kill every plant I have the audacity to look directly at. It isn't that I don't like plants, because I do. I especially love flowers, which my mom will tell you is partially why I kill everything. I insist on trying to grow flowering plants on windowsills with far too little sunlight, which is why they don't flower and, in most cases, don't live. But I don't care. Why would I grow ivy when I could grow daisies? The answer, of course, is that I CAN'T grow daisies, but whatever. I have, on occasion, set my sights lower, like the time I got a cactus. I was assured by multiple people that I could not kill a cactus, which was the basis of my purchasing it. It seemed to do well enough in the week or so I had it in Virginia, and then I put it in a cup holder to drive it 20 hours to school in Minnesota. I mean, it was in a flower pot, so what's the big deal? Well, at some point during the trip, perhaps while veering wildly to avoid a median, or while flailing in excitement at seeing a taco bell, or while trying to unearth a case of CDs from underneath some bedding, the cactus tipped over and fell out of the pot. Since there was still dirt all around the roots, I figured it was fine and stuck it back in the pot and vacuumed up the rest of the dirt. Apparently this is NOT how you care for unearthed cactus, because it died. Only- and here is the really sad part- I didn't know it was dead. I thought it seemed to be getting smaller, but convinced myself that I was just imagining things. That is, until the day when a book fell on it and it literally collapsed in on itself, revealing an interior that was completely hollow except for a bit of opaque ooze that, to be honest, reeked.

Anyway, I love to care for things, but do not have a green thumb. My mom gave me 3 pots of flowers that have managed to stay green on my windowsill, but have ceased to produce flowers (the little jerks). A few weeks ago, however, I was given three little flower pots in a bag of donated art supplies from the preschool where I used to work. The art supplies are for my art group at work, but the flower pots, I couldn't help but feel, were meant for me. After all, what would 14 adults do with 3 tiny flower pots? They came with little cakes of dirt you soak in water to make expand and 2 packets of seeds. I was hesitant to get my heart involved in something I know will end in sorrow, but then decided to go for it. I took my paintbrushes out of my tall plastic cup and soaked the little cakes of dirt. When they had achieved regular dirt status, I filled up the little pots and planted a few seeds in each one. For several days, I dribbled just a little water into each one, remembering from my grow-your-own daisy kit (which I later killed) that new seeds need pretty damp soil (but not TOO damp, but how do you KNOW?) and I waited. And I waited. And then today, out of nowhere, were 13 tiny sprouts! There are 3 in one pot, 2 in another, and 8 in the other other. It is just so beautiful. Yesterday I had three pots of dirt, and today I have 13 teeny tiny living growing beautiful plants. Sprouts. Whatever they are. They are supposed to grow into mums, though I am smarter than to think I will ever guide them to that stage. I know that they will last a few weeks and then slowly, much to my dismay, begin to wilt and die.

One day I really, really want to have a beautiful garden. I want to have a yard with so many daisies that you could pick a bouquet every day and never know the difference. I want to have pink roses that grow along a blue fence and tomato plants that produce so many tomatoes that I and the hundreds of orphans I hope to raise will be able to eat them at every meal. Actually, while I'm dreaming, I'm going to go ahead and say that I want tomato plants that produce all year long. Why stop in August? Give me tomatoes in February! I want to grow fresh herbs to season all the food I make, and plants inside in pots- two for every piece of electronic equipment in the room. I know this will (most likely) never happen, but today I don't care. Today I have 13 plants that I planted and watered and love, and I love them all the more for their vulnerability and inevitable demise.



"nothing we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility" e e cummings