My Day After IST (In Service Training)

I just got back from IST (In Service Training) and decided to update my blog based on the events that occurred when I got back to site. Don’t worry Ma nothing extraordinary happened today. It was actually a pretty normal day with normal activities. Normally one would expect PCVs NOT to be busy because they are dwindling away in a state of nothingness as they work in developing countries, for me, this has never been the case. I feel like I am constantly running from one event to the next with projects, social events, work, Peace Corps events, church, traveling, and random visitors. Don’t get me wrong I am not working all day every day in my office but I am never bored, well most of the time.

Anyhow, today I traveled back to site with a fellow PCV only to get a call from him an hour later saying that his bus wasn’t leaving from the train station until 6pm (it was 1pm when he called). He wandered if he could rest at my place until his bus arrived. This wasn’t a problem with me even though I was truly looking forward to spending some much needed time alone cleaning my apartment. He came over and I decided to check the train schedule to see if anything earlier was available. Sure enough there was a train leaving at 2:30pm and 4:30pm that he could catch. I rushed him to the group taxi that would take him to the town 15 minutes away from mine so that he could catch the next train home. After making sure he was safe and sound in a taxi I went to meet my friend, the market man, at the market. I need to give you a brief introduction to this person because I don’t think I have ever mentioned him before.

When I first got to VT three months ago I met this random man in the market. He stood out because he looks African. Whenever I see someone with the same skin color as my own I say hello. I don’t know why but it always makes me feel at home when I see black people in Bulgaria. Anyhow, it turns out that he is from Yemen, which is in the Middle East south of Saudi Arabia and north across the Red Sea from Ethiopia. He looks Ethiopian or Eritrean to me but he calls himself Arabic but identifies with me as a black person. This is an interesting and new concept to me but I think this is normal for people from that part of the world to look African but be Arabic. Every time I passed by his booth in the market he would ask me about random rap artist in the States that his sons listen to like Snoop Dog, Akon, or 50 cent. It always amazes me how African American hip-hop culture has become a part of globalization.

One afternoon he called me over to his booth and asked if I could braid his son’s hair. I absolutely love braiding people’s hair (you would know this if you read some of my earlier post!!!). I agreed but informed him promptly that I could not take any money for my work but I would be more than willing to braid his son’s hair that very night! We agreed to meet at about 9pm in the market and than go to my place for the actually braiding of the hair. We met, I braided his son’s hair it turned out gorgeous, and now I have a new family in Veliko Turnovo.

A couple days after I braided the son's hair the son called me and asked me to meet him at the market at his father's booth. When I got there the entire family was there and they gave me a large bag full of canned food, tissue, soap, perfume, chocolate, and deodorant. The son, who is 13 but looks 7, had even drawn a picture of a red car with my name and Chicago written on the licenses plate! How cute is that? They even had professional pictures taken of the son and gave them to me. This was the first time he had ever had his hair braided in his entire life! They informed me that we WOULD be friends and essentially that they were my new family in Bulgaria. The whole point of the story is that I was going to see them today because he and his wife want me over for dinner on Saturday or Sunday! I am really excited about this but at the same time really worried. I don’t want them spending so much money, time, and afford on me when I know they don’t have a lot.

So after meeting and chatting with the man at the market my original plan was to go to work to visit my co-workers even though I have the day off. I did not feel up to it so I headed home instead. However as I passed the sweet shop I decided to try a Bulgarian pancake (katma) for the first time. I heard a lot about this place from someone in the Peace Corps, maybe my country director, but I am not sure. The pancakes in Veliko Turnovo are supposed to be the best in Bulgaria. They are about the size of a medium pizza only Bulgarians fold them like one would a gyro. However, before folding jelly (grape, raspberry, strawberry), chocolate, or cheese is added to the middle and butter is spread across the top. When I approached the counter to order I had no idea what they name of the pancake was so I asked the lady in Bulgarian “for the sweet thing that everybody likes” at first she looked at me with a blank stare but than she got my meaning and prepared my order.

There was a kid before me in line that kind of listened to me talk as I stumbled through Bulgarian. After he got his food he sat down at the counter table to eat. I was not sure if I was going to stay at the shop or not but the shop lady handed me my food unwrapped so I decided to stay. I sat one seat away from the young boy as the counter table. I sliced one piece from the pancake and new I was in heaven. It tasted like a pancake you can find at a IHOP, Denny’s or, Pancake house in the States only better! I was in pure heaven. The young boy heard me mumble how good it was and asked me " are you American?". I wasnt sure if he asked me because I acted so ridiculous about the food or because of my accent when I speak Bulgarian. My response was "Yes, and how do you know I am American?" He said "because the way you speak Bulgarian", Ny response was "well I could be from England". Than he went into this long story about his uncle lving in American and how he can tell American accents because of this reason. After that we got into this 15 minute conversation about food, music, school, Bulgarians, and America. Unfortunately, I did not find out his name but he was 13 years old in 7th grade. He was so nice! When I said I needed something to drink he offered me a sip from his coke! What type of person offers a stranger a drink from their own glass? Can you imagine an American teen offering a stranger a drink from their coke, let alone talking to a strange foreigner in a fast food joint? That was so sweet! When he left the restuarant he even told me to have a great day and time in Bulgaria. He really made my day!!!!

Eating my Katma while thinking about the nice fluffy things in the world,

Crystal