A Change in Greetings

If you have ever visited Albania before, you will have been educated in the etiquette of the proper greeting.

And I don't mean the first time you meet someone or even when they make a formal visit to your home.

It's a little unwritten checklist of questions you ask and physical gestures you perform to show respect to the other person.  I appreciate the tradition and follow the custom even though at moments, the "American" in me wants to get right to the point and be efficient with my time, when the formalities seem unnecessary to repeat with someone I just saw a few days ago.

"Greetings/Welcome/Come in"
"Good morning/day/evening."
"How are you?"
"How is your family/wife/children?"
"How is your work?"
"Are you tired?"

This is repeated by both parties and it includes standing up when someone enters a room, shaking hands, embracing, and kissing, depending upon the closeness of the relationship, and so on.  And depending upon how long it has been since you have seen the person, the questions will continue to cover additional areas of life.

Yesterday we were in Tirana for Ellie's piano lesson, then later, our monthly homeschool co-op meeting.

During our parental conversation time, the weather and everyone's coping mechanisms for dealing with the cold and frozen pipes and general lack of water dominated the discussion.

At one point one of the fellow missionaries (who has lived in Albania since 1995) noted that funnily enough, a new question has popped to the top of the greeting checklist in the last week  -- as if the gravity of the weather conditions has gotten so severe as to supersede centuries'-old traditions.  I'm also pretty sure it's motivated by an even deeper human need to know if someone is suffering more or less than you.  Now, everyone is getting straight to the point and asking.

"DO YOU HAVE WATER?"

There is a reason that Jesus called himself The Living Water to the woman at the well.  It's the basic building block of life.  We can't wash our hands, brush our teeth, take a shower, cook, or even flush a toilet (much less drink!) without it.  We, along with most of our friends in Albania, are getting a stark reminder of this reality for our physical needs this week.  [And to continue the analogy, sadly, we tend to forget the necessity to regularly access the Living Water for our spiritual needs.]

____________________

Last night we picked up Pam (our dear friend and the kids' primary teacher) at the airport after her two-month visit to the States.  As we pulled into her village to drop her at her home, had it not been 10:00PM and nearly pitch black, I would have had Nathan stop so I could grab a picture.

In front of the large pallati (apartment) complex in the center of her small town, in the place where automobiles are normally parked, were a line of several trailers holding large water tanks.  It was a sight I have never seen before -- and an indication of the severity of the problem and the length of time that has transpired,

Today marks eight days since the deep freeze began. For a while the forecast predicted a warming trend this weekend, starting today (Friday), but then returning to cold again on Monday.  At a certain level, I think everyone around us has been gutting it out, knowing an end (or at least a break) was in sight.

Added to that confidence,  Nathan had found some work-arounds with our water set-up so we almost always at least had water in our bathroom, if the pipes to the kitchen were frozen or if the city hadn't delivered water to our tank.  We went to bed last night, sleeping better knowing that we were soon going to get a reprieve from the daily stress we had been experiencing, and maybe get in a 'normal day's work', without spending so much time problem-solving and creating alternate methods for getting menial tasks accomplished.

You can imagine our feeling when we woke up this morning to no.water.at.all. It looks like BOTH of our pumps are kaput.  We are going to wait a few hours and see if warmer temps help, hoping that maybe a piece of ice was jammed up inside and that they haven't died completely.

Thank goodness we have access to the Living Water any time, no matter the temperatures, no matter if there is electricity, or operational equipment.

Do you have water?

Grape Season

The Midwestern farm girl in me will always appreciate a clean soybean field and tall, straight rows of corn.  I think that sight will always be comforting, familiar.

Living in a different part of the world now, agriculture has a very different look, and its diversity and proximity are still a novelty.

Here I'm learning how to identify fruits like figs, persimmons, and pomegranate.  Then you've got the wild nuts and berries and herbs like hazelnuts, sage, and oregano.

Now we are entering grape season.  I do know what those look like, but I've never had them growing literally over my front door.

Our front sidewalk was showing the tell tale signs of maturity as the heaviest began to fall and splat on the ground below.  So yesterday our friend Demir came over to start the harvest, lest nothing good go to waste.

Of course we are grape newbies and totally unqualified to discern which are mature and which need a few more time on the vine.  So we lent support in the form of company.

While we watched our friend at work, many a neighbor walked by, thumb to their mouth, tipping their hand back in the universal sign of drink.

Were we getting ready to make some raki?

Raki is Albania's famous home brew.  The process hasn't changed in centuries, and in a culture where the man has few domestic hobbies, raki ranks up there at the top.  Virtually every man in the village makes his own and proudly proffers samples every fall and winter to show his expertise.  (I think come summer the home made stuff is long gone).

If we drank, and if we wanted to try our hand at producing this beverage, I'm not sure we had the volume to make much more than a small bottle.  (Stills are easily bought from road-side convenience stores but the process of producing raki is pretty extensive from the beginning of the fermentation process).  

Instead, we let Demir keep the fruits of his labor -- though he refused to keep the best. Grapes anyone?

The kids preferred the purple grapes.  

Chew on this  Have you ever wondered why we eat "ears" of corn?  I don't know that I really ever thought about it until I learned that Albanians don't call them "clumps" or "clusters" of grapes, like corn, they are called "ears"!

Muddy Shoes

Cultures judge people differently.

In the States one might be judged by the car they drive, the number of ports in their garage, the zip code on their address, the university graduated, or the letters behind one's name.

In Albania, you are judged by your shoes -- not necessarily by the label (though to be sure, that may be important), but by their care.  Are they good quality?  Are they maintained?  Are they clean?  It's common knowledge that if there are any doubts to whether a stranger is foreign or local, it can be resolved by a glance at the shoes.

Mud on your shoes means your street is not paved or you do not have sidewalks.  If your street is not paved or you do not have sidewalks, you must not live anywhere important.  You probably live in a village (gasp!)!  And if you live in a village, well, likely your family has little to no money and your education is not too different.

A picture of muddy shoes.  That's all I have as a pictorial documentation of Saturday.  

Saturday we woke to a call at 6:19AM announcing that a friend's grandmother had passed away in the night.  The funeral would be at 1:00 that afternoon.  Plans for the afternoon were rearranged and we selected appropriate clothes for the upcoming event.

It was not unexpected.  We had paid a last visit to her bedside on Thursday.  She had been in a coma for about 72 hours and family were already starting to gather, prepared that each breath might be her last. Later that day they came to borrow the center's stools for the hordes of expected visitors following her death.

Thankfully the rain held off, but it had rained all week leading up to the weekend. The trail up to her home was a muddy mess.  In spite of carefully stepping on the strategically placed stones and bricks, passing fellow visitors walking the opposite direction meant stepping aside into the soft verge.  

Panting with legs starting to burn, I took a break to catch my breath and couldn't help but wonder how long she had been held up in her hilltop home, isolated by arthritic knees and out of reach of vehicles.  There was a reason her family kept a donkey.

Here is a previously published photo of the last stretch of trail up to the home.  I think the angle of Nathan's arms pushing Reni's stroller somewhat conveys the angle

There are moments when I long to use my camera -- not to document an event for my own memory as much as to share it with others who have never experienced such a thing.  I think funerals are one of those events that are so extraordinarily different that words alone cannot describe them fully -- yet for reasons I don't need to explain, are grossly inappropriate for me to film.  

Nathan walked in one room with the men, I the other with the women.  It was already full and one woman rose to give me a seat in front of the cloth-draped coffin.  I sat down and nodded at the relatives I knew. It was too tight to walk around and give them any hugs or kisses.  

The next door neighbor seated to my left started a mournful tune, almost a chant in its repetition.  I can only liken it to something I've heard from Native American culture.  After several minutes someone else took over and for a while it was joined by cries and wails of sorrow.

I could sense more guests arriving behind me so I stepped out of the room to free up a seat and claimed a chair in the hall way with a view out the front door and gate to the hills beyond, each layer in sharp focus to the layer beyond.  It was surreal to see the earth's signs of new life -- white blossoms on trees -- while inside another life had reached its end and all the living were shrouded in black.  

Though the door was open, the air was full of tobacco smoke and buzzing with soft, low small talk amongst the guests.  Granddaughters and granddaughters-in-law walked in and out with trays of coffee and raki for the men.  Everyone was waiting for the arrival of the hearse at the road's end to take her body on its last journey.

But with children at home, I had to keep my visit brief.

It was interesting to witness a slight change in tradition this time.  This was our fourth village funeral in 10 months and the first in which a female who was not a child or spouse followed the men all the way to the cemetery.  Granddaughters and granddaughters-in-law fell in step behind the men, carrying flowers bearing their names.  I viewed the processional from my second-story living room window.  Nathan shared about the rest with me when he returned.

In America, the funeral flowers bear the name of the deceased as he was known by those left behind:  "Dad,"  "Grandfather", "Great-grandfather."  Here, the flowers bear the names from whom the flowers were given -- as if the spirit of the deceased were to return and want to know from whom they had been given. 

Everyone present touched the coffin one last time before it was lowered into the ground, then the family walked wearily to a nearby restaurant to take part in a meal.

March 2014

The next day we would make the trek up the hill yet again for the customary coffee.  The fatigue on the faces of our hosts was evident. I cannot imagine my house serving as nursing home, then hospital, then funeral home, reception space and hotel, as friends and relatives far and wide come home.   

We were served a cup of Turkish coffee and a cookie.  At the conclusion of our drink we would slip a cash gift under our saucer or cup and it would be taken back to the kitchen and recorded in a notebook.  In a world without life insurance, these formalities serve a practical purpose as well.

____________

My shoes have been cleaned. The stools have been returned to the center.  Life in the village will resume after this brief pause. 

Një katunar i vërtetë (A True Villager)

Yesterday afternoon the kids were invited to a neighbor's house.  Nathan and I were relieved for them to have some entertainment other than a screen as we both had work -- I meeting with the knitting team and Nathan supervising daily youth rec time at the center.

When they came home, Reni was positively bursting with excitement to show us his new gift.

That's right.  The 'toy' he's seen many a neighbor boy carry was now his own.

In many a ways, it seems rather fitting that our "David Reni", named after a Biblical fellow who was also short in stature, has a slingshot.

Don't you love how he braces his aiming arm (below)?

Everyone watch out!

All in a Day's Work

The courthouse where Reni became our son in 2010.

Friends tell me that they find it interesting to read how bits of our daily lives here differ from their experiences at home.  Today I got an e-mail from a childhood friend that prompted the following recounting of our day:

Today, [you should] thank the Lord for online document request forms!  That would be SOOO nice here!  

The goal today was to attempt to renew Reni's Albanian passport.  Everybody told us something different so we knew the day was likely to unfold in an unpredictable manner.  Keep in mind this was in a very busy downtown area with one-way streets, oodles of pedestrians and cyclists darting in and out between cars and parallel parking only.

First we had to get a current birth certificate at building 1 (they are no good if they are more than 3 months old, so the one we got in July while we were pursuing residency is no longer valid). Since we had done this before and knew where to go, we started our paperchase at this office, after we had Reni's new photos made at a photo shop. 

(I really should have started our account with this stop because the stinker acts so silly when he's the center of attention and while the photographer was telling him not to laugh, it was having the opposite effect for what was supposed to be a serious expression on his face.  It spiraled downhill quickly from smirks to crossed eyes and everything else you can imagine a 5 year old boy doing -- I think he would have rather stood on his head than sit up straight and look into the lens). 

Our next stop after the birth certificate was to get an original adoption decree from the court house (building 2) because we left ours in the States in our fireproof document/media safe which my parents have been unable to open in our absence.  Just in case we would be required to relinquish the original when applying for the passport, we had been advised to get notarized copies of the adoption decree, which are supposedly as good as the original for 7 years. 

Upon reaching office/building 3, the notary perused our papers and quickly told us we were missing some necessary stamps on the adoption documents that had just been issued at the courthouse. so we had to go back to building 2 when the kancellari's office opened at 1PM. 

The kids were getting hungry, so we go eat lunch.  

After lunch we return to the courthouse, get the needed stamps at building 2 then walk to building 3 to see the notary again.  She does not have a copy machine and directs us to a coffee roaster up the street who also has a copy machine service in the back of her shop.  Of course.  Copies are made with friendly service.

We return to the notary and she efficiently stamps all our copies and keeps one for her files.  Now we are prepared to apply for the passport at the police station but the notary tells us we have to get the application at the passport application office which is in the same building where we got the birth certificate this morning (building 1).  I start walking to that office and Nathan loads up the kids to move the car closer to building 1.  

I wander in building 1 and try to figure out the system (there is a row of chairs along the wall where people are sitting and a couple of random folding tables in the middle of the room with office equipment on them and 3 workers standing around, sort of looking busy.  There are minimal signs on the wall (it really all had a very temporary feel to it) and so I wait a few minutes to see if I can figure out the system without inadvertantly jumping the queue.  A couple walks in behind me and goes straight to one of the workers at a table and is helped.  I figure I can't hurt anything by asking so I try my best to explain that I am there to get a passport for my son.  The guy tells me I need to produce an application.  I explained that I needed him to give me one, but he tells me those are at the police station, so I need to get that first and complete it, along with bring a receipt of payment for the passport which I pay for at the post office.

I go outside and call Nathan to tell him to pick me up on the curb.  He's just unloaded the kids a few blocks up the street but gets them back in their seatbelts and comes to get me.  We drive back towards the direction of the court house where we had seen the police station and Nathan drops me off half a block away while he goes to find parking.  I spot the only female officer in sight (really, the only female within a block) and tell her I need to get an application for a passport.  She tells me that I must first pay at the post office and bring a coupon with me to show proof of payment before we can get an application.  Uh huh.

I call Nathan and tell him to come pick me up where he dropped me off (he had just found parking, again). As I wait, two nuns from Reni's former orphanage spot me on the street and we have a nice little chat.  8 minutes later Nathan rolls up, having tried what he thought might be a short cut but which turned into a labyrinth of narrow alleyways.  No biggie, I had a sweet conversation catching up with two Sisters of Charity, some of my favorite people in the world. Given that it was now 3:00, the time that most government offices close, we decided to call it a productive day.

Back to Elbasan we will go!  At least sometime in the next couple of months.  Before our papers can expire and we have to repeat the whole process again. :-)

P.S.  In case you are wondering why we are concerned about renewing Reni's Albanian passport it's because we were told that as our children are Albanian-born, we would not have to go through the costly and time-consuming process of applying for residency papers for them as long as they had a current Albanian passport.  Nathan and I are legal.  Now we're working to get the kids that way too!

P.S. #2 -- we made a quick, but long over due stop at Reni's orphanage to deliver our favorite caregiver to work after taking her to lunch with us.  I can't tell you how much love we experience each time we visit the Sisters of Charity.  I leave each time asking the Lord to let His love flow through me towards others they way it flows through them. We got to hold a baby and the kids got some energy out running the playroom floor. As we left they told Reni to think of their place as "Grandma's House" and come back any time!  
So as you can see, it was a fruitful day.

P

A Taste of Home

Until this summer, Albania had no western chain restaurants typically found in most first-world countries.  This summer Tirana got a Cinnabon, and we have enjoyed their sweet sugar bombs on more than one occasion.  (This mom is secretly relieved since Reni has declared cinnamon rolls are his favorite breakfast and this mom has yet to ever make them herself -- dough scares her).

It's kind of charming, in some ways, to live in a land untouched by McDonalds, KFC, Starbucks or a TGI Fridays. (Goodness, even Honduras has had a Burger King for years). But other days, charm means little and it would be really nice to eat something familiar.

We have learned how to make a lot of our favorite foods at home, or adapt our recipes based on what we can find here.  We have learned how to make our own pancake syrup and barbecue sauces (kind of), or how to make Mexican food in a land without black beans or cilantro (or presently, without plain tortilla chips either).  There are some American foods/brands that have broken into this market, but can be difficult to find and sometimes be extremely expensive.  We wait for sales at the bigger supermarkets and stock up our pantry with things like Hellman's mayonnaise, Philadelphia cream cheese, and large bags of nacho-cheese Doritos.

One staple that was usually never a problem to find was Heinz ketchup.  Back in the States, we ate just about any kind of ketchup on the shelf, but here, ketchup (if not Heinz) just tastes different.  Most of the time at restaurants I prefer salt and vinegar on my fries to the pink (yes, pink) stuff they try to pass off as ketchup.

Then last week on the Facebook Expats board someone who had left the country for the summer innocently asked where the Heinz ketchup had gone.  Others saw her question and looked at their local markets and posted that their shops were out of Heinz too!  After a few more inquiries it was discovered that "The Warehouse" which supplies all the grocery stores in this area (if not the country) was completely out.  Soon, folks were combing every back alley convenient store shop buying up bottles of Heinz and reselling them to panicked expats.  

Sunday we found ourselves in Tirana and had to drop some things off at our old apartment.  While there, Nathan ran over to the new little market that opened in our neighborhood this summer to pick up some detergent.  It's on a quiet one-way street, and we sometimes feel like we're the only ones who have found it.  He returned with a victorious smile on his face and four Heinz ketchup bottles in his sack. He said he left four more bottles on the shelf.

When we shared the account with Nathan's Dad later that night Nathan jokingly asked if we should tell anyone about the four bottles we didn't buy.  He then reminded us of 2 Kings 7.
I shared the good news on Facebook. : )

Rejoice with those who rejoice, Weep with those who weep

In spite of new roads, new politicians, new technologies, and a rising standard of living, some parts of life here are more impervious to change.  I'm talking about traditions revolving around major milestones in life like engagements, weddings, funerals, and the birth of new children.

Though we've been moved into our village home for only a month, we are getting a quick initiation into the ebb and flow of the culture in ways that we didn't experience living in Tirana, where folks live practically stacked on top of each other but might as well live miles kilometers apart.

Two days ago I was startled by a horrible wail out in the street.  It was the middle of the afternoon, a time of day my introverted self has come to relish for it's peacefulness.

The afternoons are almost sacredly silent here once summer arrives.  After lunch everyone goes inside and passes out in front of the ventilator (fan) to escape the heat. There are few shade trees in our part of the village, just the occasional fruit or olive tree. Some of our neighbors have artfully crafted frameworks of grape arbors to provide patches of respite from harsh rays in their front courtyards.

As the sun creeps lower towards the horizon, activity on our street picks up. The cool of the evening invites everyone out of the brick ovens of their concrete homes to fellowship with their neighbors and savor cool breezes.  Supper is eaten around 10 or 11PM and sleep comes again around midnight, before everyone wakes at dawn to get some work in before the heat descends again.

They say in the summer, they get two days for every one.

It didn't take long to figure out the cause of the mid-afternoon disruption.  Before long, our street was lined with vehicles, all seemingly centered around our neighbor's home, two doors up. There was a constant stream of visitors coming and going, all dressed in black.  The house that had been the center of a wedding celebration last week was now host to a pall of sadness.  Grandmother had passed away.

Yesterday morning, less than 24 hours her passing, a motorcade of vehicles (carrying all of the men) followed her body over to the village cemetery.  The women followed behind on foot.  It was 95 degrees.

The remainder of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday the family will gather and host guests -- mostly neighbors, but also friends from other communities.  They will be served coffee and cookies, and before leaving, the friend will leave a 500 lek bill (about $5) under the cup as a token gesture to help with funeral and burial expenses.  It's sort of a community life insurance policy.

I happen to know two of Grandmother's daughters-in-law.  Nathan decided to stay home with the children since we didn't know the protocol for visitation.  I decided to go to the home of the daughter who had married Grandmother's youngest son.  It was in their house that she had lived and in their house she had died.  (The elderly always live with their youngest son).  When I arrived I was shown into a sitting room lined with ladies dressed in black.  I expected the mood to be somber, but the women were chatting cordially and I was greeted with smiles (I was relieved because I wasn't sure what to expect from a culture that wears its emotions on its sleeve).  It had been almost 48 hours at this point and while her death was unexpected, Grandmother had lived a long, full life.

Introductions were made around as I met sisters-in-law, cousins, and friends of relatives who happened to already be in Albania visiting for pushim.  I was shown a seat and a young woman I didn't recognize walked to me with a tray holding a tiny cup of Turkish coffee on a saucer with a cookie. When my hostess introduced me, my children's heritage was immediately shared and to assuage curiosity, I pulled out my cell phone to show photos. When fluency fails, show photos.

Before long, I realized there were no men present.  When I asked, "Ku jane burrat?" I was told they were gathered at the home which hosted wedding dancing a week ago.  I wondered who was making and serving their coffee?

After staying about 25 minutes as if by some unspoken cue, the visitors in the room stood up at once to leave.  I followed suit, hugging and kissing my hostess and her family goodbye.  It was a conflicting moment, unable to (yet!) offer words beyond an "I'm sorry".

Tonight we visit another village home, this time to celebrate the marriage of a beloved daughter.  Ellie is excited to see a bride and wants to personally deliver our gift. The contrast of today's occasions can't be more stark, and I can't help but bring think of Paul's words from Romans 12:15, "Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep." What a privilege to live them out here.

The one where I dance (gulp!)

This is our neighbor, Drita.  She lives two doors up the hill from us.  I am so glad I was able to attend the women's retreat The Family Church hosted for the ladies of the village in March 2013 because that's when I got to meet Drita for the first time.  

Drita has five girls.  Yes, five girls.  In this culture a son is SO important.  Why?  Because the youngest son is your retirement.  Daughters will be married off and join another family, but a son?  A youngest son?  He stays and lives with you until you die.  He will marry and his wife will take over your domestic responsibilities. You can manage the household, but turn over the more rigorous duties to someone younger. 

After five girls, Drita had her boy.  He grew up then went off to Italy to work and while there he found himself a wife. It doesn't matter that she's not Albanian.  They're celebrating here no differently.  Every night for eight nights the family has opened up their yard and turned on the music for a community party to celebrate that they are gaining a daughter. But last night, rather than waiting for sunset, the music started about 7:00.  We made our way over around 9:30.  The kids were excited to see what all the fuss was about (we could certainly hear it!)

We were greeted at the gate by a man holding a tray of sweet candies, then led by our hostess to seats on the perimeter of the yard.  These photos were taken early.  Apparently the party really pick ups after ten, then carries on 'til midnight or later.

These photos have no way of capturing how very loud the music is blaring.

 Yet Reni was able to do this:

Then this morning he pouted that he missed the wedding! ;-)

Watch this video here to get a real flavor for this place we call home (you might want to turn down your speakers):

But I have a confession to make. You know how people pray, "God, please don't send me to ____ so I don't have to eat ____."  I've never really had that fear (I guess because there's really nothing here that I wouldn't try in terms of food).

No, my fear is a little different.  My fear relates to the way they celebrate here.  It doesn't matter the occasion, dancing is almost always involved and I. Can't. Dance.  No way, no how.  It starts with the fact that I have no rhythm (the metronome was my best friend in piano lessons).   Then add two left feet...Anyway, they make it look so easy and I just feel rediculous.

If you saw the video above you might be thinking, "But that doesn't look too difficult."  It doesn't matter, oh, it's out of my comfort zone.

But, no sooner had we arrived, and I was pulled out on the dance floor.  So what do I do?  I stuff my pride and join in on the fun, of course.  And I even let Nathan shoot a video!  (P.S.  I had suspicions that this might happen so just in case, I wore a long dress to hide my missteps).  My daughter, on the other hand, has no such inhibitions.





I woke up in the middle of the night and I still heard music.  Then at 7:30 this morning, the music resumed, this time with live instruments.  And a couple hours later, this started up:




This was just to pick up the bride and bring her to the groom's home!  Can you imagine the noise when they leave together, married???

Nathan and I just shake our heads and wonder how in the world anyone survives 8 days of wedding celebrations.

Leje Qendrimi (Permission to Stay), Pt 1

It's the very tedious part about living outside one's passport country --- going though all the forms and documents to gain permission to stay long-term in a host country.  

And we have been spoiled in that Albania has a very generous policy for Americans living within their borders.  Just before we arrived, they changed the law to allow Americans to stay up to one year without applying for 'leje qendrimi' (permission to stay).

With our one year anniversary approaching in early September, it's time for us to start the process so, as Ellie says, "They won't throw us out."

The first documents we need to produce are birth certificates for the kids.  It seems straightforward enough but no, not here of course.  These certificates need to have been issued within the past three months, so the copies we were given at the time of their adoptions wouldn't suffice.

Though both Ellie and Reni were born in the capital, when they were placed in orphanages in different parts of Albania, their registration moved to the city of their new addresses.  And when we adopted them both, their registrations/records remained in the cities of their respective orphanages.

What that meant for us last week was that to get Ellie's birth certificate, we needed to schedule a trip to Vlora, 2.5 hours south of Tirana.  We had no clue where to find the offices where her records were kept, nor how one exactly procured such a document.  Thankfully we have our colleague, Mandi.

Before we left Tirana, he wisely suggested we look at an old copy of her birth certificate and it would tell us in what neighborhood within the city of Vlora the orphanage resides as all records are linked to the lagje (neighborhood). After some phone calls and asking around, we found the neighborhood office above (after passing it twice -- I won't comment on the overgrown shrubbery obscuring the sign).

After much waiting for our turn, we discovered that to get a copy of her birth certificate, we needed to go to another office in a different part of town.  Back to the car we went, more driving, more looking for parking.  Then we found it.  Nathan remembered it from 7.5 years ago, but I honestly couldn't tell you if I had been there before or not.  Wherever we were, it was b-u-s-y.

Ellie shot this photo out of the back of the car while we waited in the parking lot.

After finally finding the right window, the clerk searched for Ellie's name.  She searched and she searched.

It turns out that since we adopted Ellie, Vlora computerized all of their records.  And the funny thing is, computers require exact spelling matches to answer queries.

The staff looked in the original ledger from December 2006 (a giant book containing line after line of handwritten records) and Ellie was there.  Nathan and I were there.  Our names were spelled perfectly correctly.  But in the computer? You guessed it, our names were misspelled. Two keystrokes and our trip was for naught.

In spite of many apologies and admission of fault, the office did not have the authority to correct the mistakes.  They couldn't pick up the phone and make a call. We were told we would have to go to the official Registry in Tirana and provide all of our documents to show how their record should be corrected before a correct birth certificate could be printed.

So on Friday Nathan and Mandi made their first visit to correct the record. I will spare the details but suffice it to say, the process requires visits to 3 offices in as many days while requests make their way up the chain.  THEN we can go back to Vlora and try again.

This is just the beginning...(read Part II here)

So how's it been?

This is usually the first question we hear from friends these days.  How's it been since Anna and Abby left?

outside the girls' apartment as we headed off to the airport two weeks ago last Friday

It's a legitimate question.  Pretty much since our first days here, we were like a family of six. Though the girls lived in a separate apartment (albeit only one floor below us), we were together daily.

I have to say I was concerned about how Ellie and Reni would take their departure.  The past 24 months have been marked by HUGE transition for them since we left Kentucky.  First, they left the only home they ever knew (August 15, 2012).  Then they called the family farmhouse in Illinois their 'temporary' home in between extended trips all over the eastern United States visiting many different people for the next 13 months.  Then, in September 2013 we said goodbye to the most permanent people in their lives: their grandparents and cousins and other special family members and move to a new country with a strange (to them) language.  

We spend eight months in Albania.  That may seem like a blink of the eye to most of you, but for us Waggoners, eight months marks the longest we have remained in the same place since we moved out of our student center apartment in June 2012 to start transitioning that ministry over to the new directors. During these past eight months in Albania the kids met a whole new batch of people, but the only ones they could communicate with understandably on a consistent basis were Nathan and I and Abby and Anna.

You can see why we might be a tad concerned.

So what did we do?  We didn't ignore the fact that a 'goodbye' was coming.  We told them from the beginning that it was just for this school year.  Then, a couple of months out, it was discussed with more regularity.

We gave permission for the kids to feel and express normal emotions associated with grief and transition.  I think a lot of parents in our position fear their children developing calloused hearts as a means of protecting themselves from pain.

To be sure, knowing that Anna will be returning in August to teach at GDQ (a private Christian school in Tirana) made it a tad easier that this farewell was really more like a 'see you later!'

But I think it was Providential that from before our feet landed on Albanian soil, we had planned a thank-you trip/vacation just prior to the girls' departure.  It was the perfect way to end our time together, making fun memories apart from the rigors of school and ministry demands and appointments.

And lest you think the kids weren't attached to their teachers, Reni still speaks adoringly of his Miss Abby.  As we were reading his writing journal this weekend, we noticed that several of his entries ended with "I love you."  I'm pretty sure the message was not written to himself, but for the teacher who was giving his daily writing prompt and checking his spelling. ;-)  And we still hear the occasional story about "Miss Frizzle" (Anna) and the time machine in which they traveled through history.

Yeah -- if you send us a care package, throw in a box of that pre-cooked bacon and Reni will love you forever.

To be sure, it's not just the kids who miss the girls!  No one else knows as much as 'A and A' about what these first eight months in Albania have been like for us.  I find myself shooting off a random little e-mail here or snapping a photo of something on my phone and sending it off to them there.  It's also a little strange to not consider them in our decisions anymore, for everything from planning meals to staying longer in the village.

So while they are missed, I feel just as much gratitude.  Gratitude not just for their service to our children and family, but gratitude for them and their experience.  They embraced Albania wholeheartedly and talk about when they'll return (Anna sooner than Abby, of course, but I'm confident that Albania is a part of Abby now for the rest of her life, regardless of if/when she returns).  They made an impact on so many while they were here too -- the girls of Vlashaj are now pros at receiving a true American bear hug, thanks to Abby and many a village home is no doubt decorated with some original craft conceived by Anna's ever-creative brain for kid's club.  There is no doubt in my mind that their presence drew some in who had been drifting out on the perimeter of involvement back into regular participation in programs.  I also don't think it's a coincidence that attendance at kids club has also been at steady levels with the return of creative contributions in fun craft projects and also the addition of a beautiful space.

They were fantastic pioneers for what I hope might be a regular part of what we do here -- hosting volunteers here who want to exercise their spiritual gifts in a cross-cultural setting, aiding in God's Kingdom growth in this little corner of the Balkans (maybe you know someone who might want to do something like Anna and Abby this past year, either here or somewhere else in the world -- click here).

But being a pioneer isn't easy.  Pioneers didn't settle the West knowing the life they would find at their destination, traveling in comfortable vehicles on interstate highways with detailed signage, guided by a GPS.  Abby and Anna knew next to nothing about Albania, the language, the climate, the culture.  They knew they would teach our children, but that was about all. No doubt thanks to Abby's and Anna's experience, future volunteers will have a better idea of what their future ministries might resemble.  Their expectations will be a little more clear, their preparation (by us) a little more organized, and their living space a little more comfortable (did I post here that the girls didn't have hot water for washing dishes for 2 weeks because we didn't know to turn on their kitchen hot water heater before they arrived?),   We have learned from our mistakes, grown in our understanding, and of course gained more experience.

Thank you, A&A.  We will always, always appreciate what you gave us this year. Blessings on what God has for you next!  May you see His abundant provision just as you served as His abundant provision for us!

Click below to see a brief video of pictures from Anna and Abby's time here!


Anna & Abby

Ne kemi ngrënë bukë bashkë ("We have eaten bread together")

When I was little, I wasn't too keen on meeting new people.  I was pretty shy, plus, my "universe" was pretty small growing up in the country and attending school in a small town.  

I was nearly paralyzed with fear attending a friend's party where there might be guests I didn't know.  The same applied to going to summer camp or visiting a friend's church -- anywhere I might be meeting new people without the security of my parents nearby.  I don't think I necessarily came across as a timid child, but inside, I definitely preferred to stick with the folks I knew.

photo from wikipedia.org

Thankfully God helped me overcome that natural tendency to fear or dread meeting new people -- partially through maturity and partially through changing schools a five times by age fifteen and giving me several jobs that involved working with the public.  Today I really enjoy making new friends and appreciate folks from different backgrounds and cultures. 

As we make a new home in Albania -- while we are have the blessing of renewing some old friendships -- we have the responsibility to make a whole lot of new relationships too. And it's work, especially in this era of "Facebook" and social media where it's easy to control what you share about yourself as well as who we meet and interact with.  The art of hospitality is being replaced with IM-ing and texting.  Who needs to get together to catch up on life over burgers when we can text while waiting for the bus or sitting in the doctor's office?  Plus, if they come over to my house, they might see that I'm not the greatest housekeeper and, well, that's just too much work and pressure, especially in light of how spotless most Albanians keep their homes.

But to move beyond making acquaintances and making a friends involves a lot of time. Then add  language and cultural barriers and well, you get the picture.  It's a new level of work unlike any we have really undertaken before.  Nothing shows us how much work we have in front of us until we try to hold a conversation with some of our Albanian friends.  Yeah.  We're just grateful this spring that we're learning how to speak in past tense -- we haven't even gotten to the point of being able to speak in the abstract language of thoughts and ideas -- yet.

Nevertheless, the longer we are here, the deeper we are growing in our relationships as well as our language.  This past weekend we had the joy of sharing meals in two different Albanian homes.  I regret I don't have a photo of the first one, but here is photo from Saturday's supper with the K family:

Over the course of one of the meals we were told that proof of the depth of one's relationship lies in the statement "Ne kemi ngrënë bukë bashkë." Or, 'We have eaten bread together."  In other words, we have shared life together -- I have been in her home and she has been in mine.  It's a beautiful statement from a culture where food was (and in some cases, still is) scarce.  It's also a humbling reminder that no number of Facebook "likes" or text messages sent substitutes for real fellowship.

So, while a lot of our relationships here are with people who have only known us within the last seven months we have been in Albania, you might understand why a visit with someone who has known us longer  (try seven years!) is a treat!  Then add the same values, common interests and language... well, conversation can flow.

Last week we were so happy to see some of our first friends that we met in the adoption world, the Ns.  I met Diana seven years ago, early into her family's first adoption journey and shortly after we returned home with Ellie. They had reached out to us through e-mail about the prospect of adoption from Albania. On a whim I invited her and and another internet/bloggy friend to come up to Kentucky to stay with us one overnight in June.  We were hosting the houseparents (at the time) of the Bethany orphanage in Tirana and who better for my internet friends to ask about Albanian adoption than those veteran missionaries!  Somehow Diana didn't think I was crazy and apparently I appeared safe enough for her to make the 5 hour trip to Wilmore and we've been friends ever since!  Since that visit I've had the blessing of staying at her home and meeting the rest of her family!

Fast forward to last week when the Diana and her husband found themselves back in Albania to complete their second adoption from this country. While we didn't get to see the whole family, we had the pleasure of sharing a couple of suppers with Diana, Sean, and their newest daughter before they returned home to the States on Saturday! What a treat!  I know we were the 'hosts' but we were really blessed by them.

The Accident

No matter where one travels in the world, he or she inevitably brings home stories of crazy drivers.  I knew Albanian drivers weren't the best in the world, but sitting in the back and being driven by some good drivers while over here before, I think was pretty oblivious to the challenges our 'chauffeurs' faced most days.

Once we were blessed to get a vehicle of our own and I sat in the front seat I have had whole new appreciation.  When we asked for prayer protection on the roads, it was with the realization that we would be driving on roads in poor conditions, with inexperienced drivers (I'm not yet 40 and I've been driving longer than it's been legal to own a private car), and dodging all sorts of surprises in the highway from uncovered manholes to livestock and children wandering into our path.  I sit in the front as an extra set of eyes because you really have no idea from what direction something will be coming at you.

We've literally dodged being passed on the sidewalk, encountered vehicles driving UP the off ramp, cars driving without headlights (in the dark), a family of four riding a motorcyle in the dark with no lights nor reflectors, bicycles in 6 lanes of high speed traffic, unattended livestock wandering onto the road, people running and vaulting over the cement barriers to cross the autostrada in the rain, and vehicles turning left... from the far right lane.  

On Friday we were on our way to homeschool co-op.  One afternoon per week for a few hours Ellie and Reni can participate in a group of about 20 children up to age 10 with organized games, crafts, singing and Bible story time.  It was a drizzly afternoon and we were a mere 200 meters from the school which hosts our group each Friday.  The school is situated on a narrow side road that requires an extremely sharp left hand turn.  Nathan always signals our turn then drifts a little right to make the hard turn left (more than once we've not turned sharp enough and had to do the turn, reverse, and turn some more).

We had almost turned all the way on to the side road when we heard and felt a loud crunch of metal on metal and the tinkling of glass.  A young man in a Mercedes immediately jumped out of his vehicle shouting at us.  I was a bit stunned, trying to figure out what in the world had just happened.

What appears to have happened -- since his car was in the passing lane when we got out of our vehicles (in the photo above he had already moved it out of the way) -- was that he was following behind us and because he was in a hurry, he decided to pass us.  I can't figure out how he didn't see us, short of being distracted.  There were no skid marks on the road and he his us quite hard, accelerating, not braking.  Had he stayed in his driving lane, he would not have hit us.  The only way he could have hit us was if he was passing in the left lane.  (The front, right corner of his Benz was quite damaged, more severely than our VW).

We are so fortunate that he did not hit our tires.  Our vehicle was still driveable and we didn't have any broken tail lights.  The kids were buckled in, but Ellie said she hit her head on the side of Reni's car seat.

He was yelling at us, "What were you doing?"  We pointed at our still-blinking turn signal that we were making a left-hand turn and returned his question back at him since it was the rear of our car and the front of his which was battered.

We called Mandi immediately and as I had him on the phone, he heard Nathan say over and over to the other driver "You hit ME!  You hit ME!"  (You have to hold your own verbally in situations like this).  Unfortunately, Mandi overheard and thought we were being BEATEN!  (oops!) and he immediately called several friends, trying to find us.

I don't know what we would have done without our friends Mandi and Arjan.  There have been public transportation issues going on all last week and Friday a big strike was planned.  All of the street police were occupied with enforcing some new bans on private van taxis and no police were available to come and make a report (so we could file an insurance claim).  Arjan knew a chief of police in another community who knew someone in the jurisdiction where we found ourselves and an hour and a half later, he got an officer on the scene.

Once Mandi arrived, I decided to go down to the school and check on the kids (who had already been taken to co-op by another family that arrived shortly after our incident).  A male crowd had been gathering, mostly family of the guy who hit us, since he lived just down the road.  They were pressuring us to just take money and not involve the police or insurance.  We were grateful for someone who could speak Albanian on our behalf, even if we were still outnumbered about 5 to 1.

Nathan told me the officer laid into the other driver as soon as the officer arrived and assessed the situation.  Nathan was feeling quite relieved and called me to say the officer was ticketing the other driver and that he (Nathan) was driving into Tirana to make copies of the police report and sign a statement of his account of the situation.

Upon reaching the station, the superior officer pulled out the official red "rules of the road" book and told Nathan that he was at fault. The rules place responsibility for accidents resulting from left-hand turns on the driver making the left-hand turn, even if the collision is from behind. Nathan was told that the other driver was within his rights to attempt to pass us (in spite of admitting that we did have our turn signal on) because the road had a dashed line. Nathan will return to the station on Monday at 1:30 and likely be ticketed for 'causing the accident'. 

And if that makes no sense, we learned that you only have to have your turn signal on for a minimum of 10 meters (or about 30 feet)!

I think I knew a fender bender would be inevitable, I just didn't anticipate it to be so soon.  In spite of the damage, we are quite thankful that we had friends to help, that the children could go on and do something normal and not have to sit and wait through the whole ordeal, intensifying the trauma for them.  We are also grateful that our vehicle was still driveable so we could go on with our plans to go to the village later that afternoon.  To those of you who pray for us, thank you!  We saw God's hand of protection on us!

Albanian 101

Tonight he did it.  He screwed up his courage and he did it.  Nathan ordered pizza over the telephone. And not in English.  At MTI they challenged us to simple, yet terrifying tasks such as this.  I'm a tad embarrassed we didn't try this sooner.  But tonight we were hungry (no new groceries 'til tomorrow) and didn't want to delay our supper any longer than necessary.

So how did he do?  We'll share the results at the end...

Probably one of the most common questions we got on the road last year was this:  what language do they speak in Albania?

Don't worry.  It didn't annoy us.  We love talking about Albania and this question only served as a great conversation starter.

The answer to that question is Shqip (or, Albanian).

One of our readers (okay, my sister) asked if I might share a little of what we're learning in Albanian class.  I was actually relieved to get her request because I've really been wanting to share here.  It's been so challenging, and hard, and frustrating, but also rewarding.  We love class, we love learning, and we love that we get to implement what we learn right away.  Here's how we're doing it...

Regimine

We've been in class since early October and have supplemented our classroom learning with three additional lessons per week with our language helper, Vera, using the language acquisition exercises (LAPs) we learned at MTI.  The two different approaches, in addition to individual study, have complemented each other well, but I don't know that one ever feels like he is doing 'enough'. In addition to morning study sessions five days per week, Nathan has been reviewing some basic Albanian through Pimsleur exercises while folding laundry or washing dishes and we like to try to catch the news via Top Chanel live streaming on the computer (we still haven't gotten around to getting a TV yet!).

Style of Learning 

Our instructors at MTI shared that new language acquisition comes much like we all acquired our first language, in a very specific order:  months and months of listening (comprehension) before eventually speaking, followed by reading those words we have heard for so long, and finally, writing.  Too much emphasis on speaking at the beginning of the acquisition process (part of the traditional classroom approach) only triggers fear and frustration on the part of the learner, which close the "learning gates" of our mind because the learner is usually forced to speak before he is ready.

This sequence of listening/speaking/reading/writing is utilized in our LAPs where we hear basic vocabulary and statements by Vera long before we ever begin mimicking her words and phrases and it's not until near the end of the exercise that we even see these new words written down (our connection to Albanian words is to first be audible and contextual for the new words to come into our heads more naturally and 'just sound right').  The idea is that the learner avoids the process of 'translation' (an extra step in the brain to slow us down) but rather unconsciously thinks 'another way to say that is...'.  So when we make vocab flashcards, when at all possible, we use pictures and Albanian words, avoiding English altogether if possible.  E.g. a photo of Toto on one side, the reverse reads "qen" (dog).

Of course I mentioned that we are taking a class which uses a more traditional, academic approach.  After my dad visited last month, he pointed out that we are learning with some pretty bright minds.  For over half of our class, this is at least their 3rd or 4th language to learn.  They find themselves in Albania because they bring skill sets not easily found in this country... so you get the idea. They are already top drawer for the nations they come from. In other words, to keep up with our classmates, we have to be diligent!  Thankfully we have a very patient and understanding teacher whose approach 'keeps our learning gates open.'

Background
It surprises many to learn that Albanian -- while rooted in the ancient Illyrian language -- has only had a standardized alphabet since 1908.  It has a number of words borrowed from other languages, but according to the experts, it sits on its own branch apart from all other European languages.  Albanian speakers can be found in neighboring countries like Greece, Macedonia, Kosovo, and Montenegro.

The Alphabet
Thankfully Albanian uses a Latin alphabet with only two characters we don't have in English (e pica - ë, and what we casually call a 'c-tail' (sounds like 'ch' and looks like ç).  Each letter of the alphabet has 1 unique sound (nothing of this c as in cat or c as in Cecilia or receive). this makes reading Albanian pretty straight forward once you know the phonics and have mastered the dozen or so sounds that we don't have in English.  A lot of them require that we exercise those lazy American lips of ours -- yes, we were told Americans are known world wide in linguistic circles as having "lazy lips!".  Confused?  Watch a YouTube of an African saying Coca Cola and watch yourself in the mirror say the same word... go ahead.  We'll still be here.

The alphabet also contains a number of digraphs (two consonants together that make a unique sound) which represent their own character in the alphabet, like gj (like if you were to mash together the words jello and yellow), nj (as in njoh that sounds like no + yo  and means to know), dh (sounds like th as in this or that, not 'th' as in thistle), xh (sounds like j as in Jenny), sh, zh, etc.

Digraphs were initially confusing for us is when it came to alphabetizing or looking up words in the dictionary.  For example, the word sofra comes BEFORE the word shtepi in the dictionary because sofra starts with 's' that comes before 'sh', the first character in 'shtepi'. All words starting with sh (of which there are many) are in their own section of the dictionary.

So those are some alphabet characters Albanian has which we don't have in English.  One character they notably don't have is "W" -- something we obviously noticed early on!  It took me a second to realize (when talking about nations and capitals) that Uashington was actually Washington DC.

Grammar Intro
I won't get into the nitty gritty of this but Albanian has some notable differences from English.

The first is the way they distinguish 'definite' from 'indefinite'.

For example, it's one thing to say, "Give me an apple" vs. "Give me the apple".  The first is indefinite, the latter is definite.

Albanian doesn't use articles, they just change the ending of the word to distinguish between definite and indefinite.

And to know how to change the ending of the noun, one must first know its gender (something else we don't have in English).  And there really is no standard rhyme or reason why a noun is a particular gender.  Like the word for 'dress' is fustan, which is masculline! ;-)  When all else fails, assume it's masculline, we've been told!  But gender is important because Albanian doesn't have the pronoun "it", so you refer to every object by its appropriate gender pronoun, he or she, even if it is inanimate.

For example:  I wore a coat today.  Can you go get him for me?

Albanian also has cases.  If you have studied other languages, you might be familiar with this concept.  Albanian has SIX.  One of the more 'unusual' cases is called Admirative.  It's a change in the verb form to show surprise.  I won't go into cases because we haven't really done more than scratch the surface in class yet.

Nathan and I bought this as a Christmas gift to ourselves. 

Verbs
Oh don't get us started on verbs.
Did you know there are 164 variations of the Albanian word that means "to come"?

There is generally a stem word for each verb and the ending changes depending on if the subject, tense, and case.  Though it's not always the ending of the word that changes, but the entire word itself.  But because it's assumed that you know all the verbs and their various forms, the subject pronoun is frequently dropped altogether from the sentence with the expectation that the listener can infer the subject from the form of verb used.

I could write the sentence, "I am American" as Unë jam Amerikanë.  But Albanians would think that's an unnecessary waste of breath or ink and say/write the sentence as "Jam Amerikanë."

But to write the sentence, "He is American." I could write "Ai është Amerikan" or more concisely (remember, no wasting!), "Është Amerikan."  And I know that the sentence translates "he" and not "she" (though they both use the same verb for 'is', "është") because of the masculine ending of "Amerikan."  To say "She is American."  I would have written, "Është Amerikanë."  And lest you say, "Oh!  That's easy.  The feminine has an extra vowel at the end!"  Except... when it's spoken, that vowel is SILENT!  So you can't 'hear' the difference unless you understand and remember the subtle nuance of syllabic emphasis (which to my ears, are super subtle) to distinguish the two!

There are three general categories of verbs which follow their own set of patterns for word endings, but for the most part, the conjugations just have to be memorized!

Below are all the ways to say "come" in all the tenses and cases.

So how did Nathan's pizza order get interpreted?
When Nathan called Tito's he asked for two pizzas.  One with ham and onion, the other plain cheese.

When Nathan arrived at Tito's, the baker was apologetic that our order wasn't finished since he could only bake two pizzas at one time in his small oven.  Nathan was confused for a moment before it dawned on him that that the pizza guy mistakenly thought we wanted TWO ham and onion pizzas and one cheese.

He kept telling Nathan, I could have delivered so you didn't have to wait!

Giving directions to our apartment?  It's confusing enough in ENGLISH!  Giving directions in ALBANIAN???  That will be our next challenge.  And you'll know we mastered it when you see a photo here of Nathan with his arm around Tito on our apartment landing, but not tonight!  Sonte ne do të hamë!  Tonight we will eat!