Close of Service

The Lake at the City park of Tirana, Albania

Close of Service or COS as they call it in PC Lingo, "PC" which for those of us in Peace Corps, PC is not short for politically correct, COS simply means the letters for the series of events, forms to fill out and ceremony that ends service in Peace Corps. 

My last weeks in Berat were extremely hectic. We got a new volunteer at site, and Antonio and I were determined to help Logan integrate as much as possible. While our site mates were kind when we arrived, I must say, they were not exactly fountains of information, and were gone most of the time during our first months of service due to family obligations or vacation. Being the determined foodies that Antonio and I are, we forged out the best locations for specific condiments and bulk food items, where to get the best bread, and what sorts of vegetable stands would offer the most reasonable price. We were eager to share this hard won information with the new volunteer to ease his transition into everyday life in Berat. We also wanted Logan to have things to do after we left. One of the greatest challenges for volunteers is entering a new community. The lack of activities and isolation are fertile breeding grounds for depression and mischief, and I at least found that giving volunteers something to do improved their moods immensely. 

I spent much time with the new volunteer my last weeks in Berat, as well as with the new Health Volunteer in the neighboring town of Ura Vajgurore, handing off my projects of herbalism and Slow Food. I also was scrambling to finish my garden project, as I had a grant that needed forms to be filled out and receipts to account for spending. With all the tumult in the project, loosing our COD volunteer and the rupture in the PC community surrounding Berat, as well as my director terminating our relationship, I had to move all sorts of mountains to spend the money, get things built, planted and so forth in the warming weather that Spring offered. I was also frantically designing curriculum for a garden class for primary schools, and bribing a high school student with English books to do the translations. In the midst of this was Easter, Slow Food Events and closing down a household. 

Luckily I was living as an addition to a family residence, which meant I did not have to fuss with utilities or wifi or absent landlords. Peace Corps has fine tuned the entire process, with endless forms to fill out, which make sense in theory but adds an extra stress to complete in the midst of all the activities necessary to end a living situation in general. 

Because of the split in my relationship with my school assignment, I was not given any sort of goodbye celebration when I left Berat. It hit me that I also left the states without any sort of formal party, with few goodbyes there as well, so in a way, I was leaving as I had come, ignored and uncelebrated with no goodbye. I created somewhat of an event for myself on Orthodox Easter, inviting my Albanian friends to enjoy, along with some of the volunteers in the surrounding villages. This Spring has been quite capricious. One day it is 80 + degrees Fahrenheit and sunny, the next blustery winds and hail. We have had much rain, so my planned Easter Luncheon was a hopeful gesture, but Christ on his resurrection day created a stunning sunny warm afternoon and the event was a true joy to share with all the people I had journeyed with in this most unusual chapter of my life.

The joyful time drain in the midst of all the chaos was the much anticipated Game of Thrones final season premiere. One of the many things Antonio and I share is a great passion for Game of Thrones. We watched episodes together on pirated internet stations when we arrived a couple of years ago, and were both in agony awaiting the return of the series, and how the heck will it actually end.  To our absolute SHOCK, Logan had never seen an episode, luckily Antonio had the first four seasons on his external hard drive, so he was able to help Logan at least start the process. For the season 8 premiere, I baked Sansa Lemon Cakes. We had an afternoon showing because we absolutely could not STAND to wait any longer, and avoided social media and news entirely so as to not have any spoilers. The Battle for Winterfell happened on Easter Monday here in Albania, so we had a breakfast showing, complete with quiche and other goodies. Xose and other volunteers came over and we all hugged each other during the 90 minute saga, I burying my face in Xose’s back during the particularly bloody scenes. Poor Logan came for the food, but chose to not watch everything as he was only halfway into season two.

After spending hours with Logan in his first couple of weeks at site, unfortunately he had to return to the States due to health reasons. While obviously concerned for his well being, his departure could not have happened at a worse time for both Antonio and me. Had I known, I would not have spent as much work time with him, just basically because I was so busy in general. We both had planned to give him our kitchen stuff, with the uncertainly of his return, it did not make sense to simply drop stuff off at his host family. Antonio’s friend Xose and the culinary highschool got the bulk of our items, but added extra tasks to our overwhelming departure schedules. 

Lili's Traditional Albanian Restaurant in the Mangalem of Berat

My sweet site mate and I had a last supper of sorts a few days before we left at a very famous restaurant in the historical Mangalem neighborhood. Lili’s only seats a maximum of about 10 people and is nestled right on the side of the granite hills of the Castle Mount (as I call it) We had been hearing about this place for over a year, but could never seem to get reservations. It was one of the last on the list of must do things before leaving, and we were not disappointed. The food was fantastic, the ambiance of a twilight spring night in a lush mountainside garden was so lovely. Getting there was not exactly handicapped accessible, and I was grateful it was not raining.

Antonio left the next day. I waited with him for his ride to the bus station, marvelling at his collection of about seven very large bags, suitcases and totes. How he was going to get this all to Tirana was beyond my fatigued imagination. I had to leave to meet with Aisha, the new volunteer in Ura Vajgurore who is taking over the herb project, to hand over books, a flash drive with all relevant materials and half used kitchen condiments. When Antonio and I parted, it really did feel like “the end” in terms of my tenure in Berat. As I returned that night, while I only had one more day and night in Berat, it felt so odd to have him gone, there was this sort of empty space that he left in the ambient air, an imprint of sorts where he used to be, and at that point I knew I did not want to stay in this place I have called home for longer than one more day. 

The Mangalem at Night, my last evening in Berat

The evening was spent with the final edits of the garden curriculum, assembling for the last pack before departure, and figuring out what to give to whom. I also had not done my final volunteer reporting form or the dreaded VRF for the last six months of my service, so I was finishing that up into the wee hours of the morning. Antonio and I had gotten together in March to coordinate our numbers and such, and I had everything to go in terms of essays, stats and descriptions, but in true Peace Corps form, the software changed for the VRF and neither one of us was able to open it on either of our computers or on the Youth Council laptop. Antonio forwarded an activity template that I filled in with the help of Googledocs, I created a zip file and sent it off to my sector director, heard nothing back, so I am assuming it met all requirements.

I had to fill in my lease termination form, clean out the house one last time and say goodbye to my landlady. She is a very sweet individual, the polar opposite of my first Berat host “mom.” Marius called me a taxi and I arrived at the bus station for the trip into Tirana. I got a taxi in Tirana who left me off at someplace in the University Village. I am endlessly lost in Tirana. Even the Tiranans have no idea where anything is, addresses mean nothing to taxi drivers. On the verge of tears, I called Antonio, my rock and Tirana GPS system, but he had no idea where I was either, so it was time for the big guns: Safety and Security Officer! Genti Mano sent a car to pick me up after I corralled a pedestrian to explain where I was standing. Again, an interesting end to a beginning where I was lugging excess baggage through Elbasan not knowing how the heck I would get to training hub, and Genti was passing though and picked me and my luggage up for the transport.

We got to headquarters for an All Volunteer Conference (AVC for those who want some more PC code language to add to their repertoire) where all three classes of volunteers assembled for a BBQ, to meet the director of Peace Corps, Jody Oleson (who was in town fresh from signing papers to open Peace Corps in Montenegro,) and for the COS service. 

Director Oleson is the one and only good thing the current president has done; he appointed a truly qualified person to lead this extraordinary American institution instead of a party planner or a porn star. She herself is a RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer) and has led a life in service through various governmental and nonprofit organizations. She was warm, and came over to me to tell me that I was a remarkable person. This is not what one is used to hearing from anyone before any discussion has occurred, but thanks to my country director and sector leader prepping her, she had read my bio as well as been briefed on my projects.

I actually wanted to burst out crying when she said that to me, after the agony of being soundly rejected by my school and all the backpedaling and reorientation involved to circumvent the setback, in addition to being a bit more rotund than when I arrived and feeling not the prettiest I have ever felt. These things combined with the years leading up to Peace Corps with the heart crushing abandonment from my siblings, friends and colleagues,  collapse of a career due to circumstances beyond my control, I guess at least on paper I am impressive, even if so many reflect back to me I have little or no value as a human being. I almost felt like Sally Fields did when she got her Norma Rae Oscar “You like me, you really like me!” 

It was also fun to just sit and enjoy the BBQ and not be involved in the cooking, serving or cleaning. It was fun to sit and soak in on the beauty of the Peace Corps Garden and see so many people who have both dedicated their lives as well as those who have dedicated a few years of current service to this most unique institution. It was as if I was in some sort of slow motion time warp, sitting with everyone after these two years, knowing we would soon all scatter to the four corners of the world, never to be gathered in one place at the same time ever again. 

During our COS conference last February, the panel of RPCV’s mentioned over and over again that one of the most difficult aspects of PPCL (Post Peace Corps Life) is that the general population, no matter how much they love you, can only sustain interest in your PC stories for so long, they simply can’t relate to anything you have to talk about. I was thinking of this as I was watching people banter, discuss and chit chat about life in Albania as well as our plans for the future while munching on chips and hotdogs. This was a once in a lifetime moment, not very dramatic, but historic, rich and warm nonetheless.

It then came time for us to do the “walk of pride.” Each program director invited the group of volunteers they led to the front of the event. As the volunteers passed through the lines on either side of the walkway, we were given high fives from the crowd as we progressed through the crowd. Each sector leader introduced a volunteer and shared what they appreciated about the person at hand. After the tribute, each volunteer rang a bell hanging near the entrance. We then gathered as a group to raise our hands and take the oath of service to become a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. Director Oleson led our “Swearing Out” which made the event extra special, even amongst Peace Corps volunteers. 

My leader Darina, gave a moving tribute to my work. Again, while I did not serve for recognition, it still felt good after so much pain, to be recognized for giving something of value to the people of Albania. Years ago whilst complaining to my priest about my predicament, I lamented that I was a failure as a human being. My priest responded, “No, you are a very successful person, you just do not make money.”  It was healing for me to be recognized for my gifts, and to not have the backhanded slap I usually receive when sharing an accomplishment or activity with someone : “well, how much are you getting paid for that?” I think the reason I have  benefited during my tenure in Albania is that for the most part, I have been valued and recognized for what I offer, which does not have monetary value. The gift of volunteering in Peace Corps is they support your basic needs for food and shelter, so that you can bring those intangible gifts to others, that in the long run are actually the most valuable. The Albanians, especially the children know that I love them, and it is valued, instead of dismissed as useless in my own culture.

After the ceremony, we all settled to our respective hotels for the evening. I could barely keep my eyes open until sunset and relished in my single room with a closed shower stall, not even stopping for supper. I woke the next morning to a glorious spring day in Tirana. We shared breakfast at the hotel and then went off to a Peace Corps Service Project at the main park in Tirana. We had worked there for my other two All Volunteer Conferences, the first year in blazing heat helping to plant trees and clear brush, the second year we painted some steps leading up to the lake area of the park. This year we painted the steps again, but also painted some gazebo’s throughout the park, and one group participated in a trash clean up. 

Servie Project!

What I enjoyed about this year’s service project was spending time with volunteers I had not had the pleasure of being with much through my service. We also paired up with Peace Corps staff and a group of school children from a school for Roma and a school for the visually impaired. The volunteers and staff carried supplies to the remote gazebo, which was like wandering through a lush green forest filled with spring flowers. I thanked my DNA gods that I was not allergic to the rag weed floating about in the air, mainly because it added an ethereal touch to the vista and I was spared the sneezing my counterparts were experiencing. We set up shop at a stone gazebo with some cement benches and started to paint away. About an hour into the project, the children arrived and eagerly took all of our brushes and made a glorious mess of the entire task. Sandwiches arrived, and we sat with the children admiring our completed project, albeit with lots of splatters on the stone floor of the gazebo the park janitors insisted they could clean up with lake water and dried reed brooms.

Slow Food Tirana Food Truck

One of the gifts of the re-arranged COS timing was that Peace Corps offered to house the volunteers in Tirana who had originally planned to leave on the weekend. This meant leaving the centrally located hotel and moving to the unofficial Peace Corps dorm of Adriano’s which is across from the office. I had to go back to the hotel to get my bags and wander through the maze of Tirana to try to find the Peace Corps office and Adriano’s. As I leisurely took my time crossing newly refurbished Skanderbeg Square, I came upon a Slow Food Tirana Food Truck. The goal of the truck was to raise funds for Slow Food Tirana, but also to educate the city folk on the quality of rural Albanian food as a counter to the fast food that is feeding most of the city to the detriment of their blood sugar levels. I was offered a pasta dish with vegetables in a compostable cup with wooden spoon. I also ordered a freshly squeezed fruit juice, and bought some homemade Albanian Apple Butter to give my grant advisor who patiently helped me finish my grant application in the final weeks of my service. I made my way to Adrianos, climbed the four flights of stairs to my room where my fellow “old gal” volunteer Karen was already in bed. We raided leftovers from the BBQ at the Peace Corps volunteer lounge, eating pickled vegetables and potato salad, marveling at the cost of our “last supper” and how good day old corn chips actually taste.

The next day, my last technical day of being a PCV was in true fashion, a typical day in the life of a Peace Corps Volunteer. What this means to those who know, is that nothing happens as planned and involves reams of paperwork and signature gathering. I had been told I had my exit interview with one of the program staff directors at 9 am which would be followed by a final meeting with the grant director at 10. I planned to withdraw some wired cash at an exchange office and leisurely make my way back to Berat to drop off a lap top I had forgotten to give to Marius when he came with the taxi on Tuesday. 

I showed up to attend my exit interview and am told that all volunteers must attend a meeting in the conference room where we each receive a folder with a stack of forms to fill out, schedule six consecutive appointments with various staff members and attend a final medical clearance appointment. And by the way, you need to fill out an online survey about safety and security, turn in your equipment and go to the cashier three separate times to collect travel reimbursements, repay over paid stipends, and something else I never quite understood what we were supposed to do. To say this sent me over the edge is an understatement. There was something about this one last “surprise” schedule alteration and marathon form filling that simply overwhelmed me to the point of lowering my IQ by at least 30 points. It also completely upended my plans, and the thought of not getting to Roshnik and spending one more night at Adriano’s that has little or no water to wash ones self, as well as share a room with mate (whom I enjoy but just not into sharing a room with considering my morning insomnia and bathroom schedule,) I was completely undone. Every stupid question set me into dramatic eye rolls and deep sighs, just not today folks, go with the flow so we can get this over and please quibble over verb declension later, not on my time. 

 It was also very emotional to keep on saying goodbye to people. I had written Antonio a note, that I kept forgetting to give to him. He had one for me that included some really sweet pictures of us, our summer camp children and me with a proud certificate holding little boy. As I read his note, I started to cry, and then to laugh because it really was verbatim the letter I wrote to him. He read mine and agreed, we wrote the same letter to one another. I gave a big hug to my Albanian “son” since everywhere people commented to me that I had such a good son, and he was always being prompted to help his mother (as I just move slow) Geeze I will miss him!

By some miracle we all finished by 2:45 for our last gathering, where we were given one more form for travel reimbursement. I decided to forgo this exercise and the money it offered to get the heck out of Tirana. By some miracle a Taxi was near the hotel (this area is one maze with no main road offering little traffic and exposure for customers) I lugged my bags, and presented to the driver a map with an address of the place I needed to go first to get money, and then explained to him that the second place I needed to go was the Shiponja bus station. He got on the phone and I could understand him telling the dispatcher our journey, and of course proceeded to  ignored completely the address and map and was cheerfully telling me we were going to the bus station. I said no, FIRST we go here, and I pointed that we had to go around the ring to the opposite side, and pointed to where we needed to go, mind you it is 3 pm and the bus leaves at 4, and Tirana traffic rivals LA rush hour traffic, but on this particular day there was protests which further flooded the streets with drivers seeking alternative routes. I could feel my blood pressure rising and the stomach lining eroding by the second.

I got into the exchange office and the staff person seemed not to understand the receipt for the transfer. Eventually she did, and it took forever for her to type in all the information, my birth city and ID number and she needed a local telephone number and where am I staying and and and and and and and. Of course the printer was not working, which meant repeated giggling and turning off and on of all the office equipment, the cash counter was not working which meant I had to count out a very large amount of money by hand, which I felt very uncomfortable doing it where anyone could see, but finally we signed the papers and I was off to the bus station with the taxi driver who was waiting for me on the street. He helped me with my bags, as I asked him to please not drop me off in the middle of the road as most taxis do in this area, I hopped on the last bus to Berat and almost peed myself I was so relieved I actually made it out before the last bus left. 

I arrived in Berat two hours later, exhausted and got the lone taxi to take me to Roshnik. I had the address all printed out, but apparently this is not something that matters in Albania. Luckily I had the number of the guesthouse where I had made reservations, and the driver called and was able to take me to the destination. It was a beautiful warm and cloudy twilight in the endless green foothills of Mt Tomor. The drive to Roshnik melted away all my stress and frustrations, and I could feel my respiration rate decrease dramatically as we drove through the green olive groves and vineyards. 

The place I stayed is a guesthouse in a winery and distillery, which makes wine and raki from a regional grape, (which by the way I am working with the local Slow Food Berat Community to list on the Ark of Taste.) The house was silent except for the constant sounds of birds and various insects, and the views from the porch rivals anything I have ever seen in Napa or Italy. 

A Peace Corps volunteer is staying with the family that owns the property, so he and I had a great conversation when I arrived. He is a repeat volunteer who served in Peace Corps in the early 1970’s in Jap, Indonesia. What a different experience it was for him between then and now, I so enjoyed listening to his stories. There were no phones, no internet, and he was basically dropped off on the Island and received mail every six months when the ships came in (which was only every six months.) He had a calendar and when two years past, he had to wait for the boat to come and get him, take him to a larger Island and call Peace Corps collect, who would book him a ticket back to the States. 

I slept soundly that night. The next day we shared breakfast and we marvelled at how different Peace Corps is from his first assignment, and how some of the younger volunteers really do not know how easy they have it compared to the early days. I was so exhausted I stayed in bed most of the day, rising to eat lunch, but just sleeping and reading. I planned to go to Korca and then Ohrid for more rest and then off on new adventures before I return home.

The RPCV’s tell us that we need to relax before we re-enter the mundane world of everyday life. The current country director from Kosovo remarked that she had a hard time relating to the dramas of her home communities, such as who was broken up or divorcing from whom and so forth. I wonder what I will be doing, I have many options, but face the reality of being an older female in a work environment that disqualifies me precisly because of my age and experience, even though I have so much to offer. When I reflect on these past two years, my activities were varied, but not exactly resume material.

From helping people with job applications, re-writing tour company descriptions in English to providing materials for an Easter Egg Hunt or helping people understand the complex process of applying for college or US travel VISA’s, my service had many aspects to it way beyond the outlined job description and do not have a paygrade associated with the occupation. But I think listening to people’s stories, telling a young girl that she is important, a mentally challenged bullied boy that he has a beautiful face, arguin wiht  a teen Roma girl’s that her voice and what she thinks is important, these are intagible things that no one really gets paid for, but are invaluable. Being a counter representative in an age of televised American irresponsibility has also been an intangible gift to Americans as well as the global population.

 Will any of these things I have done actually help me in the long run with paying rent? I am not sure, but at least when I lie in my deathbed, in my heart I will know I gave from what I had. My only real regret is that I did not do this when I was younger. But for me, it was the perfect time as I had been stripped of everything that ties one down to a place. I am so grateful that I was accepted, that my angel whispered in my ear that cold February morning in Reno when my prayer was simply “HELP” To be recognized, to be able to give when everyone and every avenue rejected my gifts has been the experience of a lifetime. I hope to continue in other venues. Time as always, will tell.