#alaynac

[lccpcalbania]

Sherbet = Sugar water / Syrup

Baklava / Bakllava (Albanian spelling) = “Is a rich, sweet pastry made of layers of filo filled with chopped nuts, sweetened and held together with syrup or honey.”

I had just settled down for a coffee with Bardha, a trusted friend, confidant, mother, hard worker, and one of my very favorite people, when I caught on to a tune she was humming. Though she had worked all day, and still had many more hours of work at home, she was sweetly and lowly singing “O janë sherbet per bakllava, janë sherbet per bakllava.” (They are sherbet for baklava, they are sherbet for baklava). I loved the way in which she had sung this tune, but wasn’t sure who exactly was supposed to be the sherbet.

Bardha told me that the song was called “Kush ka vajza botën ka” (Who has a girl has the world) and that it was by Irma Libohova.  Bardha then explained to me that the song is a celebration of daughters (the daughters are the sherbet!). As she smiled, she launched back into time when she gave birth to her first child, a girl, and how terribly worried she was. Though the baby was healthy and beautiful, it was a girl and traditionally (and in certain circles) sons are preferred over daughters. In certain communities it is still in fashion to say to a pregnant woman, Të uroj një djalë” “I wish for you a boy”.

After giving birth Bardha realized that she had nothing to worry about. As the song proclaims, and as her husband assured her,

“Per ata nuk kish rendësi

fëmijët janë gëzimi i shtëpisë 

kur janë frut i dashurisë.” 

For them it wasn’t important, children are the joy of a household when they’re the fruit of love.

[lccpcalbania]

Shoqe me pantallona

Today I walked into the store near my flat to buy some chocolate. The owner, Jonida, petite with wavy brown hair and a kind round face, fixed her dark and clever eyes on me. She greeted me heartily “How are you? Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

I ensured Jonida that I hadn’t gone anywhere this week, but that last weekend I did visit a shoqe in a nearby town. The word for friend in Albanian changes depending on the gender, shok for a male and shoqe for a female. She inspected me with a smile rolling across her face and asked “Was it a shoqe you visited…or a shoqe me pantallona?” (Female friend with pants) I wasn’t sure exactly what that was supposed to mean but I thought I understood a hint of connotation, so I asked Jonida to explain. She laughed and said “In the old days women wore skirts or dresses, not pants, and so the expression is really to ask if you were visiting a man.”

As an outsider to the culture of my small Albanian town I was originally surprised at the strange, calculative, and sometimes uncomfortable gaze I would receive from community members when I, an unmarried women, would casually say “I’m going to visit this shok or that shok in (insert other Albanian town names here).” After uncomfortably giving way too many awkward explanations such as, “It’s not like THAT, he’s just another volunteer, it’s not my fault he’s a man, that’s what he is, a shok” I stopped insisting that male friends existed in my life altogether.  Instead, everyone I ever met or saw became a “shoqe.” As you can see, my life is built on a pile of lies. Unfortunately it’s just easier that way.

The existence of this expression “shoqe me pantallona” confirms for me that women have felt they must lie or at least smudge the truth about the company they keep in order to avoid a community of raised eyebrows. In other words, I’m not the first girl to completely erase “shok” from her vocabulary in order to scoot by with a few less questions.

Cultural pressure exerted on women and men to satisfy community and familial expectations can be intense and sometimes unreasonable. But things are changing. Years from now I hope we’ll be able to ask each other questions and not feel like we have to lie or speak to one another in code. I hope the gender dynamic begins to open up as it did with pants…because I wear pants, and there is nothing strange or shameful about that, nor does anyone think so. 

[lccpcalbania]

6 Ways to have fun learning Albanian

For the arrival of Group 18 in Albania (Mire se vini Grupi 18!!), the LCC worked to collect suggestions for ways to have fun learning Albanian. Here they are below:

Alayna and Erich: Tongue twisters!! They test your pronunciation and are devilishly difficult. Kupa me kapak, kupa pa kapak. Shaboni shkoi ne Shkoder, shiti Shamine shume shtrenjt, shtatmije e shtateqinde e shtatedhjete e shtate.

Jackie: Miming! If you’re communicating and don’t know a word, miming can be a fun way to try and get your point across and learn a new word.

Jon B: When I take a bus/furgon trip, I sometimes play a little game. I try to translate everything I see - on street signs, buildings, ads, etc. I write down the words that I don't know in a journal and translate them later. It's fun to see if I can get through a trip, knowing all the Shqip/Albanian I see along the way.

Mary: Make a fool of yourself! I make a fool of myself all the time, mixing up words and then laughing at myself with Albanians. It’s a great way to create bonds and when you learn the correct word or phrase, it’s much harder to forget it.

Mark: I like playing games, whether sidewalk games with kids or chess or old men or Murlan with anybody, any age. You quickly have to learn the vocabulary to keep up, especially with kids.

Miranda: Writing poems! It stretches your vocab, even if you’re just doing a little haiku, and there’s a beautiful finished product when you’re done.

Use one or use all, these are tried and true ways of learning some valuable words while also having fun.

[lccpcalbania]

Eyes, Ears, Bullets, and Pepper!

Below are a few expressions that I either hear frequently or enjoy very much. Give these expressions a try in your community and I promise everyone will be impressed with you.

Si e ke syrin? – How do your eyes have it? How does this look to you?

This expression has a few different uses.

When you want to ask someone what they think about something (an idea, opinion, proposition, or statement). For example, “Hey, do you want to have a coffee with me? He, si e ke syrin?

When you want to refocus someone’s attention or move a conversation along. For example, “You still haven’t told me if you want to have a coffee, si e ke syrin?”

When you want to challenge someone to, or in an activity. For example, “Hey, I bet I can drink this Kos faster than you, want to race? He, si e ke syrin?” (Will you accept the challenge or not?)

E merr vesh? – Did your ear take it?  Did you understand?

Vesh = ear

This expression can be used to gauge the understanding of another person. To which the response (if you understood) is “po, e mora vesh.”

Fjala vret më shumë së plumbi –Words hurt more than bullets.

I think this one pretty self-explanatory, let’s be kind to each other in words and in deeds.

Punë më spec – Work with pepper

This is used to express something that might (for various reasons) be difficult to say, perhaps because it is an ugly truth, embarrassing, uncomfortable, or dangerous to explain. Below are two punë më specs situations.

Example A: Your friend asks you, “Hey Bob, do you like my new haircut?” You think it looks terrible, but don’t want to hurt his feelings, your friend is very sensitive about his hair… punë më spec.

Example B: You find out that a friend of a friend’s boyfriend is cheating on her, should you mention this to her? …punë më spec.

[lccpcalbania]

Ismail Kadare’s The Palace of Dreams, published in 1981 and banned the same year in Albania (I assume, as the back cover hints, for its realistic and insightful portrayal of  tyranny), captures the struggle of nations united and suppressed by an empire that reigns in wakefulness and in dream. The Palace of Dreams casts insight into the functioning of an empire that controls not through reason, but through ambiguity, ignorance, and fear.

From the vast and dark offices of the Tabir Sarrail, or the Palace of Dreams, Mark-Alem, a young member of the Quprili family (a fictional noble Albanian family) is dropped into a highly structured and secretive work at the Tabir, where employees retrieve, sort, interpret, archive, and search for Master Dreams that are used by the empire’s officials to direct state policy.  

In fear of making a mistake and without clear objectives, Mark-Alem struggles to interpret the dreams he is presented with. The work dims Mark-Alems spirit as he begins to understand through conversations with his Uncle the consuming and total power of the Tabir. 

“It’s no secret to anyone”, he said finally, “that a few years ago the Tabir Sarrail was under the influence of the banks and the owners of the copper mines, whereas more recently it has grown closer to the Shikh-ul-Islam faction. What of it perhaps you’re wondering. Well, it’s of the greatest importance! It’s not for nothing that one hears it said everywhere nowadays that whoever controls the Palace of Dreams possesses the keys of the State.” (pg 113)

The empire has set up a system of governing so that the interpretation of dreams allows them to suggest the most beneficial outcome for their current political agenda, or as Mark-Alems’ Uncle suggests:

“Some people,” the Vizier went on, “think it’s the world of anxieties and dreams – your world, in short –that governs this one. I myself think it’s from this world that everything is governed. I think it’s this world that chooses the dreams and anxieties and imaginings that ought to be brought to the surface, as a bucket draws water from a well. Do you see what I mean? It’s this world that selects what it wants from the abyss.” (116)

The key to this structure is the illusion of knowledge at the top and of ignorance at the bottom, so that those at the top of the well get to decide what is drawn out of the dreams, anxieties, and imaginings, and their interpretation becomes reality. A reality unfounded in logic is difficult to challenge and reinforces the power of those that feel they don’t have to explain. Or as another Tabir employee exclaims:

“So that’s how things are. Very confused, and very different from what they appear. As if they were taking place down a bottomless pit….and as I said, all we have to guide us is a handful of dreams, a few scraps of cloud…” (175)

[lccpcalbania]

Small Change!

I walk into the post office to pick up a letter and notice that one of the women behind the counter is afflicted with the sniffles.  This woman is always very kind to me and I want to let her know that I hope she gets better soon. I know there is an Albanian expression for this, but what is it? Ah yes, now I remember, as our conversation is ending I look at her with caring conviction and say “të shkoqura”.

She stares at me blankly. She looks confused, but why is she confused? This is not the reaction I thought I was going to get. Either she didn’t hear me, or I said something wrong. Uh-oh, what did I say? I take two steps towards the door and hope that she will quickly forget about the weird American girl who doesn’t understand Albanian, when I suddenly realize (face palm), it’s not “të shkoqura”, it’s “të shkuara!”

I turn around with intensity and say, “të shkuara!” The entire office (which thankfully only consists of three) immediately bursts into laughter. They were listening closely and it is now very apparent the mix-up that I made. When I first looked at her with sincerity and said “të shkoqura” what I said was “small coins” when what I meant to say was, “të shkuara”, “I hope it passes”.

Të shkoqura – Small coins or change (You can use this phrase if you’re out for coffee and you have the right amount of small change for the bill “Une do paguaj, kam të shkoqura” or if you attempt to pay with a large bill you might hear, “A keni të shkoqura?”)

Të shkuara – I hope it passes (this expression might look familiar contextually if you think about vitin e shkuar, meaning last year, or the year that has passed).

Lesson learned and laughter gained.