The last week was spent in a remote town on the border of Ukraine, called Naslavcea (pronounced “Na-slaf-jah”). We pitched our tents in the yard of a dilapidated house beginning the journey of becoming a retreat center. We had an outlet for an electric kettle and to plug in a computer for a nightly showing of Downton Abbey, but not much else. Cooking over the fire under the brightest stars and bathing in a chilly river are not what I’ll remember about this place, although those things are pretty unforgettable. No, what will be remembered most is the journey into friendship with the neighbor, an elderly woman called Neusa who speaks as much English as I speak Russian (hint: none).
The grounds
Entertainment Central
The first night we arrived, we cut up potatoes and peppers to cook for dinner. After going to the store to pick up some salt, pepper, and what can only be described as a “meat log”, we came back to figure out how to light a fire without logs in the forest. Around 3 hours later, dinner was just about ready. As the woman walked by us to go to her house next door, we (seizing the opportunity to score some missionary points and be nice to an old lady), shoved some food in a bowl and gave it to her, communicating as best we could in every language we knew a word in that we were of the friendly sort.
15 minutes later, we get ready to dish ourselves the food only to realize that we did not, in fact, put salt on the potatoes. Instead, we sprinkled on generous helpings of citric acid. The next day, the woman came back with our bowl and a jar of some delicious soup, perhaps giving us an example of what real food tastes like. We did our best at conversation again, but it was brief. She invited us to sleep at her place, but we (I think) politely declined and showed her our tents and hammocks. We later discovered (after our hosts came and picked us up a few days later and translated a bit) that she had thought that we were orphans at first and that we did not have the ability to speak coherently and she was apparently taking pity on us.
The second night, a couple of us brought her food again (sans citric acid) and she invited us into her home. After praying we weren’t stepping into a scene from a scary movie (what with the dark woods, dark home, and no one to hear you scream- the thought crossed my mind), we stepped into a cramped, but homey little place. She turned on the fuzzy and dirty television to watch and we again attempted to communicate. We were able to let her know that we were Americans and we were friends with our host family. We laughed as we all attempted conversation and she mimed that her back hurt (I think). Her son, who was probably about 50, eventually entered the scene and into the mish-mash of who-knows-what conversation. Before being scolded for smoking in the house, he assisted his mother with some injections that I am assuming were for diabetes. A few advertisements for Russian products later, we decided it was time to go. I asked Neusa if she wanted us to pray for her, then did my best charade to communicate that. She was confused, so we just put our hands on her shoulders and started praying. When we opened our eyes, she had tears in hers, put our hands on her heart and said “Spaceba ba (not the actual spelling)” which means “Thank you very much”.
The next day, she brought us grapes in the bowl we had brought her dinner in the previous night. It was an exchange of kindness without words. Pretty soon, we got to work clearing the land and the trees by the fence for our host family. Somehow the team ended up across the fence in Neusa’s corn field, helping to cut down the stalks for her turkeys.
We were the Children of the Corn Field
She continued to bring us food, of which she herself had very little, and friendship grew. On our last night, we decided to descend on her front yard and have dinner with her. She was very confused, but then began to laugh when she realized what was going on. Here were six crazy Americans with a giant bowl of food parked in a circle in her front yard. We laughed as we explained that we were drinking water and not vodka, as we tried to relay our ages using only fingers, and as we tried with all our might to understand any of the three-minute long sentences she would say. It was a party. After the meal, we prayed for her again and she gave us hugs and sloppy, toothless kisses.
Selfies with Neusa
We left the next afternoon as our host family picked us up. As we gave goodbye hugs, Neusa began to cry…which lead many of the team to cry and/or get lumps in their throats as they tried to put on a strong face (guilty). I was struck with how quickly we had become friends. We were unable to speak with words that week, but we all spoke with our hearts and our hands and that was enough. Kindness is a universal language that transcends age and transcends culture. When you “speak friend” to someone, you enter their heart. I must remember to speak this more often, wherever my feet may find me.
For those who didn’t get the reference…
I can’t believe we are in our final week in Moldova! This country has captured my heart and I am excited for the seven days ahead. Although homesickness strikes regularly, I know that this journey is a worthwhile one and that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. As of today (or around today), this journey is already 1/4 over! Time has dragged by so quickly and I know that I’ll be home before I know it, so I am purposing to savor every moment and, when things get tough, to remember Neusa and the many Neusa’s to come.
Thank you so much for your prayers and support! Miss you all!
Love,
