Besa lives on top of the mountain behind my house on the outskirts of Pogradec.
It's probably not a mountain, but it's definitely not a hill. There should be a word for this kind of in-between dirt mound.
I had driven there before to drop off "the frueets for the jams." Her mom is worried that this young mom from America is not ready for the Albanian winter. She's probably right. So, she wanted to get me ready by stocking me up with some frueets for the winter. Jam.
We don't eat jam. Mostly because we don't eat bread here. The bread here is all white, fluffy goodness. It tastes good, but that's where the goodness of it ends. Sometimes I dream about Ezekiel raisin bread. I'm not joking.
But the dear woman insisted on making me jam. I couldn't say no. Fig jam. Peach jam. Plum jam. When I tasted it my mouth watered because of how sweet it was. Kind of like a Warhead. Those intensely sour candies from elementary school. I haven't thought about Warheads in probably 15 years. But when I tasted that jam, it was the first thing that came to mind. Not because it was sour but because of the intensity of the sweetness.
I think we almost rolled over a cliff when I drove there last time. There is literally a 2 foot deep crevice in the middle of the road. It is made of dirt and rocks but it is at about a 90 degree angle. It's steep and the rocks make it slippery.
Today I went to Besa's again for a visit. She is leaving for school in Tirana on Saturday and I told her I would come to her house before she left. I told her that this time we were definitely walking because the drive was terrifying.
I am a little embarrassed to say I was kind of dreading it.
The hike. You walk a different way than you drive. I wasn't sure what the walking road was like but I was expecting it to be pretty bad because of how high her house is. I couldn't take my stroller because of the road and Shiloh Belle is getting chubby! Also, pregnancy just makes me tired. Not sick but super tired. I'm no workout phenom either. I wasn't looking forward to carrying Shiloh up the bigger than a hill dirt mound.
The pickles. I'm afraid of pickles. Not like I just don't like them. When I see them my stomach turns. And that's even when I'm not pregnant. I am always offered food everywhere I go. And for some reason, they do something to their vegetables here that makes them all taste like pickles. It looks like a perfectly normal pepper and then all of sudden you are eating a pickle. Last time I went to Bruna's house I was offered a red pepper stuffed with cabbage. It looked normal enough. Pickle.
The time. We have been doing language lessons almost every morning this week. The power has been going off every 5, 10 or 20 minutes so I can't finish my laundry. The light fixture in our kitchen dropped to the floor and shattered all over the place the other day so we had to find a new one and get that fixed. I have also decided that when I said a dishwasher didn't save that much time I was crazy. Shiloh's getting teeth and is a cranky pig. I am going to Greece tomorrow to get her shots so I need to get ready for that. A long visit up the mountain felt like a bit much.
Only selfish reasons. Nothing legitimate. My week has been a little full but whatever. Such is life.
The hike wasn't half as bad as I thought it was going to be and the view was incredible. It's crazy how beautiful something can be from far away. That sounds bad. But what I mean is that you can't see the trash and the dirt and the bad roads and the crumbling buildings. It's amazing.
Besa's mom and grandma welcomed us in and ate Shiloh up.
Albanian homes are immaculate. They mop every day. Their is not a spec of dirt or dust in sight. It was full of gorgeous hand made decorations. Rugs, linens, napkins, pillows. There is truly something to be learned from the way Albanian women care for their homes. It is their job, and they take pride in it.
We sat down in the living room and Shiloh was the center of attention of course. Whenever you make a visit to an Albanian's home you are given a candy and a drink that tastes like sugar water. If you are a man, you are given Raki which is an alcohol they make that is about 95% alcohol. The men here drink it all day long. Small sips. Coffee, Raki, Coffee, Raki, and so on.
Besa's grandma is 94 years old. She got married when she was 15 and her husband died 45 years ago. I can't believe all of the history that she has lived through.
I asked her (through Besa translating) about communism. The difference between Albania then and now. She liked it better before, she said. It was cleaner. Safer. There were more jobs. There was structure. She loved Enver Hoxha (known as one of the worst dictators in history). She wishes he would come back. What do you say to that?
Besa then showed me her "paya." This is the clothing, linen ect. that will be given to her when she gets married. Her mom has been working on it for 2 years. Before that she was busy with Besa's two older sisters who are now married. It was beautiful work and looked so time consuming. Besa and her mom were very proud of it. Rightly so.
Besa's mom gave me some knit socks that are awesome. She also told me she wants to knit Shiloh some pants and a jacket.
I somehow got roped into eating lunch. My second lunch for the day. There were peppers. They looked normal enough. Besa's mom wanted to make sure I ate a lot because I am pregnant. I tried to explain 4 times that I had lunch before I came. It didn't matter. I'm pregnant so I should eat! I wasn't touching the peppers. They kept pointing and asking why. So I tasted one. I think I made an awful face. It was completely accidental. That was the worst one I had ever had. I said it just surprised me. Which was an understatement. I was shocked. I don't know how they get them to taste like straight up vinegar pickles. I simply could not have another bite. I smiled and chewed for a LONG time.
I later found out that Albania has a very strong culture of "returning favors" for lack of a better phrase. Or: showing honor and respect in a relationship is a constant ebb and flow of "treating each other." If I invite you to my house, you invite me to yours. If you take me out for coffee, I take you out for coffee. And it's not like a burdensome obligation. It is an honor. It is a sign of friendship. Besa had been in my home many many times. I couldn't figure out why she wanted me to go to hers so bad. But it was for the relationship. She wanted to honor me by having me in her home. In many ways it solidifies our relationship.
I am so thankful that I went to her house that day. In such a short time I learned so much about Albanians.
The way they treat guests.
The way they care for their home.
The way they build relationships.
The way they care for their families.
The way they value loyalty and conscientiousness.
I left with a pair of pants for Shiloh, apples, wool socks, a handkerchief and a ton of walnuts.
When I left, I invited Besa's mom to the women's bible study.
She came on Monday. She told the women that last year, Besa got on a bus and met an American (a guy on one of our teams) who invited her to English camp. Besa went to camp. She became a Christian. This year, her brother came to camp. He became a Christian. Now, Besa's mom said, I am learning too. The rest of the women started talking about the changes that had taken places in their sons after they attended camp and got involved in church. And I realized that almost every women there, was coming to bible study because they had seen their sons and daughters change. They had watch how Christ transformed their life. And they want to know why.
I truly cannot believe we get to be a part of this. I cannot believe that even though I complain about eating pickles and being tired and walking far, the Lord still lets me watch Him work in Albania.
We are so thankful that we get to watch this little church plant from the beginning. We cannot wait to look back in 5, 10 and 20 years and see what the Lord has done.
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