Meeting Real People

Our home-stays had a brilliant way of allowing our American lives to collide with the lives of the Romanian people. Oh, I would give anything to capture the stories, the moments, the laughter, the tears, the smiles, and wrap them neatly together for eternity. One of the greatest treasures that Romania has given me is its people; the beautiful broken, wonderfully complex, sarcastically optimistic people of Romania. Romanians are kind of like clams, they are hard to pry open, but once you do, their lies a priceless treasure. We’ve had the privilege of entering into real life with these people, hearing the stories and witnessing their hearts. This writing, although flawed and imperfect, is my tribute to these people. This is my account of living real life, with real people and in return witnessing the greatest joy that I have ever felt.

I began the home-stay journey more nervous than I had ever been. This was it, and this Romanian adventure was beginning fast paced. We entered a room full of Romanians staring and made our way up to the front of the room and took our places in a row of chairs. We were all whispering to each other and trying to guess who our families we going to be. Gripping each other’s hands we would whisper to each other, “they look nice…,” as our names were read off and paired with the families. My name was called last, and a rather large man with a baseball cap and a vest stands up; the only guy in the room. He was funny and friendly and introduced himself as “Ghita” and grabbed my hand and led me to his truck, which I fondly call, “machina mishto,” otherwise translated as: cool car. We made the drive passed an old, mustard colored factory to a street with several farms. He made sure to point out that he was a farmer and had several animals and that I would be living on a real Romanian farm. As soon as we arrived, I was greeted by my host brother, Ady, who was pretty much dressed like an American- gangster. He so kindly carried both of my large black suitcases filled with clothes up the stairs to the main bedroom where I would be sleeping with my younger fourteen year old sister, Ana. At first she didn’t look so excited to see me, and had to be forced to meet me. My insides were turning, I felt nervous and all I wanted was to see the other American girls. At first, I wasn’t so accustomed to the “Romanian way” of doing thing, watching music videos with half naked girls and an annoying techno beat at the dinner table, loud and chaotic craziness with nearly every conversation, and a humor that was both foreign and intriguing at the same time.

Weeks went by of learning how to do “life” the Romanian way: taking 10 minutes showers with pauses in between, milking cows and feeding chickens, eating soup and chicken for every meal, and learning to be a part of the family. We spent many long and frustrating hours of not understanding each other, me staring at the scribbled notebook page at the dinner table telling my host dad that this was the hardest language and I was never going to learn it and his frustration with my not being able to pick up the language faster. But within these times of frustration, pain, and frequent miscommunication there were moments of laughter, heartfelt tears, holding hands, and a love that didn’t need words to express. Moments where my host mom would just hold me as I cried because I wasn’t feeling well and sleeping next to me and holding my hand as I fell asleep. When I didn’t feel good or my pajamas didn’t meet the Romanian standard of warm she would offer me her fuzzy pink pajamas with a bear holding balloons to wear to bed. There were moments of deep, belly aching laughter while playing cards with the little neighbor girl from excitement and my inability to say some Romanian words. Our lives slowly began to mesh together…my sister and I washing our faces together before we went to bed, praying the guardian angel prayer in Romanian, and laughing about all the random things that we had done that day. Ady, my brother, playing loud music and his favorite racing game on the computer while I was trying to do homework, Ana and I washing dishes together, my mom trying to teach me how to cut my meat correctly, and my dad and I’s jokes. It was a beautiful, wonderful collision, an unforgettable journey. A journey of entering in- to living life with these people, hearing their stories, sharing moments of joy and pain, and getting to play a small part in the story of their life. They will forever hold a significance place in my heart. Thank you for the love that you have shown me, thank you for sharing your life and hearts with me, and for letting me share my life and heart with you.

~Samantha

(This is a picture of our home)