Monday, November 29, 2010

Rituals, Faith and Funerals


Faith and belief play a strong role in shaping the rituals surrounding birth, marriage, and death. In my small city observing and participating in the rituals of a funeral presented itself on one clear Monday morning in October.

On my way to work six weeks ago, I waved nonchalantly to two of my colleagues standing by the side of the road near the entrance to the side door to my office, deep in conversation probably related to the newly torn up earth where a new roadbed was being laid.  Across the window of my ground level office, in a different direction I could see a crowd gathering. In the early hours of the morning a citizen, struggling to recover from a debilitating stroke had died. This was not a good start to the day.

A little after noon, I went over to one of the offices to see if I there was anything I could do as my colleagues were standing looking very distraught. One of my two colleagues I had waved to earlier in the morning was dead – of a heart attack! Not knowing the proper Macedonian words to express my shock and grief and uncertain of the sequence of events, I suspended the English lesson that I teach to my colleagues. Soon knowing that no other work could be done, they started to leave for home, after a collection was made for a donation to the family of the deceased.

Next morning my friend took me under her wing and took me to the deceased’s home early in the afternoon. I entered the living room to find my colleague’s body lying in a coffin, surrounded by flowers and gift boxes of candy and chocolates. Beside him was a temporary aluminum tray filled with tiny earth-colored pebbles and a stack of church candles. I placed a small donation and lit a candle in his memory. I was asked to sit down along with the other mourners and offered a small glass of Rakia (a local alcoholic drink), followed by one piece of candy.  I partook both as instructed by my friend prior to entry.

As additional mourners entered the room, I went and waited outside. Shortly afterwards a procession formed outside the apartment building, led by young children holding flowers in their hands, followed by high school children. The priest went ahead of the hearse, his wife and children. His extended family, friends, colleagues and townspeople followed behind, some in cars, though most of us walked about one km to Sveti Bogodorica, the Eastern Orthodox Christian church.  Only the family and coffin were taken inside the small church, while we waited outside for the completion of this phase of the service. After about 20 minutes, the procession started towards the cemetery. This path went past the new home that was being built by the deceased and it was a heart-rending poignant moment for all to hear the anguished sounds of the family when they passed the home that would never be occupied by the husband and father to two teenagers, whose life had come to a sudden end.

At the cemetery the open coffin was placed on two sturdy 2x4’s spanning the open ground and prayers were said.  The wife and children then placed a newspaper and other favorite articles of clothing before covering the face with the shroud and closing the coffin. The 2x4’s were removed and coffin lowered into place on two sturdy ropes that were removed once it settled on the ground. The priest put the first symbolic piece of dirt in the wife’s hand and she threw it on the coffin, followed by the children and close family, then friends, colleagues, neighbors, townspeople, etc. 

The lunch was preceded by a sip of Rakia, which was consumed by first pouring a little bit to the ground (symbolic inclusion of the deceased), followed by a spoonful of boiled whole wheat grain and finally a small piece of blessed bread, a bit of both were saved by the side of the plate. After the meal, as we left the cemetery, we dropped the piece of bread behind us, without turning around to keep the spirits following into our homes.

Last Friday, six weeks after the death of my colleague, another collection was made and I learned that another service was to be held. Once again we gathered at the deceased home and walked behind a procession led by the priest and the family, but this time directly to the cemetery. Candles were passed to the mourners at the gravesite, which were lit during the prayers and snuffed out upon completion and returned to the church. This was followed by a meal and we partook of the same rakia, whole wheat and blessed bread before the meal. At both meals we were given plastic bags and as the sweets and savories were served, each of us took a piece and placed it in the bag to take it back home with us.

I apologize for any errors of understanding, but from now on every year on January 7 (Christmas day of the Eastern Orthodox Church, the date on the Gregorian calendar which corresponds to December 25 on the Julian calendar) all the townspeople who have lost a family member will once again prepare food and go to the cemetery, laying the plates on the gravestones. Mourners will come and light one candle and take a snack (usually in a bag) –symbolic of sharing a meal with the family member who is living in another world, unseen but there with the family on this day.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Sveti Pre-Obrazene, Zrze




 On the road to village Zrze, the monastery is seen folded into the side of the mountain. The picture below is from a brochure simply because it occurred to me that it would be so much fun to climb up the hill behind the monastery looking down and someone had already had the same thought!






My best days are usually linked to a spontaneous decision. Walking back from work on Friday, wondering what was the best thing to do on a forecasted warm sunny Saturday, I impulsively invited two of my fellow volunteers to join me for a visit to a monastery built near the village of Zrze about 30 km from my home. This site was chosen by monks as early as the 4th century, high above the Pelagonia plains on the western ring of mountains, which form the eastern mountains of my municipality.
 
Only Candy Wiggum was free, so around 10:30 am right after the sun had burned the low fog that settles into the M. Brod valley in fall and spring, we walked over and invited my Macedonian friend Cena to join us. She was not available, so we took a taxi, knowing full well that the track to the monastery from the village of Zrze at the bottom of the hill is designed more for a 4x4 and not a car. Well we were in no hurry, so we negotiated that the taxi will wait 3 hours for us to allow enough time for us to climb up and back and spend quality time at the monastery.
 
Ahh, it was a magical sight when we first spotted the monastery in the distance and not only were we eager to scale the cliff, so was our taxi driver – whose Aunt, as it turns out was a resident of the village and our driver – Smiler had last visited the monastery 30 years ago!  Expecting him to stop the car and inform us that he could go no further, we held our breath as he slowly went up the steep, twisted road with deep gulley’s from water run off.  Higher and higher he went and at one point we asked him to stop to allow us to take some pictures, when it finally dawned on us that he wanted to go there too and his Peugeot would make it!  The pictures speak for themselves, so I will give a brief historical recap.
 
Though the early 4th century monks lived in the caves, by the 5th century a church and a citadel were built housing a vibrant community - the ruins of basilica are currently under excavation and restoration and lie a little to the north of the current church.  The site of the current basilica was built in the 9th century, with additions in the 14th when it was turned into a male coenobitic* monastery and the church dedicated to the Holy Transfiguration of Christ.  Many 14th century murals were restored in the 17th century and for a period of time during communism, it became the home of two nuns, Matushka Irina (1891-1962), a noblewoman and escapee from the Bolshevik revolution and her companion, who died in 1975. In 1998 it was re-established as a monastic community with male monks.

* In the dictionary of the Coptic Orthodox Church, coenobitic monasticism is defined as a type of monasticism established by Abba Bakhomious, Father of the Community, in the third century, where monks or nuns live a communal life in a monastery or convent.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

More on Makedonski Brod

This link to Chris Deliso's article is a fabulous piece on Makedonski Brod.

The reason why my community has this name is because there is another Brod in the Balkans and this is a handy way to distinguish the two.  In all Macedonian publications it is referenced as M.Brod, Mak. Brod or Makedonski Brod.  The locals including myself just say Brod when we travel between villages and to and from the bigger cities of Macedonia

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Why I Fell in Love with Makedonski Brod


Walking early this morning with overcast skies, threatening to rain, but just holding off, I felt a sense of balance with my surroundings.  Why is it that I fell in love with this isolated small city nestled along the river gorge? I love the solitude that comes from the forested mountains, enveloping the harsh sounds of people at work, absorbing the foul odors of motor vehicles and the occasional shrill voices of birds that fly across my path.

My mind flew back almost 50 years to that summer traveling through Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary in Kerala. I must have been 6 or 7 years old, but that lake, the government guesthouse with the wide verandah and large square flagstone remains imbedded in my memory. Each time I recall those memories I cannot remember family or friends, only the sound of the wind whistling in the trees, the sight of a lone fox startled by the sweep of the car headlamps, the elephants washing themselves by the side of the lake. I recall leaning out of the side of the boat looking to spot the magical fish that fly through the air!

Thoughts are magical as they allow me to cross the time barrier indiscriminately and suddenly I am on a bike riding the steep, oh so steep hills surrounding my home at the military base outside the city of Poona, now called Pune as a wave of nationalist fervor consumes the Indians hell bent on reclaiming the names of their ancient cities, polluted by anglicized names. I remember a winding road going up and up and stopping at the bridge to look down on the river (?), road (?)  or was it just a cow path at the base of the hills and feeling that I am in a place of earthly paradise! This time I remember my friend Sutapa and I spent countless hours exploring the countryside in tune with the butterflies and birds in the hot sun and not a worry in the world.

Digging a hole in the ground and lighting charcoal briquettes till they were white hot and covering them with a layer of dirt.  Placing marinated chicken pieces wrapped in foil and burying it with more dirt! What joy to camp by the side of the river in some farmer's meadow outside Corvallis, Oregon in the coastal range of mountain. Digging up the meal after a trek to find the chicken cooked, moist, dripping with spiced juices! Learned how to wrap a white flour dough around a stick and slowly bake (?) roast (?) it till it became our bread to mop up the juices from the succulent chicken.

Now where was I? Oh, I was walking along the side of the road hugging the River Treska in the narrow gorge west of Makedonski Brod. Look where I ended up – my childhood memories swirling around my head, at peace with myself. The hills are swathed with muted brown leaves of the local dab (oak) and beech trees, more reminiscent of the colors of Japanese paintings and less of the bright golden, red, brown maples of North America. It is with this sense of stillness that comes with emptying the mind that I can walk away my fears and the nagging sense of my inadequate language skills, unable to express the beauty of my surroundings to my native friends.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Lunch Diplomacy


More on culture and traditions! After a Mexican Fiesta for our Macedonian friends two Saturdays ago, at which only a handful showed up, many still wanted to “taste” the food. Though they appear to be emancipated working-women, my colleagues from work are unable to move freely without censure in the evenings and weekends.

So I volunteered to host a quick lunch during the half an-hour long midday break during a working day, making one of the items from the fiesta – chili.   I added fresh parsley potatoes to the menu using my first batch of homegrown parsley. The lunch menu was rounded out by a bag of tortilla chips, which were purchased in one of the big international stores in Skopje.

In order to rustle up this meal, I took a longer break, in fact I went to work only for one hour and that was to make sure that my guests were coming! The lunch was a success.  Now, if I continue to host lunches such as this every couple of weeks, will that be considered a skills transfer or just a “fun break” from work for my colleagues?  

Volunteers in Macedonia are either CD’s or TEFL’s. CD is the acronym for Community Development and TEFL stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language.  Having been assigned to the CD sector because I stated that I have no teaching experience and have no interest in teaching during my period of service, I find that my biggest contribution to the skills transfer aspect of my service is teaching English and sharing culinary skills every once in a while!