I have this weekend spoken to my mother and one of my closest friends.  Due to the current circumstances of my life (ie. no landline, no home internet, moving frequently) I had not spoken to either of them in three months or longer and had, almost, forgotten how important these conversations are for re-centering myself.  (Enter new-age therapy jokes here).  As Sarajevo cannot decide between winter and fall, rain snow rain snow, I find my brain similarly conflicted.  Upon arriving in Sarajevo, devastated by what I saw as my own failure and my former 'boss' parting words, I was determined to prove to myself that I was not the inadequate human being and to not be a 'quitter'.  As we all know quitters never win... but what is quitting anyway?  This is not a basketball game where one can merely walk off the court.

I have been working for the last two to three months for a local ngo in Sarajevo that has done some interesting work in the country, work to record stories, increase universal access to the 'facts' of the war in Bosnia, they speak about 'democratizing information' and hindering the increase of nationalism through knowledge.  They are, in short, an organization which carries on a mission I truly believe in.  However, they are also an organization that is going through a bit of reorganization at the moment.  Tomorrow I am going to be meeting with my contact person to find out if there is a continuing role for me with in the ngo... the truth is, though, that I have done little for them since my arrival.  Mostly I read books... a lot of books.  I am supposed to be reading these books to help with methodological information about collecting and publishing oral histories, and, I was told, to help with the writing of a literature review.  I read, took notes, organized information, and sent out my thoughts.  They are keeping it on file because it is "very helpful".  But at the end of the day I don't need to be in Bosnia to read books and email my thoughts.  

I came to the Balkans over a year ago to do "good works" whatever that turned out to mean, and was prepared for a certain amount of boredom, my share of overwhelming experiences, and lows of self doubt.  Tonight my dear friend asked me if, so far, I had gotten out of the experience what I thought I would... well no.

I have gotten entirely different "things" out of the experience.  I have learned a great deal of what I am and am not capable of and what I will and will not let others demand of me.  But I have done no "good works".  There are other foreigners in the region, including K. in Mostar, who are doing good, productive, and meaningful work here; through starts and miss-starts they have found a place for themselves and a directed focus for their passions.  I am not entirely sure what I am doing here at this point.

I came to Belgrade to work with a feminist pacifist women's organization because I believe through my toes in pacifism and am fascinated by women's groups... I learned from these women and this experience and in the end I had to leave.  Now I am sitting on my hands.  

What did I intend to get out of this experience?  The answer to this question has to change over time as I experience new places, people, and things but it is a question that I must continue to ask myself.  If I wanted to go out into the world to be of some use and I am failing to accomplish this simple goal it is perhaps time to reassess. 

Polako

Living in a region of the world where the motto seems to be always “polako polako” (slowly slowly) one finds that deadlines are not met, household items are not fixed, and meetings rarely begin or end at their appointed time.  During my frist few months in Serbia I attempted, nearly successfully, to step into this slow moving... we are talking molassas in January... river of time and float.  But even I have my limits, there is a point when one... yeah one meaning me, but “one” just sounds better doesn’t it?... goes from saying “okay polako polako” to “wait am I just being lied too?!”  Oh yes, see things may move slowly here in the Balkans, but they may also just never come at all.  Like anywhere in the world there are good people, bad people, honest people, liars, and the ever unreliable humanbeings.  For me unreliable is the most frustrating, because unreliable people are not bad people, maybe they don’t even intend to lie, but they do lie and lie and lie.  At first the lie is for their convienence because they intend to accomplish the promised thing, but at their own, not your, pace; but then they lie to save face, and then they lie because being honest seems a nearly impossible thing to do.  I am not a fan of unreliable people.  We have all failed someone at some point in our lives, we have all lied, but continual, regular, repeated behavior this is the diference between being temporarily unreliable and being an unreliable person.

In case you have not yet picked up on my oh so subtle narration style; I am currently dealing with an unreliable person.  In Belgrade I worked with a few unreliable people, I lived with one, and while they annoyed me I learned to work around them... for the most part.  But my current Sarajevo unreliable person is my landlord, and after two months of what I now feel was blatant lying I realize that I have to move.  My landlords are not bad people, they are simply unreliable.  

In one’s own culture where one knows the approved cultural cues, approved social and cultural behavior... the behavior spectrum, one feels more confident making decisions (read judgements) and more quickly able to make said decisions about the people with whom one interacts.  But here, in a new place, a new culture, I find myself tiptoeing around what I see as my own ignorance.  Maybe I feel slighted, injured, lied too, but am I being culturally insensitive, am I being too demanding?  An aquaintance of mine in Sarajevo once said to me “I hate when people blame everything on cutural differences... sometimes the person you are dealing with seems like a bitch because she is a bitch.”

I hate moving.