"We produce more history here than we can consume," my colleague, H., commented shortly after picking me up this afternoon. (It is unfortunate, then, that history is not an exportable commodity -- according to one report handed me, there was an import/export deficit of $96 million, or -54.6%, in this district in 2006.)
H., a kindly, balding man, was bringing me to the office, which is located in the complex of other economic development organizations and festooned with what look like bumper stickers proclaiming: "USAID: From the American People." Perhaps because of this, and previous work with an American NGO, my colleagues have a (relievingly) pro-American perspective; the U.S. apparently spent $30 billion over six years here, which may have something to do with it. Given the February riots in this country, I was entirely unsure what to expect.
My power connectivity issues were discussed rapidly and in Serbian, and H. turned to me and smiled broadly, saying, "We will solve each of these little problems, don't worry... Come, my dear, let us all go eat lunch now." (I had forgotten the tendency of people here to call me 'my dear', and wonder what the Serbian phrase is that translates in such a way.)
So H., my other colleagues, B. (who reminds me of a young, blonde, Serbian version of Bernadette Peters), and J. (who reminds me of a younger, less worried version of my grandmother), and I went to eat. Then we returned to the office and had Turkish coffee, and I read some development reports. I hadn't had coffee in two months, but somehow managed to swallow this down without any sugar, and will probably grow more adept at doing so as it seems to be a daily ritual.
I am looking forward to working here. I appreciate my colleagues' practical attitudes and senses of humor. They enjoy being around one another, and they enjoy the work that they are doing, and, importantly, as small as it is, this office seems much better managed than the last two that I interned at in D.C.
H., a kindly, balding man, was bringing me to the office, which is located in the complex of other economic development organizations and festooned with what look like bumper stickers proclaiming: "USAID: From the American People." Perhaps because of this, and previous work with an American NGO, my colleagues have a (relievingly) pro-American perspective; the U.S. apparently spent $30 billion over six years here, which may have something to do with it. Given the February riots in this country, I was entirely unsure what to expect.
My power connectivity issues were discussed rapidly and in Serbian, and H. turned to me and smiled broadly, saying, "We will solve each of these little problems, don't worry... Come, my dear, let us all go eat lunch now." (I had forgotten the tendency of people here to call me 'my dear', and wonder what the Serbian phrase is that translates in such a way.)
So H., my other colleagues, B. (who reminds me of a young, blonde, Serbian version of Bernadette Peters), and J. (who reminds me of a younger, less worried version of my grandmother), and I went to eat. Then we returned to the office and had Turkish coffee, and I read some development reports. I hadn't had coffee in two months, but somehow managed to swallow this down without any sugar, and will probably grow more adept at doing so as it seems to be a daily ritual.
I am looking forward to working here. I appreciate my colleagues' practical attitudes and senses of humor. They enjoy being around one another, and they enjoy the work that they are doing, and, importantly, as small as it is, this office seems much better managed than the last two that I interned at in D.C.
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