P a g e
1 5
P A U 3 A !
The Money Pit
By: Gail Graor, MAK 10
In September, as a Peace Corps Trainee, I began my
journaling with the words “The Journey Begins”. I wish
to amend those words with “And the Saga Continues”.
Now, by definition saga means a narrative of heroic
deeds of which I can assure you that I am not guilty. So
let me just bend the definition a little to mean a narrative, period. The heroic deeds are to be credited to you,
the readers.
Before I begin my diatribe on the Money Pit, let me give
temporary credit to the fine reputation of the American
Embassy that hastened the rescue of a newly sworn-in
Peace Corps Volunteer who, on a Saturday morning,
was standing in the Stopanska Bank in Debar many
kilometers away from Peace Corps Headquarters where
the order for the transfer of funds was issued. There
was rent to be paid. There was a household to set up.
There was food and household supplies to buy, and
there was no money to be found in my account. With
the experience still fresh in my mind of not being met by
my counterpart at the bus station the evening before,
that is until a search and rescue team was assembled, I
wasn’t expecting this financial blow. A call to Peace
Corps Staff assured me that although nothing could be
done on Saturday, this matter would be reconciled Monday morning. Monday morning came, and I received a
call informing me that the
problem had been resolved and
that now I could do my banking. I decided to give the bank
a few hours to make certain
that all orders had been received, and besides the thermo
heater in the living room had
come back on after an electrical outage which lasted most
of the night. I needed to defrost.
It was a cold sunny afternoon
with over two feet of snow on
the ground as I headed for the
bank. When I entered, I saw
lots of people just standing
around. Then I realized that they were standing in
darkness. The electricity was out and so were the
computers. I decided to keep them company. Ten
minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes passed.
Finally, about twenty five minutes later there was
light. The computers started up, and I stood in
line. My turn came, mirëdites (Albanian, good
afternoon) exchanged, denari amount requested,
and bank book passed to the teller. The teller gave
me a blank look and said, “You only have 50 denari in your account.” At this point the bank manager entered the dialog and discovered that I did
have more money. According to the manager and
unbeknownst to me the American Embassy had
intervened on my behalf, and the American Embassy became the hero of the day! At least until I
related the story to Dr. Mimi who said that she
didn’t believe that the Embassy intervened. She
said that the Peace Corps in Macedonia frequently
is perceived as a branch of the Embassy and in all
likelihood it was really the Peace Corps that had
rescued my denari, certainly a more plausible explanation. This was the first week in Debar, and it
took three more weeks before my banking situation could be classified as normal.