A taste of a home visit in Kosov

I am invited to a new friend’s house. It’s an open invitation…so basically I decide what day and what time (which is so awkward… “Uh…can I come over in…an hour?”). I arrive with a box of juice as a gift of sorts. Before I get to the front door, my friend’s mom meets me outside. She’s a large woman—quite sweaty, hard-working hands, big housedress—and gives me the tightest hug I’ve received yet and about 8 full-suctioned kisses on my cheeks. She’s talking to me in Albanian (loudly…I think she thought I could understand her better that way) and ushers me into her house.

My friend comes downstairs about this time and translates every 20th thing that’s said to me. That’s okay, because I’m still trying to recover from a back-cracking hug. I am told to sit on the couch (my friend and her mom are in the kitchen…that makes it for even more difficult conversation), and I am soon brought a cup of RC Cola. I sip it slowly. Brothers, uncles, and cousins (who all live on the block) sporadically come in for a few minutes and drift back out. As they come in everyone stands, shakes hands, and says, “Hello. Are you well? What are you doing? Are you tired? Are you hot? Is your family well?” As they leave, everyone stands, shakes hands, and says, “Have a good day. Goodbye. See you later…” It’s quite friendly, really (and formal at the same time).

By this time I’ve had my Turkish coffee. Even though I’m asked if I want it and could say, “Not really,” I pop it back like a champ. After I finish my coffee and lean over to set down the cup, the mom comes at me with a stack of pillows. She literally pushes my chin to my knees in order to stuff pillows behind my back for my comfort. Nice thought…but now I’m sitting at a 45 degree angle with the couch. It doesn’t matter too much because it’s now food-munchin’ time.

I am asked to wash my hands (it’s a public event). I sit at the table and eat generous portions of pite (“pee-tay”: an Albanian dish that’s sort of like cheese-stuffed filo dough), soup, bread, roasted peppers, chunky/watery/salty yogurt drink, and salad (tomatoes and cucumbers). Everything is served with a generous amount of salt. The mom bustles around me the whole time: one bite of soup in my mouth is met with 2 more ladles of soup in my bowl. The dad and brothers eat neatly; I’m slurping the food and have a mess up to my elbows. It all of a sudden strikes me as hilarious and I giggle. They all giggle nervously (which I find funny and I giggle some more…and they get more nervous and giggle…). (side note: having a large appetite makes me tremendously popular with the mothers of Kosov).

Dinner is over, and we all wash our hands. We sit back down on the couches, eat salted peanuts and drink tea, and eat a cake soaked in milk. Chopped watermelon is brought out, and we eat that, too. I mentally remind myself that 1) Albanians are very hospitable with guests, and 2) Albanians don’t eat “3 square meals a day.” Therefore, eating one meal like this a day won’t do much harm to their waistlines…but will to their blood pressure!

The electricity goes off and it’s pitch black. I am surprised how long it takes for someone to light a candle…but it could just be that I’m in a new place, new culture, new home and am a pinch uncomfortable. Conversation continues: “No, I can’t get you visas to America. Although I wish I could get you a job, I’m new here…” I tell them about my family, a smidge about the center, and about my new favorite Albanian foods. They tell me that their family is my family, that I’m welcome anytime, and that they still hope I can get jobs for people in their family. Since I’ve been at their place around 4 hours by this time, I’m exhausted (and so full…and starting to gurgle). I ask permission to leave, say my “see-ya-laters,” and start for the door. Before I get there, I am “ushered” (by a woman who is not aware of her Amazon-style strength) into the bathroom, a bedroom, a food storage area, and the landing of the stairs (they moved here recently). I suggest that I get a tour when the electricity is on, and I am escorted to the end of not only their walkway but the road (a 100-yard walk).

I go home with wide eyes, an overly full belly, a confused head, yet a happy and grateful heart.