A Manicure in the Dark by Jan Pate

Jan has been instrumental bringing the YMCA to Kosovo, she is a very important field group member that supports our  development and she brings much needed experience and vision, this has earned her the nickname "mom" in our movement. Here she shares an article she wrote after living here.

Kosovo makes you laugh and cry, sometimes simultaneously. Independence has brought about hope, something that was in short supply when I lived there in 2005.  The scars of the war were only beginning to heal. People craved a return to normalcy. The collision of those dynamics created comedy and tragedy in tandem.

In Kosovo Americans could feel right at home. One could visit the “Hillary Dress Shop” or eat lunch at “King Burger.”  Incredibly I was left managing a shoe store one Saturday when the owner disappeared somewhere to obtain change so that I could make a purchase. Apparently as an American I was trusted enough to mind the store.

There were “auto larje” (car washes) on every corner. Kosovo was filled with Mercedes (likely lately from Germany via Albania) getting washed since the rutted roads left most cars some shade of brown. One could enjoy flija  (cheese pastry) with a two Euro Macedonian red that would give “Two Buck Chuck” stiff competition.

It was as if in this battered and bruised place the idea of independence was enough; in the meantime, life was a jumble of what KFOR and the countless NGOs imparted. The cacophony of languages, the instability of the politics (the Prime Minister was shipped off to the Hague while I was there prompting a brief evacuation to Skopje), and the constant haze of pollution made for a life filled with challenges.

My coping mechanism was a regular manicure. But I had made the mistake of moving to Kosovo with gel nails and there was but one salon in Pristina equipped to handle that situation. Normally artificial nails require a bit more time to do, but I had been used to zippy machines that did all the work. Imagine my surprise to learn that this had to be done manually - a three-hour ordeal. Moreover, I had to go after work, so we were always in a race to finish before the sunset or the daily power cut. Fortified with strong coffee in a cloud of cigarette smoke amid conversations I never understood, the manicure began. I never took my coat off, as heat was lacking in the salon. If the power cut came early, the shop owner would get up from working on my nails and go out to try to start the generator. If that worked, all conversations were then upped a few decibels to compete with the generator. If not, the candles came out and she finished my manicure in the dark.

Once completed, I would walk to the main street where usually, almost as a joke, the lights would flicker back on. If it wasn’t that cold I would walk without mittens, allowing the polish to dry unimpeded. Frustrated, I would think of the ubiquitous reply I heard from all Kosovars -- their coping mechanism when things went awry. They simply shrugged and smiled and said, “what to do?”   So I too shrugged and smiled and understood and walked home.

Jan with current CEO Dorina