The Foreign Service Journal, September 2008

A s I left the house with my 18- month-old daughter, Haley, one morning, my neighbor, Baba Florika, was out pruning her rosemary bush. She opened her gate to get a better look at Haley in the stroller. “Oh no, no, no,” she tsked. Lean- ing over, she took off my daughter’s shoes. “The feet need to air,” she said. “It’s better for the baby. It’s much too warm to be out walking with a baby like that.” I smiled, nodded, and bit my tongue. Haley and I continued walk- ing down the street. Not half a block down, Baba Danche was out sweeping the sidewalk. “Oh, Stephanie,” she crowed. “Isn’t Haley cold? You must cover her feet.” She leaned over and put the shoes back on. I coughed heartily to cover my laughter, but then had to listen to how to prepare mountain tea that would help my cough. I might be 36 years old, have an advanced degree, two healthy, happy children and a somewhat sane house- hold — but here in Skopje, the advice never stops flowing. I receive helpful hints every day. On every outing some well-meaning person will suggest a better way to live my life — from child care, husband care and personal care to gardening and cooking. Inevitably, someone or something is either too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry. Babas — grandmothers — don’t have a corner on the advice market, to be sure. My 40-year-old single neigh- bor, Toni, frets about Haley’s “exposed” back. He is certain that because she’s not in a onesie, some sort of terrible malady will consume her. And an older gentleman on the bus scolded me for not making my sweating son, Kai, wear a jacket. On one particularly trying day, after at least 10 people had pointed out some fault in my parenting, I rue- fully bemoaned what appeared to me as my obvious look of inadequacy to another neighbor, a Macedonian mother with a 14-year-old and a 3- year-old. “Oh, they do that to everyone,” she assured me. “It’s their way of showing you they like you.” Her comment gave me pause. I remembered the time Nada cut the last rose of the season from her garden and gave it to me to adorn my table for a work-related reception I hosted at my house. And the time Florika rang my doorbell at 7:30 a.m. with a plate full of warm bread, fresh from the oven, for our breakfast. And the time Danche ushered me into her house for homemade burek, a Macedonian savory pastry. I also recalled the time Toni walked me over to the outdoor market, instead of just telling me the direc- tions. And often at the market I’ve heard “Dobra Majka” (good mother) in hushed approval from the babas and vegetable salesmen as I walk by, pushing my stroller with one hand and Kai’s trike with the other. Today Baba Nada calls to me from her gate as I walk up to my house. “How are you feeling?” she asks. “Better, thanks,” I croak. I actually sound worse than I feel. “Tsst. Tsst, you must drink lots of tea, the mountain tea,” she shakes her finger at me. “I am, I am. It’s perfect for this cough,” I nod. “And put your head over a steam- ing pot of water, like this,” she holds her hands to the side of her face and bends forward, almost bumping her head on the fence. “Yes, yes, I will, right away.” “Good, good,” she nods. “Then you will feel better.” I smile. Here I am, thousands of miles from my parents, with a whole neighborhood watching my back! No wonder I feel so safe here. My mother can rest easy knowing that the Balkan babas will look out for me. n Stephanie Rowlands teaches English to preschoolers and is a freelance writer. She and her FSO husband and their two children currently live in Skopje. They previously lived in Mexico and Guatemala. 88 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 8 R EFLECTIONS Balkan Babas B Y S TEPHANIE R OWLANDS Here I am, thousands of miles from my parents, with a whole neighborhood watching my back! w