Jiggery-pokery or a funny thing happened on the way to the elections

By Catherine Bohne

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Today, on the today I began by writing about, it is a cool, late-spring evening in Valbona, and having worked hard all day, the community has come together to celebrate. The children, all 42 of them, are seated, two by two, at a long table of honor. A feast has been prepared, and local musicians are playing traditional music. I, the American, have been dressed in an inherited grab-bag of traditonal clothing, as are several of the children, including notably three of the boys. Another young girl is in a sort of pink dream of a ball gown. The children are all dancing. Blerta, the English teacher, gets up and does a spirted jig. Admira leads a group of studiously po-faced adults in a circle dance. I join in with my borrowed floating scarves, thick wool skirts, and bright blue socks.

As it happens, there are several tourists at the party, or, as they’re called here, “guests” or “visitors.” When not dancing, I sit at the table with two Americans who are staying with us, and whose pre-stated interest in local culture was in fact a large part of the impetus for this party. Carol is here visiting now with her husband who plays the Kaval, but the week before she was coincidentally in nearby Bajram Curri, working, monitoring the Albanian national elections. I’m in the pale middle ground of ignorance on the elections. For me, the elections mainly meant that Alfred was gone all day. As the “mayor” of something—perhaps our little hamlet?—he was responsible for collecting the voting boxes and delivering them to Bajram Curri. I never knew, before this day, that he was the Mayor of Anything, and anyhow this is an English word that is used here for anyone in charge of anything, so I’m not sure what it means. I only know he was away all day, and long into the (rainy, rainy) night, and I was scurrying to keep the restaurant running, and to send him food, and to be ready for him to come back at night. That the elections happened, I know. That there has been much discussion of them, in grumbling, growling, growing undertones, I know, but I haven’t had all that much time, what with the weather and life, to find out so much, so I’m curious what Carol can tell me.

Thus, we begin chatting, on this fine spring evening, with the children dancing around us, and the valley clean and sparkling. . . .

Source: http://www.intrepidreport.com/archives/2594