There are very unsympathetic animals. This fluffed rooster is right at the top of the ranking. If I want to get to my car, I have to pass him. During our test of strength, who has to evade whom, he gave in, and now he is upset about me from afar and mobbing around. Angela Adaşanu, 48 years old and my landlady, fought that out with him too. He bites people in the legs, shows Angela in pantomime, but he protects the chickens from foxes and from birds of prey. Just like their two chain dogs are good against burglars and the cats hunt mice. At least they should, but actually they try to get into the house all day to spread their fleas on the beds.
Angela Adaşanu has here in Oneşti, in the north-west of Moldova, a huge property with old trees, very quiet and on the edge of the village, with a vegetable garden and two houses. She lives in the larger one with her husband when he is at home. The other house is still asleep.
Mamaliga, food for the soul
Angela rents out her living room sofa to me for a few days. In the evening I get a typical Moldovan reception with home-made fruit schnapps and Mamaliga. This golden yellow millet porridge is food for the soul, comparable to the German mashed potatoes, which is prepared with a lot of butter. We sit at the small kitchen table with a view of the neighbor’s vineyard and enjoy. Behind us is a huge tiled stove that can heat several rooms and has a large, comfortable sleeping platform at the back. Angela’s phone is plinging at an ever faster pace. This is her contact with the world and her method against loneliness, in order to keep in contact with her mother, her son, her husband and three friends, some of whom live abroad.
Angela’s voice often sounds concerned on the phone. She later said that this impression was correct, that it was true. Her husband was a school bus driver in Moldova, now he is building houses in France, actually well paid and a sure thing, but at the moment – as a result of the pandemic – the building materials are not being delivered and those who do not work get no money.
Until two years ago, Angela Adaşanu and her husband lived in their in-laws’ house. Their son was born there, grew up and moved out. Angela works as a teacher. She says: “Today I earn 8,000 Moldovan leu (almost 400 euros – AT) a month, a few years ago it was only 5,000 (just under 250 euros), you can’t buy a house.” The headmaster knew that too and was convinced and gave her four months off.
West-eastward Definitely negotiated in 2014, an Association Agreement between the EU and Moldova entered into force on July 1, 2016. The post-Soviet state – like Georgia or Ukraine – was already part of the “Eastern Partnership”, which, according to the will of the current liberal-conservative government under President Maia Sandu, is supposed to be a preliminary stage to EU accession. Since 2017, Moldova has also had observer status in the Russian-led Eurasian Economic Union. For the time being, the country is also dependent on a Russian energy transfer (especially natural gas). The maneuvering between Moscow and Brussels is also influenced by the Moldovan region of Transnistria, which declared itself independent after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1992 and has since been under the protection of Moscow.
The couple went to Germany in 2019 and worked in a poultry slaughterhouse in North Rhine-Westphalia. A friend had given them this job. They packed chicken breasts at temperatures of four degrees. Ten to twelve hours per shift, plus one day a week off. “Such a beautiful country, so beautiful and clean, we had it good,” she repeats over and over while she talks about that time. “The cold was very hard, but it was worth it.” They spent 500 euros per person per month on their room and food. They saved the rest of the monthly wages. Back in Moldova, they bought a plot of land with two houses in need of renovation in the neighboring town for the equivalent of 5,000 euros. After a year of work – “day and night”, says Angela – a house was habitable again and they moved out of their parents’ homes.
Angela – like most Moldovans – doesn’t feel like being pityed, but I should definitely get to know the other side of the coin and get to know other Moldovans. The next morning she asks whether I think the German wages in the slaughterhouse are reasonable. No, I think it’s too low, and now I’m suddenly on the other side of the invisible border, where you don’t need to pack chicken breasts at four degrees.
Go away? – “No, how come?”
Angela activates her Moldovan network and helps me find a farmer to interview. Catalin Berliba is 22 years old and has been studying veterinary medicine for three years. He wants to stay in Oneşti, set up a business, invest and earn money. Abroad? “No, why?” He stands with his mother Viorica Berliba in a valley on the edge of the village and waits for his nine cows, the largest herd in the area. This hour in the evening is the ranchers’ meeting place, and they wait with amazing equanimity. Some talk and joke, others stand in small groups in silence. Here in Oneşti there are still 60 cattle, which are herded to the community pasture every morning by two shepherds and herding dogs. After half an hour of waiting, individual dairy cows appear. The owners approach their animals. Some cows run briskly, others do not feel like the routine and are brought on the right track with a targeted blow on the rear end. The flock thins out more and more and at the end the two shepherds come. Their eyes are tired and they are walking with long, slow strides. Now only the dogs have an easy pace.
Mother and son prevent their cows from pushing into the barn at the same time. The usual milking routine follows: tying, cleaning udder, pre-milking, milking. The only thing that is special is that some cows are milked by hand. Why? “When we come up with the milking equipment, they lash out, we only bought it two years ago,” says Colin and milks calmly and evenly, at a similar pace as the automatic milking system that Viorica Berliba uses. There is real pride when Catalin pours the frothy milk into the blue collecting container and holds still for a photo.
Later, the mother and son take time for an interview. Viorica Berliba is 42 years old and a trained zoo technician. Like her son, she is in the stable every day and has a reserved, loving way of bringing him to the fore. What was the reason for building the stable three years ago? “We are in Moldova,” he says emphatically, “you have to do something yourself.” And milk is needed here! A good ten years ago a Russian entrepreneur couple founded a dairy in the neighboring village with a lot of commitment and good ideas. They developed their own type of cheese, won prizes and had buyers for their products. The company is no longer there today, they just didn’t have enough milk.
The farmer Catalin Berliba started with two cows, he gradually bought more. The oldest cow on the farm is nine years old. In doing so, he is working against the trend of abolishing cows because the milk price is too low. Is the income enough? “Of course not,” is his answer. He will buy a tenth cow as quickly as possible, thus fulfilling the condition of delivering milk to the dairy himself. It then provides a mobile milk tank and pays a higher price.
And what about state support for it? “Zero, nothing” is the answer. The government’s promise to subsidize the purchase of cows with 7,000 MDL, the equivalent of a good 350 euros per animal, came to nothing. The official list of support opportunities for Moldovan farmers is extensive. Programs for young farmers, advancement of women, acquisition of new technology. But so far nothing has arrived at Catalin’s company; every investment has been financed by the company itself. As? “We had the money,” is the answer. Catalin Berliba will soon be completing his studies, then he can really get started. Where does he see himself in five years? “Then I built a new barn at a different location and more cows,” he says, smiling confidently and sending in “And I’ll enjoy it!” Afterwards.
On my last day in Oneşti, the air is cool, it is raining and a storm ruffles the old trees around Angela’s house. My landlady is in a good mood. The next day she will drive to France with her nephew in his car, along with her friend, who is also from this village, and visit her husband. And also to Paris. “Paris!” She says with an exclamation mark and is happy. Outside the old plum tree lies on the ground, a large branch fell on the second house, damaged the roof and tore off the gutter. The maize plants that are supposed to provide the chicken feed have a list and are almost on the black earth. The man in France gets photos.
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