Matthew's talk was just one of six talks given by members of the team at the University; others included the philosophical problem of evil, reception of Biblical 'genocide', restorative justice in South Africa, preparing for the TOEFL (not given by me, but something I know WAY too much about...), and the depiction of fruit in Paradise Lost. Each time, the speaker (at least) met with a Macedonian academic host, and in a couple cases, the rest of the team as well.
After Deborah's talk on Milton, those of us who attended (moral support--RAH, RAH, Debo-RAH!) went with an English professor one floor down to the University cafe. Aesthetically, the colorful, cozy cafe is a welcome change from much of the rest of the Philosophy/Philology building in which Deborah's talk was held: think painted concrete block. It's rather an odd design, Graham and I decided. The outside appears little more than concrete blocks stacked on top of eachother, with extensive longitudinal stains streaking providing the only embellishment. The other buildings surrounding the courtyard are much the same: oppressive, basic concrete. Yet, as Graham and I decided, were the buildings made of a different material, or even maintained so grime didn't accumulate, the campus buildings could actually be quite interesting. Inside the Philosophy building, chipped, perfunctory layers of paint line the stadium-style concrete staircase--rather consistent with the somewhat rustic atmosphere of the Turkish toilet-equipped restroom, actually. But were these walls retouched, perhaps overlaid with some drywall, I could easily imagine the architectural legacy of a bitter past being covered over as well.
Perhaps such physical structures are part of what keeps the Soviet nightmare alive in the minds of so many Macedonians, as the English professor said. To me, his words struck a deep chord, as if a taste of the painful song of everyday reality had woven its way into my heart and began to resonate. It resonates still. I continue to think of the tens of thousands of Macedonian students who are struggling to obtain a competitive education with the meagerest of academic resources. I continue to imagine an environment where twenty-five English faculty members strive to mentor 1100 undergraduates, where the 98 percent figure of students attending university is merely a convenient cover for chronic truancy and embarrassing unemployment. I continue to marvel that any do succeed at all, and that some that do, like the English professor, have the courage to return to help others do the same. When we spoke at the Nova School, we asked how many students planned to leave the country for college; all of them raised their hands, every...last...one. What an awful--and aweful--prospect, when none of the brightest students in the country can imagine staying within their borders. But how can one blame them, when doing so restricts them to the concrete walls of the state universities, with their inadequate libraries, understaffed departments, and outdated Turkish toilets?
We were continually amazed throughout the trip at the deference shown to us and our Oxford name. I am just beginning to realize what exactly that means. In a few months' time, I will have had the incredible blessing of attending three world-class universities: Princeton was where God molded me, Oxford where He's developing me, Columbia where He'll lead me. As I was going out the door this morning, it suddenly struck me how baffling it is that I, a public school-educated Minnesotan, call home a 10x10 room in St. Catherine's College, University of Oxford; I have been truly blessed. And now it is my turn to pass on these blessings to others, following God's call wherever He may lead. I'm still discovering what exactly that may be. But I think maybe, just maybe, I saw a glimpse of it in Macedonia.
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