"Ja, I'm here to fix deine kabel"

August 9, 2006

We’ve had no television at my host family’s house for the last week. The actual TV seems to be working, the problem must lye in the coat hanger sculpture my host father constructed that we get reception through. The only channel that comes in right now is the one that shows black and white Albanian Communist propaganda films – we’ve got this channel in America right? Isn’t it part of most basic cable packages these days? In the last few days, when I’ve returned home from work, I’ve been beckoned into the kitchen by my host father. He motions at the TV and makes a variation of a throat-slashing or choking gesture to indicate that his channels still aren’t coming in. I respond, in Albanian, with something like “oh, I’m sorry. That is too bad,” feigning any real remorse.

My host father doesn’t let me get away with merely expressing my grief. I don’t know how, but he seems to have gotten the impression that I should be able to fix the TV. “Oh Beni, Beni,” he says and then points at the TV. “televizor, televizor,” he continues pointing and then makes screwdriver and working-with-tools miming motions with his hands. I get the message. He wants me to investigate the televizor situation more closely, determine the problem, and fix it.

I decide to humor him. I turn around the televizor and carefully inspect the two cords running out of the back. I try to give my host father, who eagerly observes, the impression that I’m methodically analyzing the situation. I’ll poke around at a few little knobs, tug on some wires, then turn around and announce that the televizor has some problem that even I – with my breadth of mechanical and electrical knowledge – can’t fix.

This is not a satisfactory answer. My host father scrambles up from the couch, leaves the room, and returns with a screwdriver, pliers, and some kind of wrench. He offers them and looks expectantly at me. His face pleads to me: “here Beni, will these help you fix the televizor? Please Beni, fix the televizor.” At this point all I want to do is retire to my room for the afternoon nap before dinner. But how can I walk away from such a desperate man? I take the tools, my host father returns to his spot on the couch and watches on, rapt with attention. I try to block his view of what I’m actually doing, that being merely tapping away with the screwdriver, looking contemplative, and making the appropriate motions and noises to give the impression that I’m taking things apart and investigating the televizor situation. After a few minutes I turn around and indicate that the state of affairs is indeed hopeless. even the technologically savvy American can’t figure out the problem.

This was the routine on Monday and Tuesday. After two days of unsuccessfully trying to repair the televizor my host father, who has apparently lost faith in my capacity as a cable guy, has given up his pleas.

I should say that I also miss the televizor. There are a handful of American shows – not necessarily the best in American television – that come on from time to time in Albania. I’ve come to appreciate “Friends,” and am legitimately hooked on “Lost.” And then there’s the show about Superman, except when Superman was in High School and wasn’t really Superman yet, called “Smallville.” I’m a fan. Also, last week I caught some show that I had never seen before. It was an obviously American show. Not a sit-com, but a drama about these middle-aged women. Kind of clever, it held my attention for a good hour. It was “Desperate Housewives.” So yes, I watched that show, and was actually sorry to see it end. So to sum up, since coming to Albania I’ve discovered some real hidden gems of TV shows, including; “Friends, Lost,” and “Desperate Housewives.” Hey, have you heard of this obscure little band called the Beatles? I’m really into them right now to.