·
Wednesday,
30 November 2005
Fighting a Cold
with a Good Book
There are perks to being in battle with a bad cold; you can generally
ready with impunity since you cannot do much else really. It is a good excuse anyway.
I am well enough really, but still not seeing myself clearly as God’s
perfect child, which know from my Christian Science upbringing to be the Truth
of the matter.
Tonight is English Club and there are preparations to make, yet I keep
getting drawn back into a book I picked up at the Stone Baboon (café and
bookstore) in Kiev: “A Sense of Place” is a compilation of interviews with
great travel writers. Michael Shapiro
conducted the interviews. Among those
(15-20) included are Iowa’s own Bill Bryson, Paul Theroux (who was kicked out
of Peace Corps Malawi years ago), Isabel Allende with her troubled history,
Rick Steves, Arthur Frommer, Redmond o”Hanlon.
I envy Shapiro his job; what a pleasure to spend hours with these
intrepid individual and to probe their thoughts on their lives, their craft and
their muses. I keep reading, pen in
hand, annotating the margins with cryptic, undecipherable observations and
endlessly underlining significant and not so significant stuff. (I cannot seem to read without a pen in
hand.)
I pried myself away from the book when I finished the chapter on Bill
Bryson. While I am not a big fan of his
writing, I find him to be so appealingly Iowan (though he left Des Moines many
years ago and has made England home for many years of his life). I identify with his remarks and found that my
responses to the questions presented were almost exactly the same. Are we products of the culture, or is it
something in the Iowa water system?
The interviews are a bit uneven, but it engages me, stimulates me. I am glad to have it in my collection.
The emphasis on travel reminds me of a travel dream I would like to make
a reality someday (perhaps in the summer of 2007 when this Peace Corps
adventure is likely to come to an end and we have yet to take up the reigns on
some other occupation). For many years I
have had a quiet dream of walking across northern Spain on the path to Santiago
de Compostella. This is a pilgrimage
route. When I first heard of it, I knew
it was something I would like to do. The
seed was planted and has taken root.
Will it continue to grow? Will I
nurture it, cultivate it?
Sanitation Day
at the Library
Mark just came home, unexpectedly early – kicked out actually!
Today, the last day of the month, marks Sanitation Day at the
library. This is the day the library is
cleaned. The doors are closed to the
public and each person cleans their area and then community areas are tackled. Windows get washed, the courtyard policed,
floors scrubbed and so forth. There are
maintenance people for daily tasks, but most of this work is accomplished by
the entire staff.
The day ends with pay checks for everyone!
·
Tuesday,
29 November 2005
I May be Just the
Cleaning Lady, but I Have the Best Cook Around!
Mark is quite the cook. This works
well since I seem to be more inclined to clean and do laundry than to actually
prepare meals. Some of it is
conditioning actually, but it is a good division of labor.
There is a pan of gnocchi waiting to be cooked up for dinner
tonight. Mark used left over potatoes to
make them last night. After he finished
in the kitchen, he sat down at his computer and decided to detail the process
to share with other PCVs.
In a country where there are potatoes in abundance, gnocchi really should
be in everyone’s repertoire of meals.
He tapped away at his computer for quite a while and then let me read his
efforts. I read it aloud and enjoyed the
rhythm of his words. He integrated
tales about his father and incidents in his life into the text. His good humor and playful attitude make the
writing alive. It is clear he enjoys the
processes well as the finished product.
It interests me how each person can approach the same task with the same
tools and still end up with something that reflects their own unique personality
or attitude. Whether it is making
gnocchi, writing a recipe, or even cleaning a house, when the task is complete,
the personal touch of the artisan is evident.
Tonight there will be gnocchi, lovingly prepared and I am guessing, it
will be artfully presented too. Mark
will be mindful of the details, as he always is.
I have a clipping (yellowed) which once hung on my refrigerator in SC,
and is now tucked inside the cover of my address book. It says: “We make a living by what we get,
but we make a life by what we give.”
(Winston Churchill)
This cleaning lady has some laundry to lovingly attend to.
·
Monday,
28 November 2005
Monday, at last.
I apply myself to cleaning up the clutter and dirt that accumulates from
a weekend at home.
Though I generally stay on top of the dishes, washing things as I cook,
every dish in the kitchen was dirty before I even ate my breakfast this
morning. Remnants of the weekend cooking
spree were everywhere. The floor was
littered with debris – a trashcan overflowing, muddy boots by the door, a
raisin and some oats on the carpet, a bit of dirt from a re-potted plant, a
pile of tissue beside my nest on the couch, and stacks of books and papers on
every flat surface in our tiny domain, some clothes littering the floor. Sigh.
The activity was actually good. Since the cupboard was empty of dishes, I
washed it inside and out and then washed dishes, did some laundry, swept floors
and carpets, scrubbed the kitchen floor, washed the window and moved on to the
water closet. I just kept moving.
Yesterday was a down day – I fought and lost to a cold. I simply sat on the couch wrapped in a wool
blanket, a scarf around my neck, curled up with a book. I sipped lots of tea and abused my delicate
nose using “bumaga tyalet” (harsh Ukrainian toilet paper – brown with a texture
like crepe paper) to honk and blow. I
was pretty miserable company with my burning eyes, sore throat and runny nose
and intermittent sneezing fits.
I did finish the latest Nabokov book (“The Real Life of Sebastian Knight)
and I also read another novel in one, long sitting: “Death and Penguin” by
Andrey Kurkov. Good reads both. Good diversion from my misery too.
Mark steered clear of me most of the day.
He occasionally threw me a few scraps and brought me tea. I tried not to snarl at him much.
Saturday we had a rather delightful day (a tranquil day negotiating the transfer
of the cold, which belonged to Mark earlier this week). We took a wheeled cart across town and did
our belated Thanksgiving Day shopping.
The wheeled cart was in anticipation of hauling home a large turkey and
a pumpkin. No easy feat on foot!
The weather was remarkable – warm, bright, almost a festive note around
town as fur coats and hats came off. We
managed to outfit ourselves to prepare a feast and headed home to begin the
cooking.
The pumpkins in Ukraine resemble odd green melons rather than the lovely
orange ones we cultivate in the USA. We
recognized the pumpkins at arket because they were cut in half and the orange
meaty insides clued us in to the fact they were indeed pumpkins.
At home, we popped the pumpkin halves into the tiny oven for a few hours
to soften it up for mashing. While the
pumpkin baked, Mark stuffed the large bird (which cost us approx 4 days pay!) and
innovated a baking arrangement. Since we
do not have a suitable pan and Ukrainian ovens are not as large as what we are
accustomed to in America, we had to be creative. (People
cook differently here; no large chunks of meat…culture and economic factors come
into play, I guess.). The oven has no gauge
on it and seems to either be on or off. Our
bird filled the oven with no room to spare.
No aluminum foil here – another American luxury which can be had for a
price, but is not commonly used or available here.
While bird baked, we whiled away the late afternoon watching the
televised version of the Holodomor activities in Kiev (see earlier journal
notes for more). The candle lighting
ceremony was moving. We continued to
watch television as documentaries, films, photos, interviews diaries, and
anything else concerning this act of genocide where shared with a public hungry
for facts. It was rather strange
preparing for our holiday Thanksgiving feast
and simultaneously watching all this footage on starvation…
The oven worked overtime Saturday.
We initially turned it on around noon and finally turned it off around 8
at night when the beautiful pumpkin pie came out of the oven. The oven burns bottled gas and the fumes
make my eyes and nose burn and water. I
am sure that some of my problems on Sunday stem from the effects of the
gas.
Now the refrigerator is stocked with bags of sliced turkey. Today we will have hot turkey sandwiches for
dinner. Yum! Today I am starting to feel better.
Maybe there will be some E-mail from friends and family tonight! (The library access has been down since early
last week…)
·
Sunday,
27 November 2005
“…Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat! Please put a penny in the
old man’s hat…” I sing as I make my way around the flat on the bright November
day.
My favorite part of the Christmas holidays is caroling! Back in the Iowa of my youth, we would often
straggle home from late November and December basketball games in small groups,
singing Christmas songs in the falling snow
as we walked home. We often
organized actual caroling parties, where we made up for in enthusiasm, what we
did not have in talent as we sang verse after verse of our favorite holiday
songs.
After a snowy walk and lots of singing, we would warm up in someone’s
kitchen where we sipped hot cocoa with marshmallows and munched on warm,
crunchy, buttery cinnamon toast.
I do not expect our Christmas holidays to be very traditional since the
holiday is not really celebrated the same way here in Ukraine, but I hope we
get to sing!
WISH LIST
(There’s Also Some Stuff on our Web Site):
Candy canes,
red ribbon, garland & a few holiday decorations: We will host a
holiday party for English Club so we will try to decorate festively and it would
be nice to send home candy canes with guests and with a bit of ribbon
tied to them they make good tree decorations too! (The locals decorate a holiday tree, but they
do it on New Year’s Eve and Father Frost brings gifts.
Little, fun
stuff we can give away: It is nice on the train or at events to have some
small things to give to adults or children – bandanas, bookmarks, postcards of
home, lapel pins, Americana, just small items that are easy to carry. Our English Club will be conducting a camp
this summer and will probably do a Library Day Camp too so we will need small,
fun stuff for prizes and activities…I wish we had a Dollar Store here! 8-)
People are delighted to receive our business cards even!
Shirts for
Mark: Mark could really use some size XL
button-up-the-front shirts: plain and darker colors. (He wears festive ties so plain shirts are
better!) He could also use some
short-sleeve sports shirts for work next summer when it is hot and humid. FYI: hand washing is very hard on shirts –
the color seems to vanish rapidly…must be the soap or the water. Mark’s birthday is in February so keep shirts
in mind for the future too.
Marshmallows! It would be fun to have some for hot cocoa!
DVDS! This is a nice way to while away cold winter
weekend nights. We were really bummed to
discover that our “Fiddler on the Roof” DVD has vanished! That makes three DVDs that seem to have
disappeared (I only brought about 6 DVD!) from my bags…sigh. The author of the original story for Fiddler
is the Ukrainian Mark Twain! It is
written about the near Kiev. Here’s a
couple more DVDs we would definitely enjoy…
Stuff for
Byron: If I were stateside, I would be making boxes for Byron. I like to send
some hard Christmas candy (he like ribbon candy, satin pillows, anise and
horehound drops and fruit cake.) I
usually send a few small ornaments and foolish stuff. I send seeds and paperback novels. He can always use more socks, underwear,
t-shirts and handkerchiefs – he shares any surplus/bounty with young men who
are in need, so a variety of sizes/styles is a good idea. Most people are size Medium or smaller. Someone will wear them! (In his last letter, he mentioned getting
some socks and underwear from the PCV who is leaving and he passed them along
to a couple very grateful kids.)
·
Saturday,
26 November 2005: Holodomor Remembrance Day
All sorrows can be borne if you tell a story about them.
-
Karen Blixen
·
Friday,
25 November 2005: Miranda-Panda-Roo’s Birthday!
Sad news in my
last batch of e-mail:
My cousin’s significant other (7 years together) was killed in a highway
accident a week go today.
I spent most of my summer at my cousin’s home. I know this incident will take a significant
toll and yet, she will move forward.
Dealing with death and dying and denial is difficult.
Saying an unexpected goodbye is never easy - so many things left
unsaid.
Though I only met Johnny a few times, I heard tales about him that made
me laugh. He made my cousin laugh too, and for that, I am grateful.
Johnny is (was) a large man with an infectious enthusiasm for life. He seemed to always have a vision about how
things should be and certainly was not one to take things lying down. He loved animals and despite an appearance
that might make some people wary, he was a gentle man. One look at him as he handled his dog would
tell you what kind of heart this bear-of-a-man had.
He left his mark on people in many ways, both as a friend, and also,
quite literally, as a talented tattoo artist.
I will carry a picture of him in my mind as he was at the recent Minnesota
Renaissance Festival – a hearty man in his prime, enjoying the beauty of a
bright September day in a place that was very special to him among people who
gave him pleasure.
Far away from my home here in Ukraine, my cousin is walking through the
difficult days that follow on the tail of a tragedy. There are no words of comfort. There is no healing.
But there are memories to share; memories that keep a spirit alive. I hope my cousin is sharing those tales with
her family and friends as she struggles through the days ahead.
No E-Mail
Access & No One is Home to Answer the Phone…
Mark arrived home with no e-mail to download onto my system…the library
is often late paying their bills so the Internet access is cut off…I had looked
forward to reading some Thanksgiving greetings and messages. It just hasn’t seemed like Thanksgiving. It will be next week before I can upload and
send any e-mail….
Just after dark, we hiked across town in the intermittent sprinkles to
call the birthday girl, Miss Miranda.
That mission ended in minor frustration.
Three numbers dialed and no answers at the H. household….sigh. We tried to call Mark’s Dad – no answer there
either.
The post office stop was rewarding: a good letter from Jeys Mawingo! I read it aloud under the street lights as we
walked down Lenin Street. Mark collected
huge yellow maple leaves to decorate our belated Thanksgiving table with.
·
Thursday,
24 November 2005: THANKSGIVING DAY (USA)
Don't be concerned about being disloyal to your pain by being
joyous.
- Pir Vilayat Inayat
Khan
Alchemical Wisdom
Back in America,
my homeland, it is Thanksgiving Day. It
is a time of abundance, feasting, sharing the joys of family life and giving
thanks for all the blessings for which we often fail to express gratitude. My family and friends there are stuffing huge
turkeys, rolling out piecrusts, laughing, sipping wine and sharing memories of
other Thanksgiving Days. It is pleasant
to think about this tradition. It is
right to give thanks and to rejoice.
Here in Ukraine,
it is simply another workday.
My husband, a
Peace Corps Volunteer, dons his heavy winter coat, kisses me goodbye and heads
out the door to meet the challenges of another day.
I am preoccupied
with heavy thoughts about the country we currently call home. I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit down at
the kitchen table, where it is my habit to start my day by reading a few pages
of Newsweek. My mind is elsewhere this
morning.
This past week
there has been much in the local news detailing the secret horrors of
Holodomor, the 1932-1933 genocide of
Ukrainians, orchestrated by Stalin.
Right here in the “Breadbasket of Europe” (a phrase I recall from my
elementary school geography classes back in the “Breadbasket of America”) 11,000,000 (eleven million) men, women and
children starved to death. While the
rest of the world ate Ukrainian produce, the farmers themselves were dying at a
rate estimated at 33,000 (thirty-three thousand) a day!
These deaths were
not caused by drought or acts of nature.
These people starved to death in the midst of plenty, as a result of
Stalin’s policies and procedures. The
very farmers that produced the crops wasted away and died alongside their
children. The scandal was buried along
with their bodies.
While friends and
family in the USA are preparing for more holiday festivities, this Saturday in
Kiev, the capital city of Ukraine, there will be a memorial service. 33,000 (thirty-three thousand) candles will
light up St Sophia’s Square. (Historians believe 33,000 people died in
Ukraine each
day at the height
of the genocidal-famine in the spring of 1933). Each candle is a dramatic
reminder of the 11,000,000 who actually died. (Try to imagine 11,000,000
candles burning – the crime is so unspeakable.)
It is only since
Ukraine established itself as a separate nation (1992) that this terrible story
has really come to light. This story has
been hidden from the world. The shocking
facts are available now.
One of every four
Ukrainians starved to death right here in the breadbasket of Europe and no one
intervened or even acknowledged what was going on. In fact, people around the globe denied the truth
of the whispered rumors.
The tales of Holodomor
mesmerize me. How did the world close its eyes to this tragedy?
Now a struggling
democracy, Ukraine still battles with issues we American’s cannot begin to
understand. The community we live in had
no heat for five years during the late 1990’s when hyperinflation and bank
failures nearly destroyed this country.
Members of our local English Conversation Club tell us of sleeping in
their fur coats and hats to keep warm at night during those years.
Despite forward
leaps (represented by last year’s Orange Revolution), there are still many
issues yet to be resolved here including a significant problem with AIDS/HIV,
human trafficking, corruption, health issues and economic problems, but today,
on a day those of us from USA feast and count our blessings, this contrast
seems even more surreal.
I try to shake off
these sobering thoughts and pick up the Newsweek magazine. As I sip my morning coffee and leaf through
the pages, my eyes are suddenly riveted to the headline “Freedom is Not Enough,”
by Joshua Hammer (14 November 2005). He
spells out a tale of current day food crisis in the small African nation of
Malawi.
Malawi, the
country my brother, a former Peace Corps Volunteer, resides and has happily called
home since the mid 1980s, is struggling to feed its people.
I read a tale of
people starving.
The article
explores the facts behind the cycles of famine that haunt the people of
Malawi. Among the issues cited, Mr.
Hammer references scandalous corruption – politicians selling grain reserves at
huge profits and investing in luxury hotels at a time when the country is also
burdens by devastating drought.
People are
starving to death, right now in Malawi (and other places – the article says
food aid is needed for 10,000,000 in Africa alone), yet the world does little
or nothing.
I puzzle over how
it is, on this Thanksgiving Day 2005, that I find myself heart-to-heart with
this issue. I am living among people who
have survived a heinous crime and my own brother lives among people who are
also victims of similar crimes: people allowing people to starve to death.
Yet on the other
side of the world, people feast and most do nothing. Many simply close their eyes. When the feasting is over and the thanks have
been said, it is time to demonstrate that gratefulness. It is time to devise a plan of action.
When we step away
from the groaning board, we must find tangible ways to share our bounty with the
world outside our own front door. We
must be proactive in finding long-term solutions. We must move forward with joy and
thanksgiving, in the true spirit of abundance, but our actions should not
simply be reactive nor should they spring from guilt. We should cultivate a culture of caring and
concern. We must stimulate one another
and avoid the trap that complacency sets for us.
We have an opportunity
and a responsibility to act, not react. We
must share our heart songs…why are people starving when we have so much to give?
We cannot tolerate
the corruption that leads to using food as a weapon.
The coffee in my
cup, has grown cold, but my mind continues to ponder these issues.
(Following are
short extracts from local news sources – do a Google search and you will find
many more facts and articles.)
________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________
INTERNATIONAL DAY
OF MEMORY - UKRAINIAN GENOCIDE
The Holodomor -
"Famine-Terror Death for Millions" 1932-1933
Worldwide
"Light-A-Candle" Campaign
Saturday, November
26, 2005
4 PM
Brief summary
extracted from newspaper articles:
November marks one
of the greatest tragedies in human history, when 7 to 10 million members of
farm families which had just brought in record harvests, were deliberately
starved to death in the breadbasket of Europe by the Soviet regime in 1932-33.
The Stalinist regime perpetrated the Great Famine/Holodomor by making
food illegal in
Ukraine's countryside. Red Brigades under the direction of
Lazar Kaganovich
seized grain, prevented the starving population from
leaving the
countryside and then sent the food to the West for export. This
was done to
eliminate resistance to the forced collectivization of agriculture
and to destroy
Ukraine's national identity.
45 millions of
people suffered hunger and as many as 11 million died of starvation, were shot
dead or died during the deportation. The exact numbers is unknown.
After the fall of the Soviet Union 12 years ago however many authentic
records were discovered in the archives and published, accounts of the
Russian communist party and of the Bolshevistic government agencies, but
also secret documents of the German Foreign Office. In accordance with
today's estimation over eleven million people died because they opposed
communism.
________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________
·
Wednesday,
23 November 2005
The Train Trip Home
from Kiev…
We shared our kupe with a mother and her 14-year old daughter. The father was in a separate kupe. They were enroute to Russia. At the end of the 24-hour ride to Kerch, they
boarded a marchutka to the port and took a ferry across the strait where they
would board another train, bound for Georgia.
The father was born in Chechnya.
He learned English when he was in secondary school (probably 15 years
ago) and was delighted to communicate with us.
Our communications skills in each other’s respective language were
fairly evenly matched. That is to say,
limited.
But, he was eager to talk.
He would wrinkle his brow and search for the words he needed to convey
his thoughts.
The pleasantries that phrase books provide for encounters on public
transportation are quickly exhausted.
People in this part of the world are curious to know about life in
America. Our linguistic muscles are
stretched and raw after a few hours of intense “conversation” that actually
include pantomime and play-acting to relay some of the answers when actual
words fail.
As usual, the conversation was initiated with an offer to share
food. The blue-eyed Russian from
Chechnya tapped on our car door and invited us to breakfast with him. He placed an offering of homemade cucumber
pickles, slices of sausage and dark rye bread on our tiny table and sat himself
down on the seat beside me.
At first, his attempts at English were hesitant, shy. Later we learned he seldom had opportunities
to practice his skills. He was clearly
delighted to speak to us and had questions and concerns far more complicated
than any of us could ever tackle with our limited command of each other’s language.
We had no food to add to this breakfast repast, but Mark, in a true
moment of cross-cultural genius, pulled out a small bottle of pepper vodka he
had stashed in his baggage. In moments,
he splashed a bit of vodka into water tumblers and proposed a toast to our new
friends. The Russian’s eyes glistened as
he raised his glass and iterated a lengthy toast. (I looked on and mentally contemplated
whether there are actually special toasts appropriate to vodka with breakfast. I also considered whether vodka at breakfast
would seem inappropriate at all in this part of the world!)
The toast forged a friendship and perhaps, lubricated the machinery that
allows people to speak more easily. The
two men spoke of politics and economics, business and life. Any self-consciousness over language
disappeared quickly.
Our interactions with this man, and others, provide a window into a life
we could not really imagine, but one consistent with things we have read.
Nothing can prepare an American traveler for the kinds of direct
questions people will ask. I am never well
prepared when the conversation turns, as it usually will, to money and
opportunity in America. “How much money
do you make? How many cars do you have?” they will ask point blank. “Do you have a machine that washes
dishes? How much does your computer
cost?” And one even harder to answer,
“Why are you here?”
People here often believe, or want to believe that life in America is
like going to heaven; streets lined with money trees and paved with gold. Many Ukrainians emigrated to the USA, especially
during the last years of the Soviet era.
The term diaspora is often used.
The 20th Century has challenged Ukraine in ways we cannot imagine.
There is sadness over dying traditions and families torn apart in a
search for a better life, in this case, better life meaning enough money to
live, to have some of the comforts that television and movies introduce.
I listen and hear some regret in the man’s voice. I want to reassure him somehow that he is
missing nothing by remaining here where family and friends are. I think of the lyrics of a Pete Seeger (or
perhaps Woody Guthrie) tune:
If you see me passin’ by and you sit and you wonder
why
And you wish that you were a rambler too,
Nail your shoes to the kitchen floor,
Lace ‘em up and bar the door
And thank your stars for the roof that’s over you.
And I can’t help but wonder where I’m bound, where
I’m bound,
And I can’t help but wonder where I’m bound.
I also remember the look in my own father’s eyes when that wanderlust
would awaken and stimulate a long litany of questions regarding choices and
possibilities. My father never seemed to
become morose, but there is a very private feeling when one reveals their dream
of venturing out into the world. How
different his life would have been! A
father of five, a man who valued family above all else, could hardly take off
for South America or explore the back country of Alaska, but in his dreams
there were opportunities there and he needed to consider these adventures from
time to time.
I listened as Mark and this gentle blue-eyed Chechnyan spoke.
So many feelings run through me as I consider this delightful encounter.
Before we go our separate ways, our Russian friend makes point of saying
he plans to renew his long-neglected study of English when he returns to his
home.
Twenty-four hours on a train can speed by given the right companions.
·
Tuesday,
22 November 2005: ANNIVERSARY OF ORANGE EVOLUTION & DAY JFK WAS SHOT
One of the advantages (or handicaps) of not speaking a language well is
we are isolated (somewhat) from news and events of the world. Though we have been in Kiev for several days,
we are not knowledgeable about the events planned to mark this anniversary of
the Orange Revolution.
Over the weekend, we observed bleachers being built at several points
along the main avenue (Kreshchatyk), so activities are planned. We are southbound on a train so will not know
what took place. The sentiment generally
seems to be one of disenchantment with the current leadership. This may be attributed to overly optimistic
expectations regarding change. My
assessment of Ukrainians is they often have a rather pessimistic streak, but
despite this characteristic, those who supported the current President
anticipated sweeping, dramatic changes.
Along with disappointment with the timelines, there is also some
grumbling about how the president is conducting his personal life too.
I find it wise (and fairly easy) to disassociate with politics.
No doubt in several weeks, when our copy of Newsweek arrives, we will
read a short, synthesized version of the events of the day and perhaps a
perspective on how things are going.
When we arrived last March, the color orange was evident; perhaps it is
simply no longer a popular fashion statement.
·
Monday,
21 November 2005
Last Night We
Stayed at Prolisok…
Mark gave another presentation to the new trainees at Prolisok, the
sanitarium just outside of Kiev, where PC accomplishes group trainings. True to the name (Prolisok means snowdrop),
we arrived to snow flurries, the first of the long winter season.
The facility is gradually being restored.
Since my last visit, in April, the lobby has been renovated, old windows
and doors replaced with energy efficient ones that allow more light to pour in,
yet keep the space comfortable and breeze-free.
I hope the renovations will eliminate the beds currently in use at this
facility. The beds are definitely a holdover
from the Soviet era. They are very
narrow, but the discomfort is from the mattresses, which are only about two
inches thick. Under the thin mattress
(mat?) are wires stretched between either side of the bed. Many of the beds sag, sag, sag while others
have been firmed up by adding boards under the mattress. If the occupant of the bed is taller than 6
feet, they will have additional remarks concerning length of the bed.
These narrow, uncomfortable beds are not restricted to Prolisok. The beds at the hotel in Kiev seem to have
been purchased from the same distributor (in Soviet times there was only one
distributor!). In our double room at
both hotels, we found two narrow, hard wooden beds lined up on opposite walls
of the room. We have yet to sleep in a
double bed in this country.
The hotel, is also under renovations, so perhaps the beds will be
replaced during our tenure here in Ukraine.
Our sleeping arrangements on the train are more comfortable than our
experiences at either of the afore-mentioned hotels.
Of course, there are hotels with wonderful accommodations in this country. We are, of course, not tourists and we are
not paying the rates a tourist may pay.
A tourist may stay in very pleasant accommodations here for $30-$50 a
night. In fact, at the hotel in Kiev, we
perched on the edge of our narrow “cots” watching a tiny TV that advertised
beautiful, well-appointed rooms in the very hotel we were staying in.
During our host family stay in the village, we were exposed to a hotel
that was clearly intended for tourists; and recently in Kerch, we toured a
recently renovated hotel that had rather luxurious accommodations at very
reasonable rates for paying guests.
One of the lessons Peace Corps service offers is the opportunity to visit
a country and live like the local people live.
The contrast between expatriate life, tourist life and PCV life is
dramatic.
For most Americans visiting Ukraine, it would be easy to visit Kiev and
not be aware of how economically challenged this country really is.
·
Sunday,
20 November 2005
Last night we dined at an Italian restaurant with several other PCV
couples. I find some humor in observing a group of Americans using Russian to
order Italian foods from a waiter who speaks Ukrainian. The waiter actually was quite pleased to
demonstrate his English speaking skills.
Many of the people dining in this restaurant are, in fact, speaking
English.
Kiev is a cosmopolitan city where one can find most anything one wants,
for a price.
Like many capital cities, there is an interesting mix of foreigners
present and they often congregate in the same places though they may, in fact,
have widely diverse interests, experiences and backgrounds. Ambassadors rub elbows with back packers…
The PC office is set in a neighborhood teeming with life. It is near the Opera House, cathedrals, the
University and several embassies. The
botanical gardens are near by and so are monasteries, war memorials, and the
most fashionable street in the city and all the elegant shops associated with
it. There are museums and malls, the
circus (permanent), stadiums, and all manner of places to dine or drink. There are more trees and shrubs and flowers
than in any European city, so the streets are lined with chestnut trees and
plants. There are street venders
everywhere too. You can buy anything on
the street! There are photographers who
will entice you to let an owl or a monkey perch on your shoulder while you
smile for the camera.
The best part is the street music!
On the way back to the hotel, we stop in the metro to watch couples
dancing. The accordion player in the
metro station had gathered a crowd of hundreds of dancers. The dancers, mostly older men and women,
dance enthusiastically and with abandon.
I laugh, clap, and delight to see people so willing to have fun. They wear their furs hats and coats as they
whirl and twirl, making the metro stop into a ballroom.
This is a wonderful city and I glad to be here to observe it all.
·
Saturday,
19 November 2005
At the married couples group, there was much discussion about experiences
during the host family stay. Many of the
PCVs indicated they felt it was not necessary for them to stay in a host family
setting because as a married couple, they had lived on their own for many years
and consequently needed additional privacy and space. The consensus seemed to be that only young
singles really needed the second host family setting to make the transition to
life at site.
Now, after the fact, I wish I had shared an opinion.
The initial experience of living with a host family is definitely challenging
and eye opening. As married couples (and
Americans), we are accustomed to have space, privacy and autonomy. In our American life, we do not usually have
several generations living is such small quarters. Here it is fairly common for people to live
side by side in close quarters.
The second experience of sharing a home with a host family is also a
challenge for many of the same reasons.
It also confirms that the first experience and the related challenges
are not simply an aberration.
It is an opportunity to see how life really is in this country. While each couple or each volunteer has a
separate experience, I believe that the frustrations and challenges of living
in a small space with limitations on autonomy can help us all have a better
picture of what it is like to be a Ukrainian.
We experience first hand the frustrations of dealing with limits that we
are unaccustomed to in the USA. Through
the host family experience, we gain firsthand a better understanding of how
people make decisions and what drives their choices.
This is an opportunity to build skills and to observe first hand how life
works here. The insight gained from
watching a family operate is invaluable, not only from the cultural angle, but
also as a way of learning about the economy and politics of the area.
It is less about the transition and learning coping skills, but more
about learning who these people are that we will live among. The insights garnered throughout this
challenging apprenticeship period can be the basis for doing effective needs
assessments and designing project plans that will be sustainable because they
matter to the community of people served.
This aspect of the host family issue was not discussed and though it may
be obvious to some trainees, I think many may overlook it. The three months with host family at site can
be, should be, a considered as an apprenticeship and really is a wonderful tool
for making the whole PCV experience more meaningful and more effective.
Yes, it is a pain, but growing pains are part of most ventures.
·
Friday,
18 November 2005
Thursday afternoon and night and all morning Friday on the Kerch-Kiev
train.
We walk from the train station through a winter wonderland. The first snowfall of the season welcomes us
to this beautiful city. The streets are
filled with people sporting elegant furs and dramatic boots.
After 24 hours on the train, we are glad to walk and to breathe fresh
air.
I spent my train-bound hours engaged in re-reading a classic: “Anna
Karenina.”
At the PC office, we are once again trapped indoors in a stuffy
room. The PCV lounge is filled with
animated trainees who have returned from site visit and are eagerly sharing
experiences with one another. Bags,
backpacks and coats litter the floors and cover all the chairs and
couches. Lines to use computers are
long.
I step into the TV lounge where the bookshelves are. Here I find several PCVs who are repacking
overstuffed bags and discussing the strangeness that comes with completing
service and returning to the USA as a RPCV (Returned Peace Corps
Volunteer).
I listen to conversations from the PCTs and RPCVs as I peruse the
bookshelves.
The bookshelves house books donated by PCVs. The general rule is to exchange one book for each
you take, but it is understood that when you depart you will no doubt
contribute many volumes since the weight allowance for returning stateside is
no lager than for those who are arriving here.
There are always piles of clothes, books, movies and knickknacks that
simply do not make the final cut when the
RPCVs struggle to downsize their cumbersome bags at the last
minute.
This is a wonderful time to visit the bookshelves. (The new trainees are already overloaded with
new acquisitions from site, so they have no room in their baggage and pose no
competition for the excellent books available.)
I spend a happy hour picking through the volumes and settle on a stack
to haul back to Kerch.
Meanwhile Mark has commandeered a computer and is trying to upload our
newly revised webpage. We made major
revisions to the site and streamlined it as well as made it more attractive and
used friendly. I am eager to share some
photos of our neighborhood with family and friends. We also reworked the CALEB Library Project
site and added some duck tales from Ed the Duck (Mark is having fun with
that!).
Unfortunately, the uploading does not go well.
It does not go well at all.
After several attempts and several failures, the site is now a real
patchwork of old and new. We are finally
locked out. Mark is unhappy and we are
disappointed.
With presentations to give to the PCTs tomorrow, Mark has no time or
energy to deal with this challenge today, so we elect to escape the PC offices
and metro to the outdoor market.
First, we walk through the city and visit the artisans market that wends
down the hillside behind a beautiful church in the upper city o the river at
the base. There are delightful and
beautiful handcrafted items to admire, but we do not buy anything. This area is beautiful and it is enough to
just walk and observe and enjoy.
Mid-afternoon we board the metro and are dropped off at the huge outdoor
bazaar where we spend the afternoon wandering through the hundreds of market
booths devoted to computer toys, games, movies, and equipment. Despite the snow and cold, the bazaar is
thronged with people happily shopping and socializing.
Later we visit an indoor store (an actual Computer City Store!) and
wander through a shopping mall for a while.
The city is so alive and beautiful.
Tomorrow Mark has presentations and we will attend a married PCVs
meeting to discuss relevant issues and to socialize with like-minded PVC.
·
Thursday,
17 November 2005
Laughter is inner jogging.
-Norman Cousins
English Club last evening – sleeper car enroute to Kiev this evening.
I am thinking about a review of a J. Didion book I look forward to
reading.
The title, “The Year of Magical Thinking,” is a clue to the
contents. She details of loss and grief
during the year following the death of her spouse. (Reviews include the fact that she also lost
her only child, an adult daughter, just months after she completed the memoir.)
The past few days I have been working on upgrades to the CALEB Library
Project web site, so my thoughts turn to my own feelings of loss and
grief. There is a power and a strange
joy that comes with efforts to come to terms with death and dying. Since Caleb’s death, I am able to step
outside my own small world in a way that transcends anything I was capable of
before I went through this unkind lesson in loss. There is more purity in my joy and my
appreciation of small things is much grander.
I find connections I might never have considered.
I have earned much about love and there are no words to frame those
lessons.
I wish I could read my journals dealing with the months immediately
following Caleb’s death. Those journals disappeared in a computer
incident last year. The loss of the
narratives of those years was/is painful too.
But I know that the “fading, finite forms” (as Mary Baker Eddy says)
give way to a grander panorama.
It is the lesson that is important, not the steps taken to achieve
it.
These thoughts may seem abstract or lie some kind of mind-game one plays
to find comfort, but that is not the truth.
It is hardly possible to transcribe even a glimmer of Truth in mere
mortal words, yet Truth and Life and Love grace my life in abundance.
And for that I am grateful.
·
Wednesday,
16 November 2005
Kindness does wonderful things to a face.
- Dixie Doyle
My Approach to
Journaling…
I approach these moments at my computer as catharsis. I simply write for a minimum of ten
minutes. Whatever flows through my
fingertips and spans the screen is what becomes my daily post.
I journal in a stream-of-consciousness fashion. I write without editing (though I may run the
spell-check on occasion.)
The words and sentences simply flow and the thoughts that appear are
sometimes a surprise to me, even though I am the one originating them. Even when I detail an event in our lives,
there is no conscious editing.
I seem to think in sentences, though often I resort to phrases and use ellipses
too often to bridge some digression or indicate some extract.
I find a connection between my morning routine and the thoughts that flow
through my mind as I do the simple chores and tasks we all must do to move
forward with our lives. Often I will
wake with thoughts I would like to share or perhaps later, with hands in hot,
soapy water at the kitchen sink, I will ponder some idea or incident, but
rarely, if ever, do those essays or random ideas make it to the journal.
My dog-walking days with Miss Zoë (Oh how I miss Miss Z!) were filled
with thoughts eager to line up on the virtual paper that my laptop provides. And now my days of learning Russian and
carving out a life in another culture provide me with many fuel for essays and
conversations with others or with myself.
These daily moments at my computer, pouring out rather random thoughts, cente