Ukraine, a Country of Extremes
This text was most of an article that I wrote for "English," a private weekly magazine for English teachers in Ukraine. They devoted one March issue to Peace Corps for our 45th Anniversary!
When I think about what Ukraine means to me, there are many ideas that come to mind : inquisitive and anxious students, young and old; service without a smile; friends on every corner; warm summers; cold winters; active political movements; lack of utilities. And I am always struck by the contrasts. Here is a country where you can regularly see a very expensive SUV parked next to a horse; where I live in area known all over the former Soviet Union for its water, and yet my tap doesn't have water almost as often as it does; where the town to the southeast charges $400 a night for a hotel room and the town to the southwest suffers from drugs and depression because of the lack of business; where people are fiercely patriotic, but tell me to buy goods written in Polish because they are of better quality.
Coming to Ukraine to be a Youth Development volunteer, I really didn't know much about Ukraine or what I was to do. I had read about the Orange Revolution, and I knew that I was to strengthen the skills of IT, business, health, and citizenship among youth. But what does that mean? Having lived here a year, I realize that there is no way that I could have known about Ukraine or my job; if I had 5 more years, I could start to get the idea. The thing I have learned the quickest though is that the stereotype of Ukrainian hospitality is very true. People have been very warm and incorporated me in many parts of their lives. This has led to my biggest role being that of a teacher in many of the schools, in my town of 70,000.
The other day one of my students asked me how I chose to be a teacher. It was a funny question for me, because I have always tried to choose NOT to be a teacher, contradictory to many opinions, and yet I always seem to find myself teaching. Ukraine has taught me that all my fears of teaching inside a classroom are true, but at the same time, they are not so bad as I thought. My time here has also taught me that I would like to keep on imparting knowledge no matter what work I do next, but maybe not in a school context.
I think my greatest successes will be the people I have met. They have surely touched my life, and I think I have touched theirs. My lasting effect here will certainly be through them and their work, perhaps on the topics above; but more importantly, I hope they have the skills to identify and plan projects on the topics of the greatest importance to them and the community; to coordinate their efforts in development. Ukraine is always changing; I think over the centuries, it has always been this way. People are not afraid of change, and yet they do not really embrace it, which leads to some rather noticeable discrepancies in development. Learning to coordinate their efforts will bring great advances. English will help this, as will their social characters, but the desire for improvement will be the greatest impetus. I think this innate desire in the Ukrainian people is what has made the Peace Corps program in Ukraine so strong, and I feel that encouraging this motivation is an important part of my work here.
Being completely autonomous to choose your work and projects is awesome in so many ways, but not the least of those, is the responsibility you have in their success. Peace Corps is amazing because of the people that you meet and the experiences that you have. Hopefully, people are learning as much from me as I am from them.
Odds and Ends
Well, I've decided to comment on Ira's post, and also to clean up a few loose ends.
I just read Meg McGinty's blog that she referenced after the wine tasting. I like it a lot and there is a particularly good essay up now. Something that I have thought a lot about, and I think many of you also. www.megmcginty.blogspot.com
I want to add to my wish list: cranium if it isn't there, and the sign you see in reststop bathrooms "Employees must wash hands before returning to work"
I got my photo in the paper with the other scouts. And I am smiling big, and wearing my uniform proudly. It made me feel good.
Ira, I can't edit your comments, I can only un-list them, and I didn't want to do that. You make some good points, and maybe it is my own naivety, but in my opinion, you could and probably almost wholly were accepted for the year you lived in the US. Yes, I think there were always be people critical of "foreigners" but it is rather anti-American to dwell on where people are from. I think we concentrate on much more where you are going, so if you had, or have, the desire, I think in a very short time you can be completely integrated into America. I have read many articles by terrorism experts that say this is why we have had so few terrorist acts. After September 11, there were subsequent attacks in several European countries, but no major one in the US. Added to the riots that have been all too common recently, and I think it shows how truly accepting we are. Thoughts from others on my opinions or objectiveness?
I do agree that Americans all too often don't listen to the answers to questions they ask, but maybe this is human, because I have definitely experienced here much more than I would have expected. I have always attributed it to my lack of language expression and their lack of patience. I will also agree that high school in America is EXTREMELY image conscience and there are a lot of people that will say or do what they think will earn them the best status, but perhaps not make them the best person. I think this is a transition though, that most Americans come through realizing that they must be true to themselves and fair to others.
And the question I asked became more and more forthwith from the time it developed out of a discussion about diversity in my class to when I was asking those I consider my closest friends here. It was simply, 'After how long, or under what circumstances, would you consider me Ukrainian?' And the answer became more and more straight forward too. I agree Ukrainians will not pretend to be your friend. They will always tell you what they think, and this case it was, 'Nothing and no amount of time; we could never truly consider you Ukrainian.' It was the straightforwardness, in a culture known for its subtlety and face-saving that cut so deep.
Finally, yes, I think I was rather accepted in Italy, though I never just asked; maybe I wasn't, but the personal interactions I had there were definitely similar in some ways to Ukrainian ones of similar situations, and very different also. And, yes, there are always people that make you feel that you don't belong, but these are not usually people I really want to keep company with anyway. Here it has been the very people that have made me feel that I belonged, that I do enjoy their company, that I have been so surprised by. I think I have made this into a much bigger deal than I meant to. I understand the circumstances. As I said, at some level I think I always have; it was just a bit emotional last week.
Exclusion
As per request:
I realize that when people are discriminated against, it makes them retreat into a shell; they become more self excluding and selective like the youth in France we are hearing about in the news. This has happened a lot in Ukraine's history, but the idea of having your culture taken from you, and not being allowed into a new culture is a very poignant idea for me right now.
I got very defensive the other day, when someone said that America has no native cuisine. I got onto a roll (no pun intended, well maybe) talking about turkey, and stuffing, and apple and pumpkin pie, sweet potato anything, grits, biscuits, pancakes, chili, banana nut bread, and I realized that we have just as many dishes as Ukraine does, and that when you add in all the variety and diversity it is amazing. I got my point across, but it made me a bit homesick, and rather defensive. The other thing that really gets me recently is when people are SO surprised that I cook for myself. I actually had someone ask me the other day if I can really buy beets at the bazaar, as if I am not capable, or the sellers might rip me off. It seems so patronizing, but then again, last week I made quesadillas for my classes (for Cinco de Mayo) with quacomole (I had to go to a special grocery store in another town to buy an expensive but good avocado), salsa and sour cream. Barely anyone tried them; it was as if they were afraid...of quesadillas!! I was amazed. I guess if they don't have enough sense of adventure to try a piece of a benign looking dish that I have explained to them and made myself, then I could see how buying beets at the bazaar might be a monumental undertaking.
This was all a prelude to what I wrote the other night:
I write this slightly intoxicated from a Ukrainian party.
There is something very hard about this country, something for which no one has words but which I found this week.
When I first got my assignment to Ukraine, I was a bit dissappointed frankly. I thought that Peace Corps would be my one time in my life to experience life as a minority. Being a white male of European descent, I didn't think that Ukraine offered this challenge. Little did I know.
Have you ever really experienced exclusion? That is what is hard about this country. From several subsequent events this week I have experienced it. From nearly the beginnning of my time here, maybe from Soviet tradition, I felt that Ukraine was a country that you had to ask the RIGHT questions. Without a very specific question, you can't ascertain the right information. This week, I asked the right question, and so much came painfully clear.
I will NEVER be Ukrainian. I can dress in traditional clothes, I can speak impeccable Ukrainian, I can be a member of the Ukrainian Scouts, I can live here for decades, but although people constantly ask me about my interest in these things, and applaud my progress, but they will never truly accept me as their own. I should have known this from the moment I saw a Ukrainian passport - separate from citizenship, their passports state their ethnicity.
This is such a contrary notion to an American, and I think it is something that we all sense here at some level. Try as we might, even though we have left our culture, our language, our homes, our friends, and our families, we will never, ever be truly accepted here.
Europe's problems of assimilation and riot have become painfully clear this week. I'm not sure I have ever been so hurt, so casually.
An interesting day
For the first time, I believe, in my life, I wanted to buy fizzy water and all they had was still. For anyone that has traveled to ANY European country, I am sure you will see how incredible this circumstance was. At first, I thought I hadn�t understood the shop attendant.
Another incredible event, I was standing on the street (slightly conspicuously, I will explain below), and a man walked by, commenting that I was American. The strange thing was that at first he kept walking and then he turned and came back to ask if he was right (of course he was just coming from a caf�/bar and later told me that he had just started his month vacation which probably meant he was slightly intoxicated.) Well, he knew I was American because he rode overnight with me and the other volunteer in a train car, A YEAR AGO! He remembered her watch in detail. I don�t even remember if we talked to him, I don�t think so.
I was conspicuous, because I was wearing my American Scout uniform, and standing with a Ukrainian Scout in uniform. We were playing a game, with teams from every school in town, something like a treasure hunt. The scouts had organized it. The interesting part is that I went into a store after, and I think the attendants had a chuckle at my expense, and it really bothered me. They may have been laughing about something else, but I couldn�t help thinking it was me, and after so many years, something that can give me such great pride in the right company, still embarrasses me in public. I was ashamed, and I am teaching a lesson next week on self esteem.
Up a Mountain
This past weekend, 3 volunteers of different ages and backgrounds, and myself hiked to the top of the tallest mountain in Ukraine, Mount Hoverla at 2061 meters. It was a great time. There were hiccups and embarrassments, not to mention 4 feet of snow near the top, but in the end we were all successful. There was some risk of avalanche, so we took a guide with us. We weren�t sure we would make the top when we could finally see it but he urged us on. It was great to be camping again. I got to use a bit of my expertise, and it brought back nice memories of my family, the Kellers, the different Fine Sheetz Adventures, and the Yosemite crew. The mountain sub range of the Carpathian Mountains (the geographical center of Europe) where is Hoverla is located is called the Black Mountains (чорна гора) and it reminds me a lot of the Sierra's.
I hope you all had some nice adventures too. I was thinking of you.
Orphans
So I was going to post a rather angry message today, but after reading Blia's latest email, my thoughts seemed rather petty. I am sorry if this moves some of you to tears as it did me, but it needs to be said. Email me if you want Blia's address.
So I have decided to move my camp to August, so it’s not gonna be in May anymore. Another volunteer is having her’s in May and I’ll be helping her out. It works out better anyhow, because I have more time to prepare. So if you are sending items/supplies for the Boys & Girls Day Camp you can just send it SURFACE MAIL & I will get it within 2-3 months, I’m sure, way ahead of the August date.
We also recently began a Boys & Girls After-School Program & I LOVE IT! So I just thought 20 kids would show up, I had over 80 kids show up on the first day! There were so many kids, and we just had this little shack of a room, you know, broken windows, cement walls falling apart, so we packed as many kids as we could into the room, then other kids who couldn’t fit in peered through the windows! The children & youth do arts & crafts, sports activities, and life skills/HIV&AIDS education, etc. Most of these kids are orphans & vulnerable children, we also have children that don’t attend school because they can’t afford school uniforms & school fees, so they come to the after-school program. We started this because children here don’t have any activities after-school, so a lot of children are getting involved in high-risk behaviors. So if you all send items/supplies for the Boys & Girls Day Camp in August, I hope you don’t mind me also using it for the after-school program. I promise you whatever you send, nothing will go to waste.
That said, oh my goodness, so you know in Swaziland, we don’t have someone come & pick up our garbage. Basically every family has a garbage pit, and you throw your stuff in there & then once a month the family burns the garbage pit. So one day I’m at Ebuhleni Primary School (it’s the elementary school that I have to cross the Indiana Jones bridge to get to & I just started teaching this term), and I see this old empty package that has papers in it, and it’s from America. I was like, oh wow, who sent the elementary school a package from America? I go over & look and it was my empty package that I had thrown in the garbage pit months ago! Kids go through everything here, and NOTHING GOES TO WASTE. I’m always throwing away plastic bags, with garbage in it – kids use plastic bags as backpacks for schools here & bomake (mothers) make carpets & purses out of plastic bags. So I see a lot of my crap (or what I think is crap) being used again as something else. And in fact, Ebuhleni is another village, so it’s just mind-boggling that my garbage ended up there!
Like I have mentioned numerous times, creating dependency is something I hate, however thinking about how my family got to be where we are, we would not have made it without the help of many generous offerings from such kind people. My family lived in a refugee camp after the Vietnam War before they made it to America, and without the help of a sponsor I don’t know where my mom, dad, & siblings would be in our lives now. Another reason why all of this is so close to my heart is because my father was an orphan, he lost both of his parents when he was young, and he went to live with a family that virtually made him do all the household chores. I never understood it when he use to get really upset when my siblings and I fought or when we were lazy, didn’t do our chores, or slept in till 8am on the weekends, but now I do. My father didn’t have his biological siblings, so he always wanted us to appreciate one another, and he use to get really upset when we were mean to one another. Because you see these kids that are orphans here, most of the times they’re separated from their biological siblings sent to another family & they become the herd boy, the one who wakes up at 5am to herd the cows, then in the evening they bring in the cows, and their not treated like a child that belongs to the family, they’re just not. They’re treated like “you should be grateful I took you in because no one else would.” There are also many child-headed households here, that is a family that is run by a child because both parents have passed away or abandoned the family. And this may sound awful of me to say, but sometimes I think it’s better to be living in a child-headed household than to be living with someone who treats you like a slave. I should also mention that most of these orphans end up living with a grandparent that is too old to take care of them and provide for them. When I was registering the children, I didn’t have one child cry when they talked about not having parents or how their guardians mistreated them, but I had grandparents cry because they just couldn’t provide for these kids, but at the same time they knew they couldn’t abandon these kids, and they were crying because they were looking at the Young Heroes program as hope. Due to the fact that we knew some guardians/caretakers would abuse the system and use the money for other purposes than food & clothing, we chose other responsible adults that the children live by or are related to avoid that.
You know when I sat down & heard these kids’ stories one by one, I just really wish there was more I could do then just write their information down. Especially, the little 3 month old, Sakhamuti Hlatswayo – I couldn’t sleep at all, I kept thinking about this little baby. And many of them, their mom and dad died from an illness they don’t even know. The death is always “unknown” in this country. Or on the death certificate it will state “Cause of death – Tuberculosis.” I should also explain that the route I went in registering the double orphans in my chiefdom was through the schools, so the headmasters (principals) have verified that they are double orphans. Because sometimes people lie to register their child because they need the money so bad. And there were people who came to register their single orphans (that’s a child that has lost one parent), and oh my goodness, I hated that, because they start telling you their story, and it’s so hard to tell them that this program is only for double orphans. There are SO MANY single orphans, so many.
So NERCHA is going to put pictures of the children up on the Young Heroes website, and most of the children I registered will be wearing school uniforms (children are required to wear school uniforms in this country & school is not for free either), because I had so many double orphans to register I couldn’t go to every single homestead, so I registered them at the school. For most children they have one school uniform and wear it 5 days a week, however, they wash it every night & iron it every morning, believe me, they do this, because they’ll get beaten by the teachers or headmasters (principals) if they don’t. I’m just mentioning this because you’ll probably look at the picture and think they look just fine they’re wearing a collard shirt & slacks, but believe me this is their ONE good outfit they own. And when you look through the pictures, you are gonna see that they are standing next to a cement house, that is the school, it’s not their house. Most of the double orphans live in mud huts. So please don’t choose to sponsor a child by what they are wearing or what they are standing in front of, because I took most of these photos at school, so for most of these children, they are wearing their one best outfit they own. On weekends, I see my kids from school wearing their high water pants that they’ve owned for years, or skirts all ripped up. I even had a little boy & girl come looking their best, in their church outfits because it was their first time getting their photos taken. The majority of these people have never seen a photo of themselves, so when I show them how they look like on the digital camera they are so amazed, laughing, & gasping. Okay, so I gotta stop, because I could go on & on about orphans here.
A watch and a painting
Imagine a beautiful, expensive watch. Imagine the workmanship that helped to create it. Each piece and part is precisely crafted, calibrated and fitted. Each piece builds on the others, dropped carefully into place in the proper order, until the last piece, no more critical than the rest and yet not less, is fitted. At that proper moment, when the last piece falls, the clock snaps to life, as if it has always been running and will always run, but when in fact it had a definite moment of completion. The watch will continue to keep time without human interaction, always offering the same usefulness to those who need it, but indifferent to the existence of such a need or to whom has it.
Now imagine a beautiful painting. The artist starts with a blank canvas, exactly like so many others, but yet with some intrinsic, simplistic beauty of its own. He then piles on background, colors on top of colors, sometimes working quickly and at once, sometimes slowly or in pieces over years. Eventually a picture begins to appear, and there is a point, when satisfied or not, the artist will stop, but he knows the work is really never finished. He has poured his soul into his work, but the end goal is to sell his work, and he will call it complete when he thinks someone will buy it.
This is my most current analogy for life in Ukraine. It is a comparison of American and Ukrainian project planning. Each ends with a masterpiece, but the process is so different. Trying to place a clock into a painting, without extraordinary talent, will almost certainly look ridiculous. This is often how I feel, an American in a strictly Ukrainian context; however, while recently planning a project with a Ukrainian friend, I noticed that I have slipped slightly and casually over to the dark side of no deadlines and no certainties. Planning here is really a process of ever changing circumstances, and the most successful projects flow with these sometimes precarious situations, instead of trying to swim against them, but that means accepting a great degree of uncertainty and putting projects out “for sale” when you aren’t so sure they are done to your liking, but you are pretty sure no one will notice the difference. Like art, project planning here is less of a thing or product and more of a process, an interaction. In America, projects and causes exist because of their own intrinsic worth and try to attract supporters and participants. Here, the cause exists solely to serve its audience. Without an observer, there is not art.
I hope this analogy makes this difference seem simple. In reality, it is anything but. Thoughts?
To the sailors in the crowd
Every group in Ukraine to whom I have told the story of the sailor�s heart, have hung on every word, but their immediate first question has always been why do I still have it. The fact that I have not yet found the right girl to give it to never seems to matter. In fact, when people find that I am unmarried, this same answer of not yet knowing the right person has the same effect, as if when I marry is more important than with whom.
