Perpetual Change
Because of the warm reception by all of you to my writing, and because of the therapeutic value that it offers me, I have decided to continue my blog. I am renaming it, as I am no longer a Peace Corps volunteer, but I hope the new name will only serve better as a title for the theme of my posts. This contradictory phrase seems to be the title of our lives as we battle with our souls. And just as perpetual motion constantly
eludes us, we will never be able to elude perpetual change.
The End (and adjustment)
As written by poet Heine in
1842:
Little mentioned at the moment, communism is the dark hero lurking in hidden garrets on miserable straw pallets - the hero destined to play a great, even in only temporary, role in the modern tragedy. He is only waiting for the cue to make his entrance. We must never lose this actor from our sight...we must seek out the rehearsals where he prepares in secret for his debut.
As written in a Peace Corps publication about re-adjusting in America:
...Volunteers miss the stimulation and exhilaration of meeting the challenges of living in a foreign culture, of the small triumphs that make up each day. No one gets excited in a shop or on a bus in America when you start speaking English...
The problem is this notion of home. The word suggests a place and a life all set up and waiting for us; all we have to do is move in. But home isn't merely a place we inhabit; it's a lifestyle we construct (wherever we go), a pattern of routines, habits, and behaviors associated with certain people, places, and objects all confined to a limited area or neighborhood. We can certainly construct home back in our own culture, just as we did abroad, but there won't be one waiting for us when we arrive...
In other words, no one
goes home; rather, we return to our native country and, in due course, we
create a new home.
As written in a Peace Corps "continuing service" informational booklet:
The Peace Corps Partnership Program
The program has two purposes (1) to help current volunteer communities realize a development project through their own efforts using technologies most appropriate to local resources, culture, economy, and traditions; and (2) to provide a bridge that enables Americans to participate in international development in a personal way. Partnership supporters find participation meaningful and it helps them gain greater insight into other cultures. Host country communities can request one-time assistance for locally initiated projects, such as recreation centers, workshops, schools, and clinics. One hundred percent of the donations go to the projects and all donations are tax deductible. Volunteers and local counterparts liaise with American donors and facilitate the projects through their completion.
My comments: Anyone can help. The average project is $3000, so a $100 can make a big difference. And you can even see how much the local community has pledged. It is really easy with a credit card, online at
http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donorsIf that doesn't work, go to
http://www.peacecorps.gov/ and click on the Donors button on the left scroll bar. Volunteer Projects are under the second heading. Donate Now lets you donate to worldwide initiatives based on issues of need.
Things I'll miss and things I won't
This is a poem that I wrote shortly after leaving Ukraine, and I sent it back to some key people. I want it to close my blog entries on the country... at least for now. However, if you take nothing more away from readingn my thoughts, please take this: The Ukrainian Nation suffered a devastating massacre under Stalin. In two years, he killed 10 million of them by a state orchestrated famine. The food existed! But it was not dispersed; it was kept under armed guard until it was shipped out of the country. It was meant to break the Ukrainian spirit, and it did it better than I could have ever imagined. We don't learn of this because the Former Soviet Union did not like to publicize such events, and even today, as with all terrifying man made horrors, people cope with it by pretending that it never happened... but it did. It was devastating, and in many ways, Ukrainians are still recovering from it mentally and emotionally. I believe that by merely knowing about it and remembering those sacrificed, you restore a little bit of their dignity that was stripped away.
I was asked once,
off my guard,
What I would miss of Ukraine
I, not ready to think of these things,
thoughtfully replied, “Borsht, varenyky and
the warmth of the people”
“And what won’t you miss?”
and I more quickly answered, “the roads and the draft.”
But now with time, I have found more things to be true.
I miss the garden, and the fresh mounds in the market,
changing from week to week
I miss the seasons – spring flowers, lazy summer days, autumn colors, and winter quiet.
I miss bringing home fresh flowers from the kiosk to brighten my apartment.
I miss my apartment,
the one room that became so much more, above the market and amongst my neighbors.
Make it your own, but share it with others!
I’ll miss Biliy Nich Beer, Zhyvchyk, "take your time" and the ironies, or contradictions, of
Ukraine.
I already miss not worrying about the small change for small purchases.
I miss the common understanding amongst volunteers.
I don’t think I will miss pointy shoes,
or will I?
And I know I won’t miss the roads in winter (or anytime really), the chronic pessimism, racism,
the way people constant undermine the authority of each other,
and of course, just for emphasis, I WON’T miss my personal nemesis…
the draft.
But of the things I'll miss, and of the things I won't,
I can’t decide,
Will I miss the puzzle of asking the right question.
If you don’t ask the right one, you won’t get the right answer
I love the puzzle of it, but it is so frustrating too.
And always worth repeating is the fact that I already miss the wonderful people,
but that will only be until I see them again,
and that
I know,
I will.
Anatomy of a language
This post was originally intended as a bit of a diatribe about the impressions of the West vs. the East in Ukraine and the world, but I posted most of those sentiments in an entry so named and dated (12/18). So you can go back and read them there.
I want to comment now on the interesting aspects of language as a tool, because that is what it really is, although it can also be poetry and literature. They asked me a long time ago if I think in Ukrainian, and after much pondering, I have concluded that yes, I do, except when I don’t understand or when I hear cognates. It is really an incredible feeling, and more accute, because I decidedly don't think in Italian, but now I may be thinking in Ukrainian or English when I translate into Italian. These are my impressions of language learning:
At first you are reduced to an imbecile and very insecure, often using pictures and gestures to communicate imprecise meanings.
Then you get to a point where you always feel as if you are about to drown as you frantically tread water in a pool of understanding. Sometimes your lucid, sometimes your mouth and ears are full of water.
Next you get to a point where you want to speak in the language, but the other person, confident that you may now actually exchange some real ideas, wants to speak your language. Often they want practice with a native speaker or they realize that you will understand better in your own tongue. So then you both end up speaking your non-native tongue. Although better than drawings, it is still amazingly inefficient because your passive language, or what you understand, is always much greater than your active, even in your native tongue.
I started this post when I got to this next step. At this point, the native speaker realizes that you can now talk and understand faster in Ukrainian than with the slow, ennuciated beginner language of either English or Ukrainian. It is quite liberating when you realize that it is easier for you to talk to natives in their own language than in yours, and you don't have to speak so slowly and clearly. I realized one day when I switched into Ukrainian and my speed of speech picked up dramatically. I initially thought, "how odd."
This is the point where you start to add foreign vocabulary without the help of your native language and you may understand a word perfectly well but because of unique context or conotation, you may find it difficult to translate into your native tongue. This is the point where people that aren’t used to speaking with foreigners don’t have trouble understanding you and you don’t them. It doesn't mean your grammar is wonderful, but it does mean that most of your mistakes are in the range of mistakes that natives make too. If you think of English, we often don't speak grammatically correct, but foreigners often make simple mistakes that grate on our hearing. It is an interesting trick to learn where the margins of error are greater or worse.
So, my only thought about East vs. West, is that people will always continue to speak the language of least resistance. And so it is a great testament to a man generally not well liked in the West, Yanokovich, the prime minister, that he learned to speak Ukrainian in a year for his government work.
And finally, a short anecdote about the humor of words with to meanings. While we were at the mushroom restaurant in San Remo, which will be recounted in a few posts by a guest writer, Kristyn Tobey, one of my old friends wanted a photo with some of the non-italian speakers with their tongues out, pretending to drink from the Grappa dispensers that had been deposited on our tables. In our slightly inebriated state, her direction in English came out as, "Put your language there!"
An odd day
This title refers to a very special phenomenon. It was penned by Edwin and myself, shortly before a manhole cover ate his left leg. It comes from the concept of trains that only run every other day, but more precisely, they run on odd or even days, as stated on the schedule. This blog post has become a collection of the less than believable.
It all started one week when I went to buy tickets for some students and myself who were going on a school trip. I was taking them on a 29 hour train ride across the country to meet their
pen pals and I had checked train times and price previously. Through my experience in Ukraine, particularly with travelling, I was pretty sure that although this was not my first time out to the train station to deal with these tickets, and even though I had money, dates,
IDs and all, it probably wouldn't be my last time out to the train station. This is what the odd day term refers too.
So when I arrive and try to book my tickets for the first of the month, the ticket agent has problems. Usually they are grumpy because you haven't understood some detailed intricacy of the system. This time she was grumpy because she didn't. Turned out, after much trial and error, that because the previous month had 31 days, they were not going to run the train on the 1st, seeing as that would be two odd days in a row. Heaven forbid. So I went home to call my students parents and see if we could leave one day sooner.
Shortly after this event, I went for the weekend to Odessa, where Edwin and
PJay had their own odd day stories:
In Edwin's town, a rather big city, one public, free Internet provider (in a library of sorts) only offers it every 3rd day. That's right. Who knows 3rd from what; we couldn't figure out how they count any better than they could, but they always had an excuse not to be open.
PJay went to buy a plane ticket and found that although the
Odessa ticket office was open, they were not selling tickets till Monday. They could quote her the price and availability though.
I once almost bought a plane ticket for the right day in the wrong month. When I caught it, the travel agent assured me that he had stated the right date to the airline. After a call it turned out that I couldn't buy a ticket more than ONE month ahead of time. So they had issued me the ticket for that day, the next month.
That same time, because of many nightmares (which I would rather forget), I had to pay in cash. I took out the money, and changed it at my usual place, except this odd day, all they had were 20's. I was shocked. I
literally ran down the street with a WAD of money that was bulging out of my pocket.
Edwin,
PJay and my stay in Odessa got even weirder. I went to a famous nautical museum to find it had burned down (ironic?)... on Easter! Who had been in the museum that day.
So instead I went to the museum across the street; it had been started in the 1830’s! They had a large Egyptian collection that had been given to them by Egypt...over a 100 years ago!
W took a harbor tour. The terminal looked abandoned, but in another of my classic Louvre experiences, some woman in an out of the way desk told us that there was something leaving right now. We ran down to the dock, to a boat that looked like it was pulling away, only to sit on it for 40 minutes waiting. The trip was a great view of the harbor cranes.
But my favorite was one morning when we couldn't find breakfast. Everything was closed, so we decided to go to a very famous hotel in town and have their brunch. I thought I had seen it the other day, so we walked that way. When we got close, I asked a newspaper kiosk and they gave me wrong directions, but I still found the hotel, only to find out that the brunch was 100
UAH (roughly the equivalent buying power of $100). Later I found out that the kiosk had given me good directions to the right hotel. The one we had been at was an
impostor.
So instead, we walked around and found another kiosk with danishes, and then bought coffee from a machine. Well Edwin tried, then
PJay tried to help, then I came over, and they said that coins were stuck in the bill slot. So I got out my pocket knife to try to fish them out. At this point, we have been at this machine for several minutes, in the middle of a book market that is just beginning to open up for the morning. A man who had been standing across the way with some others comes over, yelling about me breaking his machine. If I haven't ever told you before, I don't like to be yelled at, and in Ukrainian, I find that I will often yell back. My whole character changes a bit when I speak in Ukrainian; I am more gregarious and volatile. I started yelling back that I didn't break it and he should keep coins out of the bill slot (I was incensed that the owner had been watching this whole thing and doing nothing until he thought we were breaking it). He snarled back that there weren't any coins, but then as he opened the machine, everyone could hear them falling to the ground. He was indignant; I smirked; Edwin got his coffee.
That night at a restaurant, the waiter asked me if my parents had left Ukraine in 1962.
And finally, as we were walking the city one evening, discussing how to keep people from stealing manhole covers so that autistic children wouldn't fall into them (which was a real question posed to
PJay earlier that day by a parents group), Edwin stepped on the the side of a COVERED manhole. The loose cover pivoted like a trap door, and Edwin went down to his waist. Trying not to crack up
laughing (it was something out of the 3 stooges), we helped him up and thanked the heavens that he hadn't broken anything, or perhaps worse, lost his shoe...down there.
What an odd day.
Not all who wander are lost
-wrote JRR Tolkien
This is one of my last posts, about some forgotten trips with interesting stories.
Once upon a time...
...I went on a neat tour of a very old town called Chernihiv. In the church, there is a spot that if you rub your hands together, you can feel heat rising. It was weird along with bones and ghost stories, but I think I actually felt it.
...I had scrambled eggs for Christmas dinner, and the next day we pulled barbecue chicken, Korean marinated carrots and pumpkin pie; it was all delicious.
...I bought leeches at the pharmacy, which is common, and used them for a session on teaching health and first aid with a new group of volunteers. The point was to emphasize the differences and importance of cultural norms. I, however, had forgotten the word just as I walked into the pharmacy that day, and so asked if they had "something like a worm that eats blood".
...I went to a night club. It was very interesting and modern. The music was Bates Italian CD. I think I had a prostitute flirting with me at one point. And I saw someone who reminded me strongly of Jon Mace. He was also wearing a t-shirt that said in English, "I'm a catch."
...I visited the Skeli Dobush in spring (Cliffs named for Dobush). They were quite interesting. While there, I sat in the son on top, listening to a school tour guide speaking below. When the class came up, one of the girls asked me why I was sitting there. I said because the sun was nice; even after my reply, they didn't ask where I was from, but I did ask them. When I was leaving, I tried to ask the park guard when there would be a bus. He knew nothing, but there was a drunk on the bench nearby that said he was waiting for a bus that would be in a few minutes. Dumb idea to listen to him. As we waited, I saw a bus go by across the valley on the road which I had been planning to walk to. The other bus never came, I walked much further. So when I got back near my town, I was very hungry. I found a nice little cafe, where the waitress did catch my accent and asked me lots of questions, but the service was friendly. The food was good, and just what I wanted: a stew like chili and potato pancakes with mushroom sauce. The CD on was Ace of Bass.
...I was asked to do a wine tasting in autumn in the city of Uzhorod. I was told that there would be a translator. When I arrived, the translator was unsure of herself, and they all insisted that I could do it myself. I also was unsure. Wine is like poetry, but I did it, well I think. The wines and food were so good. Also, on that trip, I was taken to a national children's music competition that was held in an old mid-east style Synagogue. It was all beautiful. One rather small girl sang wonderfully. With one hand she gestured like an adult singer and with the other she held to the piano as if it was her mother’s skirt. We also visited an interesting historic architecture museum; old homes and buildings that had been collected from different parts of the countryside. The leaves were so beautiful. It was on the other side of the mountains from me; the most Western part of Ukraine, but with many international influences and I found some people couldn’t speak Ukrainian.
...my friend Drago told me a joke about Ukrainians love of land. [Editor's note: none of you may find this funny. I think it is great.] There was a Frenchman, an American and a Ukrainian standing around one day, when a man came up to them and said, "There at the edge of town is my land. I have so much, so I will let each of you ride your bike across my land and when you stop, the land you have covered will become yours. So the next morning, off the Frenchman rode. He rambled along, stopped to have a picnic lunch he had packed and called it a good day's ride early in the afternoon. He was very satisfied. The next day, the America set off a bit earlier, he had packed a lunch to eat as he rode, and he had a plan. He rode all day, and when he had reached his limit he stopped, pleased with his performance. Finally, the Ukrainian set out. He also set out early, and rode and rode and rode; he rode all through the next night; he rode till he could ride no more and then he started walking, and he walked and walked, until all he could do was crawl, and yet crawl he did, and when he couldn't possibly go any further from exhaustion, he took off his cap, and pitching it as far ahead as he could, he said, "and there I will plant my potatoes."
Random thoughts VIII...and good byes
Saying good byes involved lots of cookies and vodka, but it was generally very nice. Some people doubted I would ever come back, but most thought it was no long shot. A good summary of the sentiments would be one teacher from the Oil Technical School that said, "just whistle whenever you come to town."
My last week, I brought pizza and snacks for the teachers of my main school (a more or less normal way to send people off, or on your birthday - you are the one that supplies the party). I wore my traditional Ukrainian shirt. I was carrying a lot of stuff, and I noticed my shoe lace was untied. Just then, I was passing two men who upon seeing me in my shirt, asked if they could hold the things I was carrying so that I could tie my shoe. I was a bit shocked by the random act of kindness; something very rare on the streets especially among strange men. After I thanked them and began to walk away, they asked if I was with one of the leading political parties (It was
BYuT for all you Ukrainians reading).
I was surprised at the end how I could pick out which traditional songs were of
hutsul origin (a mountain ethnic group near where I lived) when at the beginning of my service, I couldn't even recognize all the names of
oblasts/states even after I had studied them.
St. Andrew’s is a very interesting holiday that involves mostly women predicting their future lives. It is like a whole night dedicated to the middle school game of M*A*S*H. You should see the pictures. They throw shoes over shoulder or walk them to the door to see who will be first to marry. They cast wax into water or apple peels to predict the
initials of their beloved. They ask the first person on the street their name, or spin floating candles in water to catch fire to a name of their betrothed or his mother's. They hang a ring on one of their single hairs to
tink in glass of water how many years before the big day. They draw lots for money, home or children. Men fish rings out of buckets like bobbing for apples, and on and on and on. It is very entertaining.
Van Hellsing is very close to the name of Romania in a Ukrainian local dialect (which either comes from the Romanian or Hungarian word). I wonder if this name is merely the name of the neighboring region to Transylvania is where the mythical hero came from. Also, Ihor is a common name in these parts.
This is really not a random thought, nor is the next, but they didn't fit in any other post. One night at my adult English club, as we were sitting in a circle and someone else was talking, one university student reached over and grabbed my pocket watch which was resting in my lap, to check the time. I was leaning back in my seat at the time, and it happened so fast, I didn't know quite what to do. I made a distraught and perplexed face. Several Ukrainians and Americans in the group saw the whole thing. They thought it was hilarious. The speaker was then curious what only a few people, scattered around, were laughing at.
In January, I took a friend to Nahuyevychi (I know that means nothing to any of you, but it is liberating to finally use the place name for these locations.) That is where a famous Ukrainian poet was born to a blacksmith. The guides have seen me so often (a half dozen times in 2 years), that they don't charge me anymore! I really felt like I had made it. The first time I went, I was escorted by the village priest's son, who was one of my students, they didn't charge him then.
At the HIV conference I went to last year, we had some session and someone said “does anyone sell abstinence?” Someone else replied, "Someone sold it to me when I got to this country.”
At another session someone said, “what difference does it make that my smoking mother died of lung cancer. Is it her fault?” I found this very interesting. No it's not her fault she died of cancer and that is certainly horrible, but it is her fault that she smoked which greatly increased her chances of cancer. This was during a session about stigma and how people always want to know how it happened, or why, and it doesn't matter how it happened when determining treatment. I certainly agree, but how does empathy and guilt work with dealing with risky behaviors. Do people hold any responsibility for their risky behaviors? If we say yes, we risk discrimination, but if we say no, we risk them not taking responsibility. How do you increase prevention without increasing stigma?
Finally, on an even more somber note, I want to dedicate this post to
Baba Vytvytsya. She died while making dumplings at home; her daughter was out planting potatoes. I was invited to the funeral in the mountain village. I had known them fairly well, stayed in their house, slept in the same bed as her grandson which is the bed she was laid out in. Her and her whole family are such kind people. I was struck by how much work a funeral is; people came from so far, so quickly, and in 2 days the village had dug the grave, secured a coffin, organized the cooking and serving of the funeral feast. They really all work together. We ate in the same room where she had been laid 2 hours earlier. It had been transformed into a dining area while we were at the church and graveyard. We prayed, toasted (you don't clink glasses at a funeral), ate, then prayed, departed. The alcohol and food definitely lightens peoples moods, and what starts so dour, always has an air of respect and solemnity, but definitely ends more festively. I wish those that survive her (which are many) continue on hopefully, and find happiness and blessings in this year to come. I hope to come back to visit them. May her soul find rest in peace.
Labels: random thoughts
Reminisces from school
These are some of my last random thoughts from my time as a teacher:
I think that I mentioned how the students stay with the same class for all of their time in school. There are some definite advantages to this way, but after two years of observation, I have decided that I would hate to be with the same students always.
If you really want someone to learn/know/understand something, you should teach it as if the language you are using is not their first; in this way, you focus on different ways for them to understand the same material and review and repeat it in creative ways. The results are amazing.
I observed an English competition where one 16 year old student of mine was asked what career she wanted. She started her reply by relating how her father wanted something for her that she did not. "If my father really loves me, he would let me be what I want," she continued. But I started to wonder, would he? If he really loved you and he thought you were making the wrong decision and you
couldn’t learn from it? What about manipulation? What about being made to do something you learned to love? These were hot topics for me as a Peace Corps Volunteer teaching things that their government had requested, but which the current cultural mindset didn't always see as useful or important.
One day in a class about ecology, a student replied in Ukrainian that animals that eat only plants are called: vegetarians.
They teach Christian Ethics in public Ethics class. I once engaged a group of students about what would happen to students that aren't Christian. Their response: But there aren't any in town. During Soviet times, they taught Atheistic Ethics. I have some textbooks from the time. They are quite interesting.
When I first met
Zenovia Omylanivna (the English Department head) at the school I started working in my first fall, she thought I was Ukrainian. When I explained who I was at the end of a seminar that I was attending at her school that day, she was a bit confused.
I went to teach sports games at another school one week. I had told the students ahead of time to where shoes they could run in. The girls showed up in High heels, but it didn't stop them from playing "Steel the bacon." Well too, I might add.
In summary of my time teaching, my heart goes out to all of the teachers out there. Your work is invaluable, and your patience
immeasurable. I know there are good times and bad, but most of your time is definitely under-appreciated. I appreciate it. And I will continue to advocate for more money to educators and education in any place that I live.
