Traveler, Writer, Aquarius, Peace Corps Volunteer
The evidence
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Believe it or not, this past week was my first anniversary in Ukraine. It�s somewhat shocking to think that exactly one year ago, I arrived in Chicago, along with 94 other anxious, scared, and excited trainees from every corner of the United States, our only commonality that we were the new members of Peace Corps Ukraine Group 25, armed with nothing more than our gumption and resolve. The shock of what we were actually embarking on had no time to wear off as we were thrown to the wolves two days after landing in Kyiv. God, three months of intensive language training, teaching practice, and living with complete strangers who barely knew English was a gauntlet through which only 81 of the original 95 would pass, swearing an oath to serve the United States just two days before Christmas and shedding our trainee�s skin for that of a shiny new volunteer.
Training now seems like little more than a dream whose evanescent images barely float into consciousness anymore. The same can be said for my first three months in Donetsk. All the time I spent with Tamara, Valery, and Jura little more than dust in the mental archives. My friends and social support network from my arrival are scattered. Old volunteers closed their service and other friends moved away. I moved into a new apartment while new volunteers showed up. Everything continues its steady flow.
Living as part of such a dynamic environment, one without roots and fetters, removed from America, I�m free to really see how things change. Since I�ve been away, friends have gotten married and had children, jobs and relationships have flourished, an Olympics has come and gone. It�s a little unnerving at times to feel like you�re living on the outer edge of a translucent sphere rotating at a much faster speed and sharper angle than your own. It throws off your balance. It messes with your chi.
But that�s the power of the illusion. Living overseas does that to you. At least it does it to me. There are times when I feel like my thumb is completely off the pulse of what�s actually going on in the world. And then there are times when I feel like I�m more closely a part of the world than I ever was running on life�s pedestrian treadmill back in the States. Since I�ve been here, I�ve learned a new language, immersed in a new culture, been completely helpless and frustrated, depressed and confused, surprised and inspired, joyful and content. I�ve judged a regional talent competition, planted vegetables on a family farm, swam in the Black Sea, cooked Ukrainian barbecue, and survived Ukrainian transportation. I�ve seen the opera and the circus and local football matches. I�ve published stories in the Peace Corps journal and been written about in the local press. I've defended America and lambasted it in the same conversation.
This really is a roller-coaster ride.
Anyway, I hope I haven�t bored the shit out of y�all with this short philosophical blathering fit. It�s a combination of dusting off the keyboard and realizing that I�m already half-way through my service, which is pretty friggin scary. When you take that leap of faith into the blackness of the abyss, you don�t always concern yourself with what happens when you hit terra firma. Sorry, just that one last blurt.
This has been an interesting month since I�ve settled down and started teaching again. I�ll tell you one thing � it�s a lot easier dealing with the school system the second time around and knowing what to expect, or what not to expect, like a class schedule or students showing up. The truth is things have gone much smoother than they did the first time around. My classes are all really good and for the most part, my students are inspired. I�m teaching the third, fourth, and fifth courses, the fourth and fifth returning from last year, so there�s a pleasant familiarity. And tomorrow I have my first English Club meeting, my secondary project, which I�m looking forward to. The students here have no outside clubs or organizations, and I hope this is something they can really get into and can help with their English.
In other news, I�m now typing from home thanks to my new home Internet connection, which I�ve had for almost a month now. It was pretty funny negotiating with the guy who hooked me up. From what I gather, he�s just allowing me to log onto his office�s network and piggyback on their connectivity while pocketing the monthly fee. First he gave me a few free weeks to try it out. Then he called and said, �So, you will pay $15 a month, yes?� To which I replied �Ivan, I told you, I can only pay 50 griven a month. I�m on a fixed income.� And he said, �Well, then how about 65 griven a month?� And I said, �No, I really can only do 50.� He sighed and said �Okay, 50 griven it is.� Needless to say, Communism didn�t exactly breed the best negotiating skills.
I also got cable, which I never watch, but have nonetheless. The only channel I wanted was BBC World for English language news, but my Stalin-era TV can�t pick it up, so it�s either buy a new TV for $120 for only a year, or deal with the six channels I can get. Right now, I�m leaning towards dealing with the six channels. Cable here is less than a dollar a month, and I can get all the news I need off of the Internet. Once again, this is not your father�s Peace Corps. When people think of �the toughest job they�ll ever love,� I doubt they�re realizing a life with cell phones, lap tops and DVDs, cable, and home Internet access. But I ain�t complaining.
The main story from this month, however, is not my new technology acquisitions, nor finally starting my Russian lessons, nor getting back to the gym (although that does merit mention. Three months off and I was a complete wreck after three lessons. I couldn�t walk or move my arms for a week.) It�s a tale of conflicting cultures meeting on neutral turf and an awkward situation in capitalism�s biggest venue.
It was a Saturday afternoon a few weeks ago, and I was running late for my Russian lesson. Being the slave to my stomach that I am, it was necessary to fill it with provisions before I even attempted to conjugate any irregular verbs. Since there was no time to cook, it was time for another episode of �Let�s Visit McDonalds.�
When I got there, the place was packed. I mean more crowded than I�d ever seen it. Don�t know what the occasion was, just that I wasn�t getting any love finding a place to sit. After doing two laps and consulting my watch to see if I shouldn�t just take it to go, I spied a vacated table for four in the far corner. The only traces of inhabitants were four half-finished milkshakes. At that point, as far as I was concerned, that was my invitation to sit down.
A good three or four minutes went by before the two papa bears returned with the two mama bears to find Chocolate Locks eating at their table. I just continued to eat my Royale Cheeseburger when I heard the mellifluous dulcet tones of my home language being spoken. When I looked up, I saw two attractive young Ukrainian girls with two very Arab-looking guys.
That�s when I made the first of my poorly executed moves. I engaged them. I asked them why they knew English and if they were students. The girls were fine with this. Their escorts, however, were less than thrilled. Which lead to the obvious question:
�Otkuda vi?� (where are you from?)
This, my friends, is the dilemma of being overseas. I remember when I went to Viet Nam I was advised to tell people I was Canadian or German to avoid trouble. With global anti-Americanism being what it is, there is no doubt that it is a risk admitting yours is the blue passport with the eagle on it. Staring at these two guys, the anger flashing in their eyes and furrowed on their brows, I weighed my words carefully. That�s when, wearing my best smile and sullen eyes, I said �Ya eez Ameriki.�
I�m not a man who thinks it�s right to hide from who you are. I�ve had more than one experience here where people have asked if I was Spanish or Italian or Middle Eastern and told them I�m �Evrei�, Jewish, only to have Ukrainian friends laugh and say that I shouldn�t admit that since many Ukrainians don�t like Jews. Now, that being said, I might have told one or two girls in discos here that my name is �Luis� or �Lou-ee� and that I might be part Italian or Spanish, but that�s a different matter entirely.
In all honesty, I wasn�t scared, but I was nervous at the possibility of a situation. I tried very hard to assuage them, assuring them that I don�t like the war any more than they do and that no, I don�t believe it�s right to kill innocent women and babies. I also told them that it�s very important to understand that just because a country�s government believes in war doesn�t mean every citizen does too. I repeated this several times as a peace offering. They asked me if it�s true that all Americans hate Muslims. I told them no, that Americans just hate the terrorists. But I didn�t want to get into it in any more detail. I just wanted to finish my Royale Cheeseburger and get out.
The bottom line is that it was extremely awkward, and it was the first time I really felt threatened. I asked them if they were students here at the medical university. One of them was; the other was on his way back to Jordan to join the other freedom fighters. Wow. I then stepped in a big pile of shit when mentioning that I had a friend here in Donetsk from Iran, to which they were quick to reply that Iranians are not Arab (if only I had read that article about the differences between the Persians and Arabs a week earlier�) Nothing happened, but folks at home, I�m tellin� y�all as apolitically as possible, whether you believe it or not, we are decidedly less safe as Americans after invading Iraq than before it. Think about that when you hang a chad next month.
All right, it�s late and I�ve got a full day tomorrow. Time for my beauty sleep. It feels good to be back in touch with ya. In parting, here�s an article that I wrote for Nu Shcho!, the Peace Corps journal, that they heavily suggested I edit to avoid offending any Ukrainians, saying that they were sure I didn�t intend for it to be as sarcastic as it was. Of course I did! What a foolish thing to say! So I blew them off and pulled the piece. But maybe I�ll have my revenge. I applied to be the new editor today. Keep your fingers crossed.
Peace peoples, and enjoy:
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