Traveler, Writer, Aquarius, Peace Corps Volunteer
The evidence
<< previous next>>
The anticipation is over. The official documents lie in an orderly pile on my desk, the 12-hour train rides to and from Kyiv were innocuous enough, I met my new family, faculty, and friends, and now all that's left is the formality of completing training and swearing in. But all things in due time.
The moment I had been waiting for since a year ago to the day (okay, the 22nd actually) when I first sent in my Peace Corps application began with nervous excitement and understated fanfare. The forty-five trainees of the Southwest section of Ukraine Peace Corps Group 25 shuffled into the Great Hall of the Post Graduate Institute on the outskirts of Kyiv. On the wall in the front of the room was a giant map of Ukraine, dotted with little strips of paper matching the names of the Northeast volunteers with the cities they will serve in. In the front row of seats sat the seven regional coordinators who would announce the newest members of their teams. Near the front of the room slightly off to the side, Country Director Karl Beck, Assistant Director Diana Schmidt, and Training Director Andrej Kolychek (or something like that). Lined up on the right side, against the wall, all the various trainers and assistants who comprised the cheerleading section. And in the remaining seats, a potpourri of jittery trainees formally adorned and juiced up on tea and percolating adrenaline.
I was expecting one of four places: Odessa, the large port city on the Black Sea; Crimea, the peninsula republic jutting into the Black Sea like a jigsaw puzzle; Donetsk, the major industrial mining city to the far east; or Karkov, another major city in the east and the odds-on favorite of my host mother Claudia. I had a sinking feeling that Karkov would be my new stomping ground too, although I admit I was pulling for Crimea as well. It was now just a matter of time.
The first regional coordinator stood up. She represented the north-central region of Ukraine. Six names were announced, and none sounded remotely like mine. As the names were called, one at a time, the trainees walked to the front of the room, shook hands with their new coordinator, received a packet with their city, school, and living information, and put their name on the giant map by their new home. Next came the central region of Ukraine. Again, the procession. Again, my name wasn't among them. No surprises so far. And then came Crimea. Five names were called and assignments passed out. As I waited to hear my name, my heart raced and body shivered. At that moment I hoped I would never win any awards that I had to accept in person, because I hate waiting to hear my name called. It turned out, however, that the tropics were not in my future.
So then onto the west, the primary stomping ground of Ukrainian-speakers, where I knew as a Russian student I had no chance of going. Following a long parade of names and places I didn't care about in the least, they got to the Odessa oblast (region). This is it, I thought, at least I'll be in a big city on the water. Once again, the Fates teased me. Well, looks like it's Karkov or Donetsk. Unless I really get screwed and end up somewhere Godforsaken. Oh, please God, don't screw me on this, I thought. Two years! Two friggin years!
At long last, Vasyl, the regional coordinator for the east region, stood up and held seven envelopes in his hand. Where, oh where, will I end up?
"The invitation to teach at the Institute of Social Education in the city of Donetsk goes to..." ...yeah, this has got to be me... "Lewis Gitter." Okay, I thought, be cool. Get up, smile, shake this dude's hand, put your name on the map, and don't start the litany of curses and breaking chairs until you know the deal. As I walked up to Vasyl, all the trainers and directors smiled at me. What smug asses, I thought. They just screwed me for the next two years and their acting like they did me a friggin' favor? The worst was Vasyl, big broad grin and all. "Welcome to Donetsk!" Christ, if there is a god in heaven, please exact your wrath now and take me out along with these Judas' with one huge lightning bolt. Needless to say, the lightning bolt was not forthcoming.
I feigned a smile and sat back down. Okay, at least I'm teaching at a university. There is a silver lining to this cloud. At this point, all I knew about Donetsk was that it is industrial and according to Claudia, smelled awful. I opened the packet to read about my assignment. Yeah, institute, blah blah blah... teaching English blah blah blah... population of Donetsk, 1.2 million. Hmmm... wait a second. Maybe it's not that bad. At least I'm in a big city and don't have to suffer in a small town where the only thing to do for two years is scratch my ass and watch television I don't understand. Perhaps the lightning bolt request was a tad premature.
When the last name was called and the ceremony complete, it was time for the requisite palm-pressing and ass-kissing. The placement officer I had met with a few weeks earlier, Natalia Somethingorother, a very attractive Ukrainian woman in her early-forties (or could have been late-20s -- women in Ukraine don't age well) came up to me. "So are you happy?" she asked. "Yeah, thanks so much," I replied. "I know you wanted to teach university and be in a city with a strong cultural center," she said. "I think you'll love Donetsk. Their ballet is the best in Ukraine, their football team Shaktar won the Ukraine league championship (beating Dynamo), and it's one of the richest cities in Ukraine." Oh really? I didn't know that. I only knew that it smelled like a chemical plant farted on the city. But at least I'm intrigued now.
Okay, long story short: after the announcements I met up with my school coordinator and the person who will be my lifeline for the next two years, Anya Sova. She's 30, married, very cool, and fluent in English. I also met another volunteer there who was from Donetsk (he had come to do a presentation on secondary projects) and he invited me to a party at this place called Bikers Bar my first night in town. Things portended to be okay. So I'm not living on the beach. Donetsk could be a cool place. All that was left was the visit, which would prove enlightening, debaucherous, and yes, a little malodorous...
continued>>
Other interesting stuff
Stay in touch
Lewkraine Productions
"Making the world a safer place to play."