Traveler, Writer, Aquarius, Peace Corps Volunteer
The evidence
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This has been an incredibly lazy month. Not that I haven't been doing anything, but I've definitely been out of my writing groove. The whole month of January has been a holiday and it's a struggle to get back to a normal routine.
Anyway, here's an article I submitted to the P.C. Ukraine journal. Later this week I should have an actual new story for the site about some of the bizarre encounters I've had over the past two or three weeks. Till then...
Oh, and by the way: to all of you back in the northeast who were laughing at how cold my winter was going to be... um, it's been incredibly warm here all winter. How's that weather been back in New York and Philly???
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My host brother Jura has a cough that sounds like a space shuttle launch. It�s really something to behold, assuming you brought your protective goggles and high-impact Kevlar suit. It begins with this deep sucking sound, ostensibly emanating from some mysterious nether region deep inside the bowels of his �organism� (I couldn�t resist � am I the only one who loves how Ukrainians say organism instead of body when talking about health?). You can actually hear the phalanx of phlegm ripping into formation on the launch pad of his lungs. Then, Jura, so cavalier as to not even brace himself for the impending recoil, releases his own personal Weapon of Mass Destruction that explodes with such force and velocity that there�s actually this cool Doppler effect as he blows back past the table and smacks into the wall.
It begs mentioning that this catastrophic natural disaster manifests in its purest form at dinner time when we�re all sitting down together to eat. I was treated to a front-row seat for this phenomenon for a little over a week before I finally transcended the obligatory wincing and side-stare to say something to the host �rents.
Lewis: �Hmmm� you know, that cough doesn�t sound too good.�
Host Mom (concerned): �Jura, let me make you some tea with honey and lemon.�
Lewis: �Um, I don�t want to be rude, but I think he needs some real medicine.�
Host Dad (incredulous): �We only use natural products. Medicine's not good for you.�
Lewis: �Right. Why treat acute pneumonia with antibiotics when you can fight it with some strong tea and honey? I�ll even get into the spirit and do some faith healing and a rain dance. You wouldn�t happen to have any snakes for me to handle? That would surely do the trick! He�ll be doing a jig by sunrise! Actually, let me read my chicken bones to find out the exact date and time.�
Against all better judgment, I went back into my room and rummaged through my little blue suitcase of quackery and witchcraft before returning with this magical snake oil referred to in some circles of charlatanism and chicanery as �cough suppressant.� This made for an interesting stand-off. What would give way first � host mom and pop�s insuppressible need to accommodate me in every conceivable (and inconceivable) way or their indubitable distrust of medicine?
Host mom held the bottle under her scrutinizing stare and carefully read the ingredients and instructions, which was quite a feat considering she doesn�t know any English. Still, I took the liberty of explaining that he needed to take two teaspoons every four hours, not to exceed sixteen teaspoons in a twenty-four hour period. Host mom looked at me with eyes that were clearly not buying any of this and wanted desperately out of the situation. Sensing things were amiss, I offered that since Jura smokes regularly (hmmm� smoking, coughing, relationship?), maybe the medicine wouldn�t do any good (as it says on the bottle). This didn�t do the trick.
She called Jura into the kitchen and, despite my careful instructions, gave him only one teaspoon, and a small one at that. �Delicious!� she said, smiling. �Tastes like candy, doesn�t it, Jura?� As I watched and listened to this all go down, all I could think was �oh god, this is turning into either a bad after-school special or an episode of Law and Order: Ukraine Vice.� Delicious? Tastes like candy? Dear god, woman, don�t encourage your kid to drink that stuff! The last thing I want is to be known as the American pusher that turned the whole teenage population of Donetsk onto Robo-ing. It�s a good thing vodka here is so cheap.
From what I could discern, her plan was to give him the teaspoon, wait a few days, and if the cough got better, she would give him another. As the instinct to instruct welled-up within, I realized that this was actually as good a compromise as I could hope for and in the end was probably the best thing. All that was left was dealing with Jura�s pending codeine addiction. Imagine my relief when three days later I noticed the bottle hadn�t been touched. Guess they decided to stick with the tea, I thought, until host dad came up to me and asked why he couldn�t unscrew the cap. Childproofing! And Ukrainian-proofing! Well done, American ingenuity. Well done, indeed. Jura�s actually even a little better. His cough is more of a SCUD misfire now than a shuttle launch. I guess my work here is done. Well, except for the whole remaining two years part.
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