Traveler, Writer, Aquarius, Peace Corps Volunteer
The evidence
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Well, tomorrow is my LPI: Language Proficiency Exam. So of course I'm in the computer lab updating my website as opposed to studying. Not much new to write about. Last Friday I wrapped up teaching, today was my last language lesson, and I leave on Friday for Kyiv. Finally!
Rather than whipping up some new literary treat for y'all, I thought I'd post a story I wrote two months ago about a week after I first arrived. You might find it funny. I actually submitted it to the Peace Corps Ukraine paper, which is why it's geared towards them. I'll let ya know if it gets published...
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I know what all of you Volunteers are thinking. Dear God, not an article by a Trainee! Anything but that! Please, just put ad space there! Even an article on emerging Ukrainian business paradigms will do! The last thing you want to read is some insipid piece of crap by a neophyte PCT about making his first plov or his prosaic commentary on Ukrainian culture.
�Oh yes, new PCT, I�m starving for your tales. Fill my empty bowl with the nectar of your trenchant observations. Feed me heaping spoonfuls of your insight and wisdom. It�s really been too long since I consumed something so savory and intellectually stimulating as your critical analysis of host families and the �full means full� factor.�
Well, fear not. I�ve no desire to subject you to anything so jejune as culture shock or life as a trainee (although I did consider an essay titled �What�s that Smell? Oh Wait � it�s My Class!�). I�d be remiss, however, if I didn�t let you in on what�s been going on between me and my stomach.
My stomach and I have always had a relatively pleasant relationship. I fill it with succulent viands and vittles, and it digests them for me. Yep, we�re thick as thieves, my stomach and me. Even on those occasions when I callously drown it in a deluge of distilled spirits, it takes the ablution in stride and nary renders a complaint (except with you, tequila. Damn you, blue agave, harpy of the High Sierras, bitch-goddess of the Southern Mesa! And you�re on my list too, SoCo. �Comfort� my ass). But since I�ve arrived in Ukraine, my once tacit friend has become one garrulous internal organ. In fact, my loquacious little viscus just won�t shut up.
It�s not always a problem, mind you. Each night, it lullabies me to sleep, and every morning, like my own personal rooster, it crows �Krrrrrrkurp, krrrrrrkurp! Wake up, sleepy head! Wake up and greet the day!�
My issue is that it wants to talk at the most inappropriate times. For example, I was teaching class the other day (an inspiring forty-five minutes on the Harvest Holiday and the past indefinite case. I think I really reached them), and in the middle of my pedagogy, it decides it wants to have a conversation.
�Grrrrpppmerrrt.�
�Yes, good afternoon to you too,� I said. �Or should I say Dobrei Den!�
�Bierrrrtvrttgrep.�
�Yes, I know, a bowl of fried fish and four kielbasa and cheese sandwiches slathered in butter isn�t what I call breakfast either, but we�re in Ukraine now!�
�Morrrpppttcherk.�
�Look, I�m trying to teach here, okay?�
�Prbrt.�
�They are listening to me! Shut up!�
Sadly, it doesn�t end there. Just yesterday I was in my language class enjoying an exercise on the Ukrainian kitchen when someone (guess who?) decided to be a wisenheimer. My LCF was having us name various items on the table when she pointed at a cup. The word �chachka� was perched on my tongue and ready for flight when the peanut gallery in my gut bellows �BORSCHT.�
�Borscht?� she queried. �Lewis, it�s a chachka.�
�I know!� I pleaded. �I was going to say chachka, but my stomach said borscht!�
�Lewis, please. You can�t go through life blaming all of your mistakes on your stomach.�
She�s right, of course, and I didn�t let it affect our relationship. Thankfully, my stomach is more of a night owl anyway, so most of the conversations can be contained to the bedroom. But man, does it sing when I lie down and the lights cut off.
�Brrrrpppt.�
�I�m trying to sleep!�
�Grrrreepppppt.�
�Don�t you talk about anything other than gastric juices?�
�Mmmmrrrreeeccchhhh.�
�Very funny. No, I wouldn�t rather discuss Feynman�s theories on complexity and quantum mechanics. Now good night, sleep tight, and don�t let the amoebic dysentery bite.�
Anyway, I figure I only have another two months of home cooking before I�m on my own and can get back to a normal diet and my old routine. Wait. What? We�ve got to spend our first three months on site with ANOTHER host family? I just hope it hasn�t learned to speak Russian. I could have an international crisis on my hands � err, stomach.
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