11/27: Thanks for calling me yesterday, dad. it was comforting and really sad all at once. you know how it is.
ukraine is loving me, everyday. and i love it just as much. i cant believe ill be leaving my host family in two short weeks. theyve been my rock and i think i might be lost without them.
11/3: I've been learning how to cook Ukrainian food. I usually try to watch my host-mom in the kitchen as much as I can and she always ends up letting me help her. well, last night: I "skinned", gutted, and chopped the head off of my first Ukrainian fish. I cleaned a 2 foot fish that my host-dad caught that morning) :D Someo...ne told me that you know you've arrived when you start to get treated like a Ukrainian and stop getting treated like an American. After last night, I think I've arrived. (probably not, there's a lot of other things that I'm sure that I need to do to prove myself... but I'm climbing that ladder. fosho.) and, I'm learning how to cook it tonight ;)
ohh. I don't eat the fish here b/c I'm scared of radiation. and my family knows that. they laugh, but my fears are grounded in truth. I think that I will have really "arrived" when I take my first bite of their favorite fish dish. ... what to do, what to do.
10/10: WOULD YOU RATHER... have explosive diarrhea in a stranger's match-box sized house with paper-thin walls with no toilet paper where you can't even speak the language to ask for some? OR eat a bowl of straight-up, raw, un-cooked pig fat with the pink, freckled skin still attached with a side of "natural" co...ttaged-cheese that you saw and smelled "being naturalized" on the kitchen counter for the past 15 days?
from personal experience on both accounts, I would rather have neither but I think that I'll go with the explosive diarrhea on this one.
...I thought that you would be the only one who could relate to those stories and I understand if you delete this post. :D ... its not the one hole that bothers me. its the smell. it makes me vomit, literally
Fear Factor Ukraine, anyone?
AND ... the pig fat is endearingly called "celo" and the "natural" cottaged cheese are deemed quite delicious by many people and a lot of volunteers. I'm just a slow adjuster to these delicacies. ... im not being critical at all. to each their own taste buds.
Friday, December 11, 2009
The Alpha and Omega of Training
In the beginning, I all but HATED my 3rd grade class. On the first day of teaching, when everyone else from my cluster was team-teaching – it somehow landed on me to teach by myself and to 3rd graders, no doubt. Of course, my class was the first one to be viewed by our TCF and… I was practically the premier example of everything NOT to do. I mean, I was teaching the “Present Continuous” to 8 year olds who are only supposed to be spoken to in Ukrainian. I've been learning Russian and I don’t even know how to say “hello” in UA… although, I do know how to say “police”. Regardless, it was only my 3rd week in Ukraine, so even if I had been able to speak better Russian… it didn’t really matter.
… more detail, I can’t help it. (Now that I'm remembering that first class... I have to explain how terrible it was... Those first 45 minutes were incredibly painful. My TCF was glaring at me, the regular English teacher was trying to avoid eye contact from the back of the classroom because she felt so bad for me. And my students were incredibly lost and totally out of control. They wanted to please me, but I was making it way too difficult for them.
After that class, I was sure that there was no way I was about to spend the next two years of my life teaching complex grammar rules that I don't even know the names for myself to Ukrainian oocheniks.
BUTT although that class was an epic fail, it was also a HUGE learning experience. Lesson #1 – avoid explicitly teaching grammar at all costs.
AND Hindsight is always clearer than foresight. Now, I see that that huge flop made me work harder and it has also made me appreciate every successful class that I teach where students don't throw paper balls at eachother or pull eacother's hair. Seriously though, every class after that, I’ve had those little dears eating from my the palm of my hand. (I also have a growing bag of secrets to help me out with this feat... feel free to email with questions).
How do I feel, now ?? Well, Yesterday was my last day of teaching at Boguslav School #1. I thought that I would be rejoicing to hit this milestone, which I am, but I’m also surprisingly sad. I’ll miss my little 8 year olds who tackle me with hugs when I walk into the classroom and carry all of my pencil bags and books for me down the halls. And erase the board for me before class starts. And correct all of my Russian spelling errors on the board. And hang all materials on the board for our lessons. And ask me 100 times/ day, in this exact dialogue, no varitions, ever.:
3rd Grader: Hello!!! Mmyyyy nammmeee isss Vanechka… wwwhhhaaattt isss youurr nammeee??
Me: My name is Whitney. It’s nice to meet you, Vanechka. How are you, today?
3rd Grader: IIIII AAAAM FIINE.
(repeat at least 3x for each student before I’m saved by the bell and class begins)
And I’ll also miss my 7th grade boys who scream “Sexy are you! Sexy am I! You are Sexy!... Sexy! everytime I see them in school and around town. At first, I was really disturbed by this, but I’ve come to embrace the fact that they can successfully conjugate the verb “to be” (a pretty crucial skill for speakers of English). And my adorable 7th grade girls, who have begun to imitat my gestures…. Now, they like to make their eyes get really wide when acting really interested in what someone’s saying during class, or putting their hands on their hips when they’re waiting for an answer from someone during a dialogue, or clicking their tongue when thinking out loud for a word in English.
And of course, I’ll be slightly thrown off with out my students screaming from across the hall in school or across the road in town, “HELLO Ms. FARMER” (I haven’t actually decided if I’ll miss that or not)
So Despite my initial classroom culture shock and related qualms, I have decided that I really love teaching especially when I have those (more-often-than-not awkward) bonding moments with my students -- even when it’s a two line dialogue, the truth remains: … It really IS/(WAS) a pleasure to meet you, Vanechka.
… more detail, I can’t help it. (Now that I'm remembering that first class... I have to explain how terrible it was... Those first 45 minutes were incredibly painful. My TCF was glaring at me, the regular English teacher was trying to avoid eye contact from the back of the classroom because she felt so bad for me. And my students were incredibly lost and totally out of control. They wanted to please me, but I was making it way too difficult for them.
After that class, I was sure that there was no way I was about to spend the next two years of my life teaching complex grammar rules that I don't even know the names for myself to Ukrainian oocheniks.
BUTT although that class was an epic fail, it was also a HUGE learning experience. Lesson #1 – avoid explicitly teaching grammar at all costs.
AND Hindsight is always clearer than foresight. Now, I see that that huge flop made me work harder and it has also made me appreciate every successful class that I teach where students don't throw paper balls at eachother or pull eacother's hair. Seriously though, every class after that, I’ve had those little dears eating from my the palm of my hand. (I also have a growing bag of secrets to help me out with this feat... feel free to email with questions).
How do I feel, now ?? Well, Yesterday was my last day of teaching at Boguslav School #1. I thought that I would be rejoicing to hit this milestone, which I am, but I’m also surprisingly sad. I’ll miss my little 8 year olds who tackle me with hugs when I walk into the classroom and carry all of my pencil bags and books for me down the halls. And erase the board for me before class starts. And correct all of my Russian spelling errors on the board. And hang all materials on the board for our lessons. And ask me 100 times/ day, in this exact dialogue, no varitions, ever.:
3rd Grader: Hello!!! Mmyyyy nammmeee isss Vanechka… wwwhhhaaattt isss youurr nammeee??
Me: My name is Whitney. It’s nice to meet you, Vanechka. How are you, today?
3rd Grader: IIIII AAAAM FIINE.
(repeat at least 3x for each student before I’m saved by the bell and class begins)
And I’ll also miss my 7th grade boys who scream “Sexy are you! Sexy am I! You are Sexy!... Sexy! everytime I see them in school and around town. At first, I was really disturbed by this, but I’ve come to embrace the fact that they can successfully conjugate the verb “to be” (a pretty crucial skill for speakers of English). And my adorable 7th grade girls, who have begun to imitat my gestures…. Now, they like to make their eyes get really wide when acting really interested in what someone’s saying during class, or putting their hands on their hips when they’re waiting for an answer from someone during a dialogue, or clicking their tongue when thinking out loud for a word in English.
And of course, I’ll be slightly thrown off with out my students screaming from across the hall in school or across the road in town, “HELLO Ms. FARMER” (I haven’t actually decided if I’ll miss that or not)
So Despite my initial classroom culture shock and related qualms, I have decided that I really love teaching especially when I have those (more-often-than-not awkward) bonding moments with my students -- even when it’s a two line dialogue, the truth remains: … It really IS/(WAS) a pleasure to meet you, Vanechka.
One World, One Game
A few Saturdays ago, I played a game of pick-up soccer with my host brother, Vlad. It was the hardest that I’ve laughed since I’ve been in Ukraine (and the hardest work-out I’ve had since I’ve been here… a week later, and my muscles were still recovering. I’m getting too old for these games, but I wasn’t about to let one of my little students steal the ball from me behind on a breakaway… )
But Soccer is NO JOKE here in Ukraine. For these boys, it wasn’t even just a life or death game either…. It was more than that. So a few times, I thought I was surely going to be kicked out of the game for laughing. Honestly, I’m not sure if I was in more pain from laughing so hard or because of how hard they made me play. Still, I was just amazed how awesome these little 70 pound 10 year-olds were at soccer. Two other PCTs were playing with me and we were getting stuffed by these little kids and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Because Vlad is 10, it worked out that I was playing soccer with a bunch of boys around that age. Except, they don’t look like they were 10. The children in Ukraine are MUCH smaller than their counterparts in the US. So a 10 year-old boy really looks like he’s about 6 or 7. Girls of that age would look like about 4. Anyway, there was this one little boy named Serioge who was the goalie for Vlad’s team. I swear he looked like he just came out of diapers. Little Serioge was blocking shots left and right and the sheer unexpected element of his performance just made me want to die laughing (picture a 30 pound kid blocking shots like _____). Eventually, some older boys from the high school came and played with us. Ain’t nothin’ but a thang for Serioge, he blocked their shots, too. (After the game, I found out that Serioge had just turned five a few months ago.) … these kids are unreal. I guess if you play soccer 8 out of 12 waking hours everyday, you’re bound to be pretty amazing.
Anyway, my second favorite kid was Anton. Anton was about 8/9, kind of chubby, and the BOSS. If the ball came to you, after your first touch… you could hear Anton repeatedly scream “PPAAAAAASSSSSSSSS” from the other end of the field. He was my team’s cherry-picker, which was just funny in itself. But you could Anton’s voice echo all over Boguslav, I didn’t know whether to be scared for my life or laugh at his extreme urgency... (of course, I laughed). Anyway, Anton and a few of those boys are in my English class- I now have major street cred. in the classroom especially after I scored a few goals.
Moments like these make me love Ukraine more than I usually do. I hope I can play again next weekend if the weather is good… as long as Serioge is on my team.
But Soccer is NO JOKE here in Ukraine. For these boys, it wasn’t even just a life or death game either…. It was more than that. So a few times, I thought I was surely going to be kicked out of the game for laughing. Honestly, I’m not sure if I was in more pain from laughing so hard or because of how hard they made me play. Still, I was just amazed how awesome these little 70 pound 10 year-olds were at soccer. Two other PCTs were playing with me and we were getting stuffed by these little kids and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Because Vlad is 10, it worked out that I was playing soccer with a bunch of boys around that age. Except, they don’t look like they were 10. The children in Ukraine are MUCH smaller than their counterparts in the US. So a 10 year-old boy really looks like he’s about 6 or 7. Girls of that age would look like about 4. Anyway, there was this one little boy named Serioge who was the goalie for Vlad’s team. I swear he looked like he just came out of diapers. Little Serioge was blocking shots left and right and the sheer unexpected element of his performance just made me want to die laughing (picture a 30 pound kid blocking shots like _____). Eventually, some older boys from the high school came and played with us. Ain’t nothin’ but a thang for Serioge, he blocked their shots, too. (After the game, I found out that Serioge had just turned five a few months ago.) … these kids are unreal. I guess if you play soccer 8 out of 12 waking hours everyday, you’re bound to be pretty amazing.
Anyway, my second favorite kid was Anton. Anton was about 8/9, kind of chubby, and the BOSS. If the ball came to you, after your first touch… you could hear Anton repeatedly scream “PPAAAAAASSSSSSSSS” from the other end of the field. He was my team’s cherry-picker, which was just funny in itself. But you could Anton’s voice echo all over Boguslav, I didn’t know whether to be scared for my life or laugh at his extreme urgency... (of course, I laughed). Anyway, Anton and a few of those boys are in my English class- I now have major street cred. in the classroom especially after I scored a few goals.
Moments like these make me love Ukraine more than I usually do. I hope I can play again next weekend if the weather is good… as long as Serioge is on my team.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
food, food - yum yum
I've been learning how to cook Ukrainian food. I usually try to watch my host-mom in the kitchen as much as I can and she always ends up letting me help her. well, last night: I "skinned", gutted, and chopped the head off of my first Ukrainian fish. I cleaned a 2 foot fish that my host-dad caught that morning) :D Someone told me that you know you've arrived when you start to get treated like a Ukrainian and stop getting treated like an America. After last night, I think I've arrived. (probably not, there's a lot of other things that I'm sure that I need to do to prove myself... but I'm climbing that ladder. fosho.) and, I'm learning how to cook it tonight ;)
ohh. I don't eat the fish here b/c I'm scared of radiation. and my family knows that. they laugh, but my fears are grounded in truth. I think that I will have really "arrived" when I take my first bite of their favorite fish dish. ... what to do, what to do.
ohh. I don't eat the fish here b/c I'm scared of radiation. and my family knows that. they laugh, but my fears are grounded in truth. I think that I will have really "arrived" when I take my first bite of their favorite fish dish. ... what to do, what to do.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Ukraine's California Virus Quarantine
LOL. UKRAINIAN PUBLIC SCHOOLS CLOSED FOR THREE-WEEK CALIFORNIA VIRUS QUARANTINE. What? Haven’t heard of the “California Virus”? In the US, we refer to this so-called “California Virus” as ... no other but H1N1 aka Swine Flu aka Mexico’s plague upon the human population and the delight of young children across the world who have excused school holidays for months on end. Like most things implemented by the government, my host family suggests that this quarantine was a result of mostly political power struggles between the Ukrainian President and Prime Minister especially during the heated months leading to the next Presidential election. Unfortunately, this decision caused an outrageous amount of hysteria amongst the Ukrainian population over a laughably small matter. It’s been officially documented that less than 5 people have died from the Swine Flu in Ukraine since the epidemic came to existence. Political power struggles and a rumored under-the-table governmental decision to cut budget costs by closing governmental facilities during the coldest winter months caused the cost of home remedies like lemons, oranges, garlic, and onions to more than triple in price over night- talk about a stimulus plan for the citrus and herb farmers.
So how does the quarantine affect me and the other volunteers? Basically, we just go on about our daily live as usual EXCEPT: we don’t teach in the school- b/c they’re closed, duh. AND if living with a host family, we wear masks anytime we’re out in public to satisfy our host moms - not because the masks are actually an effective preventive means against contracting the virus. In fact, the way in which the mass public wears these masks actually makes them counter-effective, if you do the research. Finally, we avoid traveling as much as possible. Or it’s recommended to avoid travelling- but my cluster mates are gallivanting around Kiev at this very moment- soooo… so much for that recommendation.
So how does the quarantine affect me and the other volunteers? Basically, we just go on about our daily live as usual EXCEPT: we don’t teach in the school- b/c they’re closed, duh. AND if living with a host family, we wear masks anytime we’re out in public to satisfy our host moms - not because the masks are actually an effective preventive means against contracting the virus. In fact, the way in which the mass public wears these masks actually makes them counter-effective, if you do the research. Finally, we avoid traveling as much as possible. Or it’s recommended to avoid travelling- but my cluster mates are gallivanting around Kiev at this very moment- soooo… so much for that recommendation.
Big City?... Irony
So before I left my apartment on Sunday morning to go the Bazaar, I was a little worried that I would get lost. OBVIOUSLY, I have a minor language barrier. But even more of an issue is coming from a county of less than 5,000 people back in the US and not knowing how to navigate in what seems to me like the city.
Here, my Ukrainian “village” of 35,000 people seems a little like the big city to me. In Boguslav, I live in a high-rise apartment. Apartments are practically unheard of in Bath and the term alone “high-rise” hasn’t even been added to the Bath County dictionary- we’re about a couple centuries, maybe even millennia from that lexical expansion. Here, I may not drive a car, nor do many people even own a car. But I take regular taxi rides. Previously, I might have taken one taxi ride in my entire life – and that’s a benefit-of-the- doubt estimation… honestly, I can’t even remember one time. Now, I’m becoming a taxi-calling/whistling/money-haggling pro despite being close enough to walk everywhere I need to go – an added wonder that I’ve only had the joy to experience while in college. In Bath, there was one pharmacy. Here, per European standard, there’s an “apteka” every few meters on the road. I live an hour and a half’s Marshryptka-ride from one of Eastern Europe’s most mesmerizing cities. And being bombarded by women’s “city fashion” is a source of as much daily awe as it is a cause of my own discomfort and embarrassment about my personal appearance. I’m a hole-in-the-knees jeans and hoodie, rainbow flip-flops, winter UGGS, dress-shoe Danskos or Nine-West flats wearin-kinda-girl. Here, knee-high black boots with 4-inch stiletto heels are the norm for even a Sunday stroll to the bazaar. I’ve never been so keenly aware of my Deep South/ Big Country/ Appalachian Mountain genetic and cultural Roots before in my entire life.
But so NO FEAR, I made it to the Sunday Bazaar b/c even a country girl can survive. … but on the real, the bazaar took up about six streets in the historic district of Boguslav; and from about 6 am to 12 pm, there was a MASS public exodus by foot to the top of the city where, despite the below freezing temperature outside, the market was hot in action. No navigational trouble at all.
Anyway, I just have to laugh at my lack of experience with city life. I’m in a third-world country on the other side of the world and I’m learning as much about how to navigate and survive in the city as I am about how to give aid to an under-served, underprivileged population. Oh, the irony of it all.
Here, my Ukrainian “village” of 35,000 people seems a little like the big city to me. In Boguslav, I live in a high-rise apartment. Apartments are practically unheard of in Bath and the term alone “high-rise” hasn’t even been added to the Bath County dictionary- we’re about a couple centuries, maybe even millennia from that lexical expansion. Here, I may not drive a car, nor do many people even own a car. But I take regular taxi rides. Previously, I might have taken one taxi ride in my entire life – and that’s a benefit-of-the- doubt estimation… honestly, I can’t even remember one time. Now, I’m becoming a taxi-calling/whistling/money-haggling pro despite being close enough to walk everywhere I need to go – an added wonder that I’ve only had the joy to experience while in college. In Bath, there was one pharmacy. Here, per European standard, there’s an “apteka” every few meters on the road. I live an hour and a half’s Marshryptka-ride from one of Eastern Europe’s most mesmerizing cities. And being bombarded by women’s “city fashion” is a source of as much daily awe as it is a cause of my own discomfort and embarrassment about my personal appearance. I’m a hole-in-the-knees jeans and hoodie, rainbow flip-flops, winter UGGS, dress-shoe Danskos or Nine-West flats wearin-kinda-girl. Here, knee-high black boots with 4-inch stiletto heels are the norm for even a Sunday stroll to the bazaar. I’ve never been so keenly aware of my Deep South/ Big Country/ Appalachian Mountain genetic and cultural Roots before in my entire life.
But so NO FEAR, I made it to the Sunday Bazaar b/c even a country girl can survive. … but on the real, the bazaar took up about six streets in the historic district of Boguslav; and from about 6 am to 12 pm, there was a MASS public exodus by foot to the top of the city where, despite the below freezing temperature outside, the market was hot in action. No navigational trouble at all.
Anyway, I just have to laugh at my lack of experience with city life. I’m in a third-world country on the other side of the world and I’m learning as much about how to navigate and survive in the city as I am about how to give aid to an under-served, underprivileged population. Oh, the irony of it all.
Disclaimer!
DISCLAIMER: it’s dangerous for any PCV to consider Ukraine as “normal”. And by “normal”, (b/c really “normal” is too subjective a term to throw around w/o defining) I simply mean judging Ukraine on American standards. It’s just not fair, doesn’t work, and isn’t meant to work. Newsflash: (as if you couldn’t tell from the lack of peanutbutter and oreos), Dorothy’s not in Kansas.
But at first glance, Ukraine sort of looks, smells, and sounds a bit… familiar? At least, you wouldn’t classify it as “exotic” right off the bat. But ok, the first time you get on a train and deeply inhale only to quickly choke on thick cigarette smoke and the all too intoxicating stench of strong alcohol or smell that putrid Turkish toilet or watch your host-dad suck the eyeballs out of his fish before he bites off the head and swallows it whole and then chows down on the rest of the raw fish body or befriending and naming the family bunny only to realize that you’re eating it for dinner Tuesday night… my first response isn’t like what it might be if I was sent to live with the natives in S. America: “Wow, this is awesome! I’m really living through this ultra-romanticized exotic experience!” AWW HECK NOOO. In Ukraine, your expectations are a little deceptively conceived. Ukraine really does seem to give a first impression of looking a lot like the States. SO Sort of unfortunately, PCVs in Ukraine have a false sense of perspective and that putrid funk is not romantical in the tiniest bit and rather than satisfying your hunger, tears come to your eyes knowing that little “Timka” is now in the pit of your stomach threatening to come right back up with too intense thoughts of your previous friendly relationship.
SO Really, you just want someone to invent some Clorox and Febreeze up in this country and for someone to please tell me WHEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE is the bless-ed alcohol based waterless hand-sanitizer!?! (like for real, they don’t have any in Ukraine and no doubt I’ve looked. I’ve gone to 54/56 of the aptekas in my city… and no. none.) BUT really, I'm so so so lucky that things like finding clorox, febreeze, and hand-sanitizer are among my biggest headaches. I mean c'mon. I'm being totally ridiculous.
SO, it’s best if instead of picturing Ukraine as a bro in-the-making of my beloved States, I keep thinking that I’m in this super exotic country. That way, when I come across these jolting shocks to my over-protected and under-exposed American senses, I might look at these experiences in the perspective of: Oh, how romantic- look at me eating mystery meat-jello. This is so awesome!
(lol… honestly!? Even in theory, would eating mystery meat-jello ever be ok with me?) My theory is YES, as long as I have the right perspective on the situation and that perspective can’t be … this place is just like America. Because it makes even the smallest of inconveniences seem too frustrating or even the smallest of cultural differences too disturbing. Friends, I’m living in Ukraine. UA, although only one letter short of USA, is FAR FAR FAR FAR FAR FAR FAR from being the USA. And I’m okay with that. I actually prefer it and I think it’s great and I love it.
But at first glance, Ukraine sort of looks, smells, and sounds a bit… familiar? At least, you wouldn’t classify it as “exotic” right off the bat. But ok, the first time you get on a train and deeply inhale only to quickly choke on thick cigarette smoke and the all too intoxicating stench of strong alcohol or smell that putrid Turkish toilet or watch your host-dad suck the eyeballs out of his fish before he bites off the head and swallows it whole and then chows down on the rest of the raw fish body or befriending and naming the family bunny only to realize that you’re eating it for dinner Tuesday night… my first response isn’t like what it might be if I was sent to live with the natives in S. America: “Wow, this is awesome! I’m really living through this ultra-romanticized exotic experience!” AWW HECK NOOO. In Ukraine, your expectations are a little deceptively conceived. Ukraine really does seem to give a first impression of looking a lot like the States. SO Sort of unfortunately, PCVs in Ukraine have a false sense of perspective and that putrid funk is not romantical in the tiniest bit and rather than satisfying your hunger, tears come to your eyes knowing that little “Timka” is now in the pit of your stomach threatening to come right back up with too intense thoughts of your previous friendly relationship.
SO Really, you just want someone to invent some Clorox and Febreeze up in this country and for someone to please tell me WHEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE is the bless-ed alcohol based waterless hand-sanitizer!?! (like for real, they don’t have any in Ukraine and no doubt I’ve looked. I’ve gone to 54/56 of the aptekas in my city… and no. none.) BUT really, I'm so so so lucky that things like finding clorox, febreeze, and hand-sanitizer are among my biggest headaches. I mean c'mon. I'm being totally ridiculous.
SO, it’s best if instead of picturing Ukraine as a bro in-the-making of my beloved States, I keep thinking that I’m in this super exotic country. That way, when I come across these jolting shocks to my over-protected and under-exposed American senses, I might look at these experiences in the perspective of: Oh, how romantic- look at me eating mystery meat-jello. This is so awesome!
(lol… honestly!? Even in theory, would eating mystery meat-jello ever be ok with me?) My theory is YES, as long as I have the right perspective on the situation and that perspective can’t be … this place is just like America. Because it makes even the smallest of inconveniences seem too frustrating or even the smallest of cultural differences too disturbing. Friends, I’m living in Ukraine. UA, although only one letter short of USA, is FAR FAR FAR FAR FAR FAR FAR from being the USA. And I’m okay with that. I actually prefer it and I think it’s great and I love it.
The BAR-ZAR (shout out to Cameroni)
Today was Sunday. What does that mean in Ukraine? Well, for me – it means my only day of no school or language classes (but loads of grammar review before a new week of intense language classes where already difficult concepts continue to build on each other. Right now, I think that I would compare my knowledge of Russian to something like the Leaning Tower of Pisa- pretty unstable and missing a few important structural components but standing and rather useful … for a tourist) Anyway, for the average Ukrainian- Sunday, roughly translated, means BAZAAR! Although I’ve been here for a little over a month, today was the first Sunday that I had a chance to venture over to my city’s Bazaar. From my friends’ accounts, I was expecting something like the downtown Farmer’s Market at home, which I’m sure you’re also picturing when I say “BAZAAR”. But folks, this ain’t Virginia. After my Sunday experience, “Bazaar” now conjures a crossbred image between a circus and an auction. I was utterly awe-stuck. I mean, there are only a few things in Ukraine that make me consider it “exotic”. Because really- despite the hype of being on the opposite side of the world and dealing with the inconveniences of living in a third world country, I’m not trekking through the jungles of Thailand or gathering water in clay pots from a polluted river a few kilometers outside of a hut village in Sub-Saharan Africa. Depending on what I’m comparing my service to, my life teeters pretty close to normal. However, the Bazaar is one of the few things that keep my life from being entirely at par. I don’t have time to go into all the details, but my favorite visual: there are literally bath-tub vats of with freshly caught fish of all sizes still flopping around in them. These fish are bought up by anxious customers and then proceed to be beheaded and nicely bagged right before the payer’s eyes. It’s marvelous. Cages of live chickens are similarly prepared and bagged. Then, you have the goats… and still, there’s also the massive amounts of “pre-prepared” meat vendors where mounds of chicken livers, breasts, legs, and wings, lay open to the elements and in clear site of inquiring customers where they can finger the meat unwrapped meat until they find something that meets their liking. It’s a pushing and shoving, shouting and hollering match between customers and customer and vendor to get the best selection.
Next Sunday, I’m considering taking a bag of popcorn and sitting on the church steps to dine and watch the Sunday morning spectacle. Really, I’ve never encountered anything quite so entertaining in this particular way- very intriguing.
Next Sunday, I’m considering taking a bag of popcorn and sitting on the church steps to dine and watch the Sunday morning spectacle. Really, I’ve never encountered anything quite so entertaining in this particular way- very intriguing.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
What I learned from the PCMO on Personal Health Day:
Yesterday was Personal Health Day. On this day, a Peace Corps Medical Officer comes to my town and gives me shots and is supposed to equip me and my cluster with helpful information and meds to prevent us from getting the Swine Flu during the current outrageously manic outbreak of the virus here in UA. Well, our dear PCMO gave us our shots and gave us about 5 and 1/2 hours of lecturing medical advice and "how-to" tips.. for example, how to: give first aid to a person who while clipping their cat's nails, unfortunately let things get a little out of hand and let fiesty cat rip eyelid in half and scratch through to the eyeball. Yes, folks- these are our medical concerns in the UA - it really happened. (not very helpful scenariou for me because I hate cats and as long as I can choose, I will not be anywhere near a cat in UA or ever)
ANYWAY, after 5 1/2 hours of lectures and "what if" scenarious... Our PCMO shared with me the most helpful medical advice I've received since I've been in country:
Stay Fit.
Don't get bit.
Don't get hit.
Don't get lit.
Don't do it.
Don't eat shi--
-PCMO Sasha
(applicable to all Americans traveling abroad)
ANYWAY, after 5 1/2 hours of lectures and "what if" scenarious... Our PCMO shared with me the most helpful medical advice I've received since I've been in country:
Stay Fit.
Don't get bit.
Don't get hit.
Don't get lit.
Don't do it.
Don't eat shi--
-PCMO Sasha
(applicable to all Americans traveling abroad)
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Full Court Press!
Last night, I was making lesson plans for my third grade class about "Sports and Hobbies". I was reading about common sports idioms that we use in English to apply to other life situations. One such commonly known phrase is "the full court press", meaning: feelings of intense pressure and effort. id: "The committee put on a full court press to collect the necessary funds".
Peace Corps Training is one dang intense, FULL COURT PRESS. From 7am to 11 pm everyday, it's a mad, yet satisfyingly schedule to keep. Some days, I end the day only remembering 5 new Russian words out of the thousands that have been thrown at me and some days, I teach two or three classes, plan for two or three more, develop community projects, do day to day life skills that require more skill than imagined, and ALWAYS have tea with Alla. Yes- "the full court press", when properly adapted, can be quite "successful" even on the 5 words/ day learning curve.
Peace Corps Training is one dang intense, FULL COURT PRESS. From 7am to 11 pm everyday, it's a mad, yet satisfyingly schedule to keep. Some days, I end the day only remembering 5 new Russian words out of the thousands that have been thrown at me and some days, I teach two or three classes, plan for two or three more, develop community projects, do day to day life skills that require more skill than imagined, and ALWAYS have tea with Alla. Yes- "the full court press", when properly adapted, can be quite "successful" even on the 5 words/ day learning curve.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Foot in the Grave, Shovel in Hand
"–Despite the fact that I’m only 22, I feel that by the time I get back from Ukraine I’ll be extraordinarily old. I mean, I’ll be 24…that’s like having a foot in the grave and a shovel in your hand. Or, I won’t be different at all. Or, I’ll be something in between. I’m tired, get off my lawn.
That is all" - The Collins'ditto, dittoo. I'll be an old maid, while at least y'all are already married.
I run because I need the exercise and because it's supposed to be relaxing. Alas, there's nothing relaxing about running past a smoldering heap of trash or people who stop to gawk or yell out helpful commentary like, "You are exercise!"... I love my life. and today is friday.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
IN UKRAINE or "ooo, kray, een. ye"
holla holla. I've arrived! [insert a novel's worth of details and stories here that I don't have time to recount]
Every day is sooo crammed with language learning, technical training, lesson planning, bonding, cross-cultural training, community projects, and teaching projects.. a million, thousand things have happened in the week that I've been here. but I'm too pressed for time to back track. and honestly, I'm going cray-zay with sending individual e-mails. I end up writing and rewriting, telling and retelling the same stories over and over. and time is of an essence for the next three months if I'm going to master the Russian language before I'm shipped off to some remote area of Ukraine all on my lonesome. SO I'm making good on this blog. read it. cuz I refuse to continue writing a thousand emails in any spare second that I have. unless of course, your name happens to be, my mom.
For some reason, everyone is most concerned about the food in Ukraine. Like, come on yall. Please ask about how I'm doing before you ask about the food situation. It just makes me feel slightly more loved which I'm desparate to feel from you. but the 411: I'm not starving. Actually, I'm farrrr from starving. Generally, Ukrainian women like to force-feed their Americans. Luckily, my Mama is an exception. but I still feel her anxiety when I turn down a second plate of mashed potatoes. and POTATOES: everyday at every meal, I'm introduced to the 132970918324 ways to make a potatoe. I'm considering writing a cookbook for the education of unaware Americans on the many usages of the potatoe. and tea (aka chai) I have approximately 8 glasses of hot tea every day. which is rather unfortunate because it means that I have to encounter the toilet that much more often. the toilets aren't terrible or anything. Just an adjustment: of the nostrils, the leg placement, the squatting technique, and the disposal for used toilet paper and its many unusual venues or complete lack thereof. Every day with each new toilet experience, I amaze myself with my own previously undiscovered resourcefulness. After the cookbook I write about how to make a potatoe, I will be following it with a sequel on how to use a Turkish toilet and how to drink your tea.
MAYO- goes on everything. good thing mayo agrees with me. MILK- does not exist, neither does salad or any leafy greens except cabbage (and a ton of other things). but be assured, I have a sufficient amount of tomatoes, red peppers, and ONIONS to cover for my daily veggie requirements. I eat raw onions all the time. The past few days, I've felt a little dillusional and have woken up in a drenching-sweat during the middle of the night. which I think is a result of many things including slight dehydration which I'm not sure why that is due to my vast intake of tea and coffee (although they are diarrheatics). soo I'm beginning to wonder if the old Anglo-Saxons' superstition that onions were mildly poisionous doesn't hold some truth? I mean these onions are unlike anything I've ever encountered in Virginia. One bite of these onions is like taking a double-shot of vodka. it. will. KICK. you. it lingers and it burns, makes the eyes water and your stomach flip, you still feel it churning in your stomach the next morning and even through out the entire next day, but it is surprisingly addicting. and since my host mom insists that I should eat them "for my health", I'm popping slices of onions like I drink my tea.
Other than those few and always blossoming rather significant changes to my diet. A regular eating schedule is IMPOSSIBLE to come by. I experience bouts of overstuffing followed by hours and hours of fasting. and then meals just come out of nowhere. My motto is to eat when I can b/c only GOD KNOWS when the next meal will be. but don't be alarmed, I'm never actually starving. and I do have 3 meals/day, but at very odd and irregular hous. It's Just my metabolism which is severely suffering. due to the lack of consistency, my confused body doesn't know whether to hoard calories or burn them. LUCKILY, along with so many other lucky things- I have an outdoor track right near my family's apartment. and it is well-used by me and my host-sister. Depending on how dehydrated/exhuasted I feel, we either jog or walk or mix the two for about 3-5 miles/day.
and when I'm not running around the track, I'm running from the stray dogs that are in an over-abundance on the streets in Boguslav. These street dogs aren't necessarily harmful or especially dangerous. They just appear out of nowhere when I'm least expecting it. like when I'm bending down to tie my shoe and then all of a sudden, I look up to find some mongrel staring deeply into my eyes. It scares the living BEjeeezusss out of me. much to the other volunteers' and my host sister's amusement, it never fails to make me shriek/ jump/ or sometimes run away depending on how seemingly ferocious the dog looks to me.
there is always more to say about food... but I'm done with that subject for now.
On Tuesday, I will be teaching my first class!!!!!!!! I will be teaching 3rd graders about sports and hobbies. I've considered just taking them outside and making them run the track because, after observing their class yesterday, I feel that they have too much energy that needs to be exhausted. but that would be "cheating" on my part. So I will be using every millisecond of my entire weekend to prepare the most AMAZING lesson plan for them. I'll have them so engaged that the little boys won't have the chance to even think about pulling the little girls' ponytails that sit in front of them. At least, that's the plan. BUT I'm a little nervous and a little unsure how this lesson is actually going to work. the kids speak Ukrainian and I "speak" Russian- at least, that's what I'm learning. I CAN ONLY COMMUNICATE WITH THEM IN ENGLISH. and since this is their first year learning English and school has only been in session for two months, their English is VERY limited. soooo hopefully in the midst of our tremendous language barrier, God will come to me during my next night of fitful sleep and englighten me on how to reach these youngsters. If I do it right, I should have them eating out of the palm of my hand. For most of them, I am the first authentic American that they have ever seen and they're really eager to please and impress me. Hopefully, I won't disappoint.
and another added challenge: this is my first lesson EVER. for our first lesson, the volunteers were supposed to team teach. Since there are five people in my cluster, I got volunteered to teach alone. yikkess. but I welcome the practice. in a few short months, we'll all be teaching alone anyway.
and I love the people. always an added bonus to any good story for they are as irreguluar (in a good way), intoxicating, and consuming as all of the food and my studies.
XOXO,
W
Every day is sooo crammed with language learning, technical training, lesson planning, bonding, cross-cultural training, community projects, and teaching projects.. a million, thousand things have happened in the week that I've been here. but I'm too pressed for time to back track. and honestly, I'm going cray-zay with sending individual e-mails. I end up writing and rewriting, telling and retelling the same stories over and over. and time is of an essence for the next three months if I'm going to master the Russian language before I'm shipped off to some remote area of Ukraine all on my lonesome. SO I'm making good on this blog. read it. cuz I refuse to continue writing a thousand emails in any spare second that I have. unless of course, your name happens to be, my mom.
For some reason, everyone is most concerned about the food in Ukraine. Like, come on yall. Please ask about how I'm doing before you ask about the food situation. It just makes me feel slightly more loved which I'm desparate to feel from you. but the 411: I'm not starving. Actually, I'm farrrr from starving. Generally, Ukrainian women like to force-feed their Americans. Luckily, my Mama is an exception. but I still feel her anxiety when I turn down a second plate of mashed potatoes. and POTATOES: everyday at every meal, I'm introduced to the 132970918324 ways to make a potatoe. I'm considering writing a cookbook for the education of unaware Americans on the many usages of the potatoe. and tea (aka chai) I have approximately 8 glasses of hot tea every day. which is rather unfortunate because it means that I have to encounter the toilet that much more often. the toilets aren't terrible or anything. Just an adjustment: of the nostrils, the leg placement, the squatting technique, and the disposal for used toilet paper and its many unusual venues or complete lack thereof. Every day with each new toilet experience, I amaze myself with my own previously undiscovered resourcefulness. After the cookbook I write about how to make a potatoe, I will be following it with a sequel on how to use a Turkish toilet and how to drink your tea.
MAYO- goes on everything. good thing mayo agrees with me. MILK- does not exist, neither does salad or any leafy greens except cabbage (and a ton of other things). but be assured, I have a sufficient amount of tomatoes, red peppers, and ONIONS to cover for my daily veggie requirements. I eat raw onions all the time. The past few days, I've felt a little dillusional and have woken up in a drenching-sweat during the middle of the night. which I think is a result of many things including slight dehydration which I'm not sure why that is due to my vast intake of tea and coffee (although they are diarrheatics). soo I'm beginning to wonder if the old Anglo-Saxons' superstition that onions were mildly poisionous doesn't hold some truth? I mean these onions are unlike anything I've ever encountered in Virginia. One bite of these onions is like taking a double-shot of vodka. it. will. KICK. you. it lingers and it burns, makes the eyes water and your stomach flip, you still feel it churning in your stomach the next morning and even through out the entire next day, but it is surprisingly addicting. and since my host mom insists that I should eat them "for my health", I'm popping slices of onions like I drink my tea.
Other than those few and always blossoming rather significant changes to my diet. A regular eating schedule is IMPOSSIBLE to come by. I experience bouts of overstuffing followed by hours and hours of fasting. and then meals just come out of nowhere. My motto is to eat when I can b/c only GOD KNOWS when the next meal will be. but don't be alarmed, I'm never actually starving. and I do have 3 meals/day, but at very odd and irregular hous. It's Just my metabolism which is severely suffering. due to the lack of consistency, my confused body doesn't know whether to hoard calories or burn them. LUCKILY, along with so many other lucky things- I have an outdoor track right near my family's apartment. and it is well-used by me and my host-sister. Depending on how dehydrated/exhuasted I feel, we either jog or walk or mix the two for about 3-5 miles/day.
and when I'm not running around the track, I'm running from the stray dogs that are in an over-abundance on the streets in Boguslav. These street dogs aren't necessarily harmful or especially dangerous. They just appear out of nowhere when I'm least expecting it. like when I'm bending down to tie my shoe and then all of a sudden, I look up to find some mongrel staring deeply into my eyes. It scares the living BEjeeezusss out of me. much to the other volunteers' and my host sister's amusement, it never fails to make me shriek/ jump/ or sometimes run away depending on how seemingly ferocious the dog looks to me.
there is always more to say about food... but I'm done with that subject for now.
On Tuesday, I will be teaching my first class!!!!!!!! I will be teaching 3rd graders about sports and hobbies. I've considered just taking them outside and making them run the track because, after observing their class yesterday, I feel that they have too much energy that needs to be exhausted. but that would be "cheating" on my part. So I will be using every millisecond of my entire weekend to prepare the most AMAZING lesson plan for them. I'll have them so engaged that the little boys won't have the chance to even think about pulling the little girls' ponytails that sit in front of them. At least, that's the plan. BUT I'm a little nervous and a little unsure how this lesson is actually going to work. the kids speak Ukrainian and I "speak" Russian- at least, that's what I'm learning. I CAN ONLY COMMUNICATE WITH THEM IN ENGLISH. and since this is their first year learning English and school has only been in session for two months, their English is VERY limited. soooo hopefully in the midst of our tremendous language barrier, God will come to me during my next night of fitful sleep and englighten me on how to reach these youngsters. If I do it right, I should have them eating out of the palm of my hand. For most of them, I am the first authentic American that they have ever seen and they're really eager to please and impress me. Hopefully, I won't disappoint.
and another added challenge: this is my first lesson EVER. for our first lesson, the volunteers were supposed to team teach. Since there are five people in my cluster, I got volunteered to teach alone. yikkess. but I welcome the practice. in a few short months, we'll all be teaching alone anyway.
and I love the people. always an added bonus to any good story for they are as irreguluar (in a good way), intoxicating, and consuming as all of the food and my studies.
XOXO,
W
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The 5 W's
Ok ok ok. Like everyone else I talk to, you might want to know WHY I'm doing the Peace Corps, Where am I going? How/Why did I choose that country? For How long? With who? and What is the peace corps?! Well the long and short of it-
The Peace Corps was started by JFK in the 60s and it has evolved into a 27 month government sponsored volunteer program that serves 3rd world countries through a range of capacities: teaching English, developing the local agriculture and businesses, and providing community health education and promoting proper health care. If you're really interested in the ins and outs, you can obviously read the PC website or read this article from the Wall Street journal which was written by my PC Peer Advisor (who is also in Ukraine and doing the same thing that I will be doing):
Personally, I'm going to Ukraine for 27 months to be a TEFL volunteer. TEFL? Basically, I'll be teaching English as a Foreign Language in a public high school. Simple, right? Hopefully. but my responsibilities don't end there. There's about a 100 page Bible-print booklet explaining everything that I'm expected to do while I'm there from tutoring and teaching community language classes to directing summer camps. But I'll update you a little more with all of those details as I actually begin to fulfill those roles.
Simply because it lets me do all the things that I've always wanted to do.
Not so simply- In May of 2008 I began my application to volunteer for the Peace Corps. Although I started the application the summer before my fourth and final year of college, it was A LONG TIME COMING. In my my first year at UVA, I bookmarked the Peace Corps website only to obsessively check it for the next three years and finally begin the biggest hassle of an application process that I hope I never experience again in MY LIFE. but from the moment I heard about it sort of "in passing" from a close friend.... I was like, "hold the phone".... how have I not heard about this before!? (probably because I'm from Bath County and we don't hear anything except our neighbors' goats). But anyway, as my friend was explaining... I was sure that JFK created the PC thinking of me. so OF COURSE I'M DOING THIS... good looking out JFK. I mean, what better way to spend my most vital years right out of college?!... surely NOT by being a registered nurse (love to all the RNs reading this. you're doing a great service to society and I appreciate you for it. But heavens knows that my then-current path as a nursing major was a DREG to my life and absolutely not for me.)
So how was I so sure, so quick that the PC was it for me, other than to have an excuse out of nursing towards the major of my liberal-hearts desire? Well, I've always known what I wanted to do since the second grade. Yes, I had an epiphany when I was seven and decided that I wanted to be an anthropologist in Africa when I grew up. Believe it. (Of course, Ms. Brock (my second grade teacher) gave me the word to name what I was trying to explain. Honestly, what second grader knows the word "anthropologist"?) It was this simple: Ms. Brock told my class to journal about what we wanted to do when we grew up-which was the first time I can ever remember being asked that question,-and I wrote that I was going to Africa to learn about, draw pictures of, and write about the people and the animals. That was it. Since that day in second grade, my plan has never changed. Of course, I've gotten older and realized that you can't just pick up and leave all alone, persay...there's college and then finding a job that will let you travel (which was my reason for doing nursing-to work for a travel nurse company. this way, I was learning and helping people AND traveling. sounds amazing, but I really hate nursing). AND you might be like... so why didn't you study anthropology!? NEWS FLASH: on the average, even nurses make more money than anthropologists. I learned that through the infinite wisdom of my ultra realistic mother. Anyway, God was looking out for me. He rescued me from my nursing fate and let the Peace Corps wiggle its way from my friend's quick words into my ear, to my internet toolbar, and now into my reality.
So why am I going to Ukraine and not some place in Africa? Well that my friends, was also a God thing. Two reasons:
1. Since 2nd grade, I've been diagnosed with a rather serious allergy to the sun. The African sun is less than forgiving so to save my skin I "considered" other parts of the world.
2. Still, up to the last second, I had my heart 100% set on Africa. THEN in my interview, when the nomination officer asked me what part of the world I wanted to go to, I just said Eastern Europe. HUH!? I was shocked to hear those words come out of my mouth. DEFINITELY God was directing my lips and vocal cords because I hadn't previously considered that region AT ALL. Despite an excellent interview, I left the woman's office confused and in tear. I intermittently cried for the next two weeks because I couldn't figure out why I didn't say Africa. For a while there, I really felt like I had failed my second grade dream. Since then, I've realized that it was for the best. As I'm faced with departing the country and all my taken-for-granted amenities in 4 days, I'm rejoicing that I'm going to be spending the next 821.79 days in Ukraine and not facing the added obstacle of residing in some exceptionally remote African village.
So Even on the worst days when I feel like quitting, when I'm sick of the frigid temperature, no water pressure, eating boiled potatoes, and washing my clothes by hand, it's encouraging for me to remember that this is exactly where God has placed me and exactly the kind of work he has called me to experience... since the second grade.
leaving home in 3 days!!!
Welcome!!
Dearest Friends and Family,
Welcome to my blogspot!! I'm so excited to FINALLY get this thing going. Between packing and shopping and scheduling and balancing my time between a currently disjointed family and friends and a lovely boyfriend, and fretting about all of the above, starting this blog was just another stressor to add to the extensive TO-DO list that I needed to accomplish before I left. Regardless and with enough pressure from my friends, somehow I found the time to sit down and make my first entry in between deciding which books to pack- which if you know me well enough, will understand that this is an immensely difficult undertaking for me. As an English Lit. and History major, I crave and devour books in the same way that Bruce Bogtrotter craves and devours the first slice of Mrs. Trunchbull's epic chocolate cake. So if you're curious... with painful deliberation I think that I've narrowed it down for the first three months to Tolstoy, Intimacy with the Almighty, A tale of Two Cities, and On the Road. Good idea? other suggestions? (which is a good time to say that if you want to send me something while I'm gone, a book is the greatest idea- and you can never go wrong with anything modern, transnational, or classic or any personal favorites, but really I read everything even the "bad" stuff because as I remember, Benjamin Franklin advised the generations to read widely and be self-educated and it clearly helped him ) But I digress.
Although I've been told that I have quality writing skills, bear with me while I navigate through the blogosphere for my first time. I hope that this blog serves you and me well as a place for me to spew some of my experiences and for you to be entertained, to enjoy, console and feel closer to me while I volunteer in Ukraine for the next 27 months. More about that....
Welcome to my blogspot!! I'm so excited to FINALLY get this thing going. Between packing and shopping and scheduling and balancing my time between a currently disjointed family and friends and a lovely boyfriend, and fretting about all of the above, starting this blog was just another stressor to add to the extensive TO-DO list that I needed to accomplish before I left. Regardless and with enough pressure from my friends, somehow I found the time to sit down and make my first entry in between deciding which books to pack- which if you know me well enough, will understand that this is an immensely difficult undertaking for me. As an English Lit. and History major, I crave and devour books in the same way that Bruce Bogtrotter craves and devours the first slice of Mrs. Trunchbull's epic chocolate cake. So if you're curious... with painful deliberation I think that I've narrowed it down for the first three months to Tolstoy, Intimacy with the Almighty, A tale of Two Cities, and On the Road. Good idea? other suggestions? (which is a good time to say that if you want to send me something while I'm gone, a book is the greatest idea- and you can never go wrong with anything modern, transnational, or classic or any personal favorites, but really I read everything even the "bad" stuff because as I remember, Benjamin Franklin advised the generations to read widely and be self-educated and it clearly helped him ) But I digress.
Although I've been told that I have quality writing skills, bear with me while I navigate through the blogosphere for my first time. I hope that this blog serves you and me well as a place for me to spew some of my experiences and for you to be entertained, to enjoy, console and feel closer to me while I volunteer in Ukraine for the next 27 months. More about that....
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