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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

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.

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