Nikolai is from Kerch

Nikolai is from Kerch (on the Crimean Peninsula in southern Ukraine). His wife of 30 years lives there year-round and Nikolai lives there about six months per year. Every other month he travels to Tumen, in Siberia, to work on an oil rig. His decades of working in the “North” as an excavator have taken a toll on him.

In all honesty, Nikolai’s rough and tough appearance made me a bit nervous when I first met him (on one of the longer train rides of my time here). He was already settled in his bunk across from my own when I boarded in Makeevka at 2:30 a.m. I was beginning my 31-hour journey; across the Russian border to the city of Sizran (about 700 miles south of Moscow). It was my first trip to Russia and I was excited to make the trip after spending a significant amount of time and energy (with the assistance of a Ukrainian friend) jumping through all the hoops to get my invitation letter and visa.

As he had done many times before, Nikolai was traveling from his home in Kerch to Ufa (50+ hours by train), then flying another 2-3 hours to Tumen. To make that round trip monthly is something I can hardly imagine. He, however, seemed prepared. He and I were alone in our six-person compartment for most of my trip, but his wife had sent enough fried fish, turkey, hard-boiled eggs, and radishes to feed a small army. The two of us barely made a dent and it was unfortunate that, due to luggage restrictions, he had to dispose of the leftovers before boarding his plane in Ufa.

Nikolai assumed the responsibility of watching the dumb foreigner. As mentioned above, he graciously shared his food with me (which was far more substantial than the few bags of chips and the bottle of water that I had brought). He pointed out several of the major attractions along the way, the main one being a huge Soviet statue (with a scary-looking sword) in Volgograd; to commemorate the spot where the tide changed in WWII and the Soviets began to chase the Nazis out. He also helped me at the border, the part of the trip that I was a most nervous about (and I’m sure it showed). He explained where we were, how long we would be there, who would check my documents and, most importantly, made small talk with the border agents just made the atmosphere a little more calm.

When we arrived at Sizran, even though he wasn’t getting off there himself, he pointed out that there were two stations there and I may need to travel to the other one in order to continue my journey. He would remain on the train another 16 hours. We said our good-byes and well wishes and parted. I never would have guessed, when boarding the train, that this guy would have such a hospitable spirit. I hope that it is neighbors like this and not the ones who want me to drink a whole bottle of vodka with them (to understand the “Russian soul,” they say) that I remember from my many trips on the train.

Dave

Easter mayhem

Now that Easter is over and done with, I though I would reflect a bit on the holiday here, since it's such an important part of the culture here.

Easter competes with New Years as the biggest holiday in Ukraine. In the States, Easter is primarily a religious holiday celebrated by religious people. Not so here. Everyone celebrates Easter, whether you really believe in Jesus and his resurrection or not. It’s a cultural thing, maybe like Christmas has become in the U.S. Protestants are a very small majority – the bulk of the population considers themselves Orthodox, although few are devout. Most attribute this to 70 years of atheist communism. Because of the Soviets, many people believe in nothing at all, but cling to religious rituals, specifically Orthodox, as part of their culture.

So with that framework in mind, picture the mob of people in stores that we associate with Christmas shopping. Chiara (MCC SALT worker) and I encountered such a mob on Saturday afternoon when we met at the local grocery store to pick up a few things and head back to DCU. There was not a shopping cart to be found in the rack at the front of the store, and a line of people stood at the entrance, waiting for shoppers to emerge from the cash register lines to hand over their carts. Once inside the store, there were crowds and lines in the produce and dairy areas, but the true mob was in the bakery section. Long lines of people snaked around the bakery counter, and over the heads I glimpsed frosting-topped bread with colored sprinkles being passed to those standing at the front of the line. All were purchasing the Easter necessity, paska. This sweet bread with raisins is baked in a can so it’s tall and skinny, and topped with white frosting and colored sprinkles. I also wanted a loaf or two for myself, so we stood in line for awhile. Suddenly I realized that the line stood still. Loaves were no longer being passed over the counter and everyone’s attention was fixed on the huge ovens behind the bakery employees. The paska supply had been exhausted and we were waiting for new loaves to bake. At this point I decided it wasn’t worth the wait and turned around to go. The woman behind me with whom I had been talking about the crazy lines gave me an incredulous look and asked if I wasn’t going to get some paska. As her wide eyes stared through me I mumbled something about maybe getting it later (or maybe never, I thought to myself). Such a thought apparently hadn’t crossed the minds of the 40 or so people patiently waiting for their loaves to bake. I don’t know how long they waited there, but Chiara and I made our way home without paska. I bought some the next day from a different grocery store but with its simple dusting of powdered sugar on top, it was significantly less pretty than the others I’d seen the day before. And kind of stale, but it made good toast.

The other Easter crowds we experienced were in church. On Sunday morning Chiara and I stopped by an Orthodox church on our way to the service at the Baptist church. In the Orthodox church, the Easter service begins on Saturday evening and continues through the night. In the wee hours of the morning (at the church we visited, 3:30 a.m.) the priest begins the blessings. People bring baskets full of paska, as well as other food which will be eaten later in the day, to be blessed with holy water. They encircle the outside of the church, open their baskets and wait for the priest with his bucket of water and paintbrush-like wand to sprinkle them and their food. Chiara and I just stood and watched for awhile. Then we went inside and watched some more, as people lit skinny beeswax candles and placed them in big brass candelabras in front of the icons. Piles of barely-burned candles sat behind the babuskas who are in charge of cleaning up wax and making sure no one starts a fire. They kept blowing out newly-lit candles and pulling them out of their holders to make way for new ones in the hands of a steady stream of people, many clutching four or five.

In our regular church there was less movement and busyness, but it was still an important day – the sanctuary filled to capacity before the service began and the walls were crowded with people who stood for the full two and a half hour service. People greeted each other saying, “Christ is Risen,” and replied, “He is risen indeed.” The congregation stood up and responded likewise whenever those words were spoken from the pulpit.

Happy Easter!

Laura

Birthday traditions

Tuesday was my birthday. As is customary in Ukrainian tradition, the birthday person plans the party, invites the guests, makes the food, etc. So I did that for my group of co-workers in the English office, and we had a good time. Afterwards I distributed the rest of the cake among other staff members, who had lots of praise for the “American” cake. It was a typical layer cake, by our standards, but quite different from Ukrainian cakes, which are sometimes soft and moist like ours, but more often a combination of various things like marshmallow fluff, layers of nuts, hard crunchy stuff, and cream filling. To be honest, I like many Ukrainian cakes better. But I digress. The other unique tradition on birthdays (but other holidays as well) is to give “wishes” to the honored person. Whereas at home we would say “Happy Birthday” and maybe write some nice things in a card, here “Happy Birthday” is just the beginning of a long oration of wishes. For health, for a long life, for good friends, for a loving family, for satisfying work, for a comfortable home, for wealth, for happy days, for beautiful children, and so on. In Christian circles, these wishes include lots of God’s blessings as well. Giving such birthday wishes comes naturally to people here, and they’ll stand and recite a long list to you as if it were nothing. In the past, being on the receiving end of such wishes, especially the long-winded ones, was a bit awkward. I suppose it’s because it was just something I wasn’t used to. I’d stand and grin, nodding, my hands usually in the sturdy grip of my well-wisher, trying to keep my smile from getting too plastic-y. Half-listening, because of my awkwardness and discomfort. And at the end, what to say? Thank you? It seemed inadequate after such an oration. Applause would be more appropriate. I truly do admire the natural extemporaneous speaking gifts many people here posses.

So at the start, Tuesday seemed no different than any other birthday. As I distributed pieces of cake among my co-workers, the well-wishing began. And although these particular wishes seemed to take even longer than usual, I found myself really listening and appreciating the words. My squeezed hands felt comfortable rather than swished in someone else’s. I saw the genuine feeling in their eyes. My awkward fidgety-ness was gone. I listened to what was said. After the cake was reduced to a pile of crumbs I walked back to the English office glowing, the kind words of my co-workers reverberating in my head. So this is how you were supposed to feel after someone wished you well. It was supposed to make you happy, not cringy. I felt blessed.

I could say that my change in attitude towards the well-wishers was because I’m finally getting the hang of some of this cultural stuff. But I know the main reason was the little voice in the back of my head that has materialized in the last several months. It occasionally pipes up to remind me of the “lasts” I’m experiencing in Ukraine. This was my last birthday in Ukraine. Exactly how, where and with whom I’ll celebrate next year isn’t certain, but what is clear is that it won’t be at Donetsk Christian University. Although this little voice often makes me sad and reminds me of how fast time is passing, I’m glad for it because of how it changes my perception and sometimes my attitude. Like on Tuesday. What I thought would be well-wishes to endure became well-wishes to savor and file away as happy memories. They’ll be there next April 3 when someone else has planned the party, baked the cake and handed me a card. Next year I’ll be immersed in familiar birthday traditions once again, but I’ll fondly remember the Ukrainian well-wishes, and maybe even miss them.

Laura

Herbal remedies

Yesterday I was blowing my nose and sniffling at work, and a fellow English teacher offered me some sort of herbal tea that was good for sickness. We translated its Russian name, but I didn’t recognize it. So I made a cup and drank it, and it was very bitter. Hmm. Not doing that again, even if I am sick. I’m not opposed to drinking a cup of Echinacea tea if I feel sniffly, but only because it doesn’t taste too bad. One thing here that I both admire and doubt is the prevalence of herbal remedies to cure illness. People are always mashing berries to make tea or describing random (and sometimes gross) things to do to make yourself healthy. In general, I think it’s great that people here like to use more natural methods rather than popping pills right away. Ukrainians usually are also more concerned than people in the States about eating food that is uncontaminated by chemicals, additives and preservatives, and I’m all for that naturalness. However, sometimes I wonder if some of these natural remedies were devised by some old babushka who thought we all suffer from psychosomatic illnesses. Someone recently told me that her mother brewed tea from raspberry canes when she was a child and she was never sick, even when everyone else was at school. Was it psychosomatic? Twice we’ve been given little red, bitter berries to put in tea when we’re sick with the flu or colds, and I’ve dutifully mashed them and prepared some not very tasty tea. (Which had few measurable effects on my cold, as far as I could tell.) I looked these little red gems up on Wikipedia, to see what collective common wisdom had to say about them. They’re from the Guelder-rose bush, and are actually mildly toxic. But they are used for medicinal purposes, although for ailments quite different from my common cold. They’re for nervousness, spasms and menstrual cramps.

Actually, this little story illustrates the problem that I have with herbal remedies in Ukraine. Herbal remedies are fine, but only if you know what they’re for. I think my general mistrust of these remedies here also stems from the large amount of superstition that’s mixed in with the medical “knowledge.” It’s a well-known fact here that drafts make you sick, sitting on cold concrete renders women infertile and drinking cold beverages is bad for your health. I guess it’s my Western-minded scientific-proof perspective that’s coming into play here, when I have to verify with scientific research whether or not my red berries are really going to make me feel better. But if I’m going to drink a cup of tea that tastes like tar, I want to be sure that it’s doing me some physical good. (And not just making me think I feel better.)

Laura

Dyadya (uncle) Vacya

I recently returned from a visit to Kherson. I visited two sets of partners there who had had assistance from MCC and I was really excited to see what most would consider "success stories." It is an interesting setting; Kherson is not one of the largest cities in Ukraine but the two sets of partners are some of the most progressive (in regards to business). One is one of our longest running funds (almost seven years) and the other is one of our younger funds. We had suggested that they combine, but one is Baptist and the other is Pentecostal and denominational lines are not so easily crossed at this point in time.

The pictures are of Vacily (from the younger, Pentecostal fund) and a billboard that advertises his Auto rental business, “Dyadya (uncle) Vacya.” In ’02 he took a small loan from the fund and started a mobile phone kiosk. This business grew to three kiosks at its peak 14 months ago, when he began selling them to start a new business. He is down to one kiosk that is currently for sale. He also has 17 cars—purchased new in the past 14 months—that he rents out.

Some of the rental car companies that are big in North America and Western Europe do not seem to have made it to Ukraine yet and Vacily seems to be getting into the car rental business at the right time. At the end of April he will take a trip to the Western U.S., where there is a significant Eastern European immigrant population, to find investors.

His plans are to expand the business and open satellite offices in seven cities. Of course he no longer takes loans from the fund since the amount that it would be able to provide him would be miniscule compared to his current needs, but it is great to think that we were able to help him get his start. And he is thankful for the assistance he received just 5+ years ago.

Dave

Kids Do the Darndest Things

Yes, I know, the title is a bit on the corny side, but hopefully I can explain. One of the highlights of my week is Saturday evenings. I usually spend the afternoon at Good Shepherd and take 2-3 kids home with me. We have been doing this in an orderly fashion to try to be fair to everyone. We make supper, play games, and talk; then they spend the night on the couch and go along to church Sunday morning. Most of the time the kids behave very well, but sometimes they don’t. And sometimes they behave in a way that Laura and I have to use all our energy to stop from laughing. And, after the fact, just the mention of one of these occurrences makes us laugh, no matter how dreary our mood. Those of you who have actual parenting experience probably have countless stories like the ones that follow. Upon reading them I realize they’re sort of “I guess you had to be there stories” but I thought some of you may appreciate them. To help in the character development, each of the kids that we “laugh with” in the following paragraphs loves to be the center of attention.

Katya and Olya (two 7-year-old girls) are a handful. I have no idea how it is possible for someone to watch them and 14 other girls at the same time. We had just finished supper and they were arguing about who got to do the dishes (pointing that energy in the right direction). They finally agreed that Katya would wash the plates and Olya got the cups and lasagna pan. While Katya washed, Olya “prepared” her cups for washing by putting a several tablespoons of dish soap in each cup. When it was her turn, she was very systematic in her washing, filling the cup with water, lathering the dishsoap until it covered everything, wiping every square centimeter, rinsing the sponge of soap, and using the sponge to wipe off all the soapsuds before proceeding to the next cup. The water conservation people would not be impressed, but it was quite entertaining. It took her over five minutes to wash four cups, and then another five to wash the pan. I was a bit worried that there would be soap suds backing up in the drains of the people who live below us, but I didn’t hear anything. Notice her focus in the picture. She is typically one who begs to have her picture taken but was so into her task that she didn’t even notice the camera.

Having finished a difficult game of Uno, involving much yelling and punching (usually for not following the rules properly), Vitya and Ilya (two 8-year-old boys) were sitting down to relax. Ilya went to his bag and pulled out two books “to practice reading.” He gave the first--some sort of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles book--to Vitya and kept a nice, red hardcover, which looked like it could be a classic, for himself. I approached with interest to see what it was that he found so interesting in a book that looked like it may be slightly difficult for him. The two-column format looked strangely familiar and, upon inspecting it, I realized he was reading the 1988 Makeevka telephone directory (Hardcover telephone books—the Soviet Union did it up right). Upon my asking if the book was interesting, he said “yes, of course.” Vitya, usually one to look for a fight, looked up, inquired why Ilya had brought the directory, and returned to his own reading when Ilya matter-of-factly told him that “reading is reading.”

Vika and Kristina are sisters. Vika is the older, well-behaved one while Kristina is a somewhat wild 9-year-old. We decided that we would all sit down to a game of Phase-10, and Laura, Vika and I started to get serious. Kristina, however, was the entertainer. She spent the evening jumping on the couch, ducking behind furniture and talking to herself on the other side of the room. Every so often she would make a random appearance at the table to lay down some cards and pick up some more. There was never any rhyme or reason to the cards she laid down or how many she picked up and, when asked about it, just giggled and was on her way to do some more jumping and talking. And the best part was that her ladylike sister hardly batted an eye.

I know it’s politically incorrect even to laugh when kids when they are learning to read or talking to themselves. But these are some of the highest-energy, most fun kids I have ever met—and laughing may be the only calm coping mechanism. One common thread of these occurrences is that Laura and I rarely say or do anything other than observe. And the kids are very entertaining.

Dave

Struggles and Stereotypes

This past weekend DCU hosted a conference on the history of the Baptist church in the former Soviet Union. Some partners/friends who I have gotten to know quite well during my travels were in town and in need of a place to stay. I was delighted because they have hosted me many times in my travels and, even if for only one night, it was nice to be able to return the favor.

Let me preface the following paragraphs by pointing out that some stereotypes exist in North America that are not as prevalent here in Ukraine. And vice-versa. I won’t go into detail, but in the course of our conversations this past weekend a couple of topics came up where I noticed some stereotypes that I wasn’t comfortable with. How did I respond? I just sat there.

I could justify myself by saying that I was concentrating on understanding what was being said so intensely that I was unable to shift gears in my mind and offer a tactful, somewhat well-thought response. And of course I could say that I did not completely understand all that was being said (this is my standard excuse). But this time I won’t use these because, if either of them were the case, I should have asked for more clarification (I can at least do that in a somewhat polite manner). Instead, I just sat and listened as the conversation continued along on its zigzagging path.

A few hours later, when I had the opportunity to reflect (I spend a lot of time in buses and trains where I do a lot of reflecting), I began to regret my actions, or lack thereof. I wondered what would have happened if I had been more honest about what I thought. Would the people have respected me for what I had to say, or would they have written me off as “liberal” and then become more reluctant in my presence in the future?

This is one of the struggles I have a lot—knowing when it would be appropriate to muster the courage to say what I think, possibly resulting in judgment, in a culture that I have hardly begun to understand. Right or wrong, I find it easier/safer to sit and listen, even when the subject matter makes me uncomfortable. I tell myself that I will learn more, but then end up questioning the motives of my silence.

Dave