Christos Vozkres

Those words are still ringing in my head from my crazy Easter night. Yes, I said night. We left the apartment at 2:30 am, got to church at the end of mass, and stood with an Easter basket awaiting the priest’s blessing in the freezing cold. And I volunteered myself for this experience.

The ride to church was creepy with zombie-like characters emerging in the headlights carrying baskets to mass. It didn’t help that we drove about an hour away from my site in an unknown direction. After mass, we paraded around the church three times for good health in the coming year. The parishioners were gathered in a ring around the church standing behind their baskets filled with meats, hardboiled eggs, and a special sweet bread called Paska. It was a beautiful scene with the decorated baskets illuminated by candles and the young priest showering his flock with holy water as he blessed the baskets.

We left the church and went to my host father’s parents’ house. I was privileged to sit in the space over the oven with my host sister and her 4 year old nephew to warm up. A feast was prepared from our basket and we sat at the table. (Disclaimer: I know the opinion and impressionability of some of my readers on the subject of alcohol, but please understand that this next section is truly part of Ukrainian culture. Nobody became drunk. I was cut off well before even the babushkas, and nobody who drove drank a drop. That said…) Those of us not driving were all poured shots of homemade vodka. We toasted with the host who proclaimed “Chistos Vozkres!” as we responded “Voistenu Vozkres”. Christ is risen, indeed He is risen. This is how Ukrainians greeted each other for the rest of the day and the next. We ate the spread of various meats, eggs, and breads. My favorite part was cracking the eggs. I would use the tip of my egg to smash the tip of my opponent’s egg. Whoever’s egg broke lost. Then the eggs were turned to the other side for a rematch. I lost miserably to my little host nephew, who has since broken his leg, poor thing. A lot of food and a couple of rounds later, my host sister enlightened me that this was the first of several houses in which we would repeat this process. She wouldn’t answer me when I asked how many houses were left.

We moved on to the next house as the sun rose, giving context to the wild ride of a few hours before. The host of this house was my Ukrainian great aunt. My family found plenty of reasons to make jokes at my expense, such as my tendency to eat desert before tea, or have watery eyes after even smelling their version of spicy mustard. After leaving the humiliation of this house, I caught some sleep in the car on the way to my host sister and brother-in-law’s house, which provided fuel for more ridicule. Lucky for me this was the last stop for awhile. As I left the house after finishing another insurmountable feast, my brother-in-law joked that there was barbequed dog in the meat. This joke was lost on me as I had become a zombie at this point.

I finally crawled into bed around 11am. When I awoke at 3pm, my family was gone. They apparently continued in the same fashion as before throughout the rest of the day and the next since they had Monday off. I of course had class on Monday, something they could not understand despite my repeated explanations as my eyes drooped. Later, my cluster got together to figure out what had just happened to us. We had our own feast of course, and played cards. From what I can gather, the entire holiday centers on the church for everyone. It’s such a beautiful celebration, unpolluted by commercialism and strengthened by the bonds of family and friends.

Other events to note. I got to play basketball and volleyball with some of the locals and my cluster mates. It felt so good to just run around for awhile. My cluster cooked a killer meal of fajitas completely from scratch, including the tortillas. We watched two episodes of The Office afterwards. We’re starting at the beginning hoping to make it through the 4 seasons we have with us. And I taught my first class. It was a frustrating success. I taught a 7th grade class, which is something I’ve never done, about stress, which I’ve never taught, in Russian, which I barely speak. It’s hard to hone your teaching methods when your students can barely figure out what you’re saying, and vice-versa. But it went well all things considered, and my partner Dave and I managed to get or points across. I’ll be doing it again this week. Same class but I’ll teach about the negative effects of smoking.

A final story. My parents’ generation always talks about the good ole days when everybody’s parents were your parents, and news traveled lightening fast, often faster than you could get home. Well, I experienced this first hand after I visited an orphanage the other day. With no prior explanation on my part, as he walked in the door, my host father told me all about how I had visited the orphanage earlier that day. He even made sure to tell me who went with me. Note how he didn’t ask me anything, just wanted to inform me that he knew. I think he was a little proud to have an American in his house who is interested in the local children’s home. Thus is the small town atmosphere of my 10,000 person town. You can imagine what a village is like.

Till next post,
Ben

P.S. I posted this from Kiev!!!