Life as it is - One year in Ukraine

It's getting real a little more everyday. I'm leaving the sense of adventure and entering Ukraine as real life. I was waiting for a train with a friend who still marvels at what we're doing. "Does it ever just blow your mind where you are, what you're doing?" Honestly, at this point I just do it. Hopping a train to Kiev overnight for 13 hours is as exciting and novel to me as driving from Atlanta to Ringgold. Just another trip. I think my friend's point is that it's weird that somehow with our infantile Russian we managed to find our way to the train station, in the dark, and find the right platform to ride a train 13 hours filled with strangers in a foreign country, and it's become second nature. The new is wearing off, but with this normalization comes the progression of relationships.

I've advanced from being the object of wide-eyed amazement from kids at school to being greeted casually with the equivalent of "whuzzup" and handshakes. It's difficult walking down the hall as 30 boys from 5th to 11th grades attempt to shake my hand. And all I want is to pee. I really feel as though the kids like me, like I'm their friend. I'm not sure how important such relationships are to the goals of Peace Corps. The ability to throw a football doesn't really translate into enabling a kid to become a skilled worker, or does it? It's not like these kids aren't loved. I'm not dealing with AIDS orphans who are never held. But there's still something that seems so valuable in being able to connect with the kids at my school and show them how much I love them.

Every day at school I fall a little more in love with my students. They really keep me on my toes. Every now and then my 6th grade boys behave like, well, 6th grade boys. I'll be sitting in my office, writing copious unnecessary though required documents for my director, when after a short knock 5 boys burst into my office, further disgruntling my office mate, the building manager. In high pitched, chipmunk Russian:

"Ben, give us the footballs," says the boy who eats the ice off puddles.

"No, today's not your sports club day, it's class 7a today."

"But Ben, please!" says the freckly boy surprisingly called 'Dave'.

"No, I'll play with you guys on Friday."

"But Ben we don't have anymore classes and we need to learn how to throw footballs better," begs Ice Boy.

"What did I say?"

"Please Ben," boys in unison.

"Get out of my office, Galina Genadivna's getting mad," with mock severity, but sincere paranoia at what the woman across from me will do if they don't leave in 30 seconds.

"No."

"Yes."

"No. Give us the frisbees instead," cunning Dave attempts.

"No. I'm playing frisbee with 7a."

"Then give us the footballs."

"You'll lose them, no way."

"No Ben, we'll be careful."

"I said no, now get out," standing, herding the boys out of the office.

"Ben you're mean," says Ice Boy holding on for dear life to the door frame.

"Let go," I groan, and the little punk slips back into the office, grabs my bike helmet, and runs out.

I try to get mad. I try not to grin as I half-heartedly chase the gremlin out of the school. I just can't do it. I can't get mad, I can't be mean. They're too funny, too innocent, too much fun. I head back to my office, shaking my head and smiling, and a few minutes later Ice Boy bursts back into my office, hangs my helmet back on my bike, stops to wave, chirps "Bye Ben," in English, and runs out.

My job has turned me into a glorified P.E. teacher. The new volunteers who teach 20 hours of English a week hate me when I tell stories of playing ultimate frisbee with 6th graders most every day. Those volunteers are busy planning, teaching, are out accomplishing tangible results while I play, laugh, occasionally yell, and accomplish seemingly nothing. Even when I do broach the subject of English I play. I have English club instead of lessons and attempt to find as many non-traditional ways to teach English as possible in 45 minutes. This includes doing the Hokey Pokey and playing I Spy.

But this is just my day job. The storm is mounting, and I might actually find myself busy over the next year. I'm planning a week-long day camp for my school about leadership in June. I'm on the director's committee for a camp about HIV/AIDS prevention in early August. I'm a counselor for a camp the last week in August. I've just started planning a major project with grant funding in which I and another teacher will be doing trainings for our teachers, students, and parents on HIV/AIDS prevention, who will then go to the smaller schools throughout the county to train those students. This project will likely last until next January. And I'm in the working group which focuses on Peace Corps Ukraine's healthy lifestyles initiative, which has its own projects which support volunteers.

I'm quickly approaching my one year mark in Ukraine, and with 15 months to go it's not exactly downhill. One year really means I'm just now truly integrating and it's time to get down to business and put together some semblance of a project that will hopefully leave me and my community with a feeling of significance when I leave.

As a side note, I have truly experienced winter. We're having the winter of a decade here. "I'm so sick of this winter. We've never had this much snow this long," bemoans a naive young Ukrainian. "Ah, we had winters all the time like this 50 years ago," a wizened grandma proudly proclaims from the next seat on the bus. Still, this is apparently the worst winter in several years, and I have the privilege of suffering through it with the best of them. It's still hovering around freezing everyday. I go to bed with clear streets and glorious dirt showing. I wake up in the morning and everything is white again. By midday everything is clear again. But it's better than being in the north where there is still a foot of snow on the ground.

I just hope I don't have to stand outside a church for Easter in sub freezing temps.

Happy one year to me and the rest of Group 36!