Presence

At the moment, if you ask me what one thing has been the biggest key to any success I've had in Ukraine thus far, I would tell you that mere presence can make all the difference.

I came in like gangbusters with training, energy, motivation, ideas, and ideals. Well that didn't get me very far. I thought I was doing everything the way I was supposed to, furthermore, like my school wanted me to. After a while, it became obvious that the harder I tried the more the projects I attempted slipped away. This led to much frustration for both parties, both feeling like we'd been given a raw deal by Peace Corps - me feeling like I had an uncooperative site; my school feeling like they'd been given a crappy volunteer.

Largely due to my Ukrainian Peace Corps manager's advice, I made being present at my school a priority. That meant going to school even when I had nothing to do; going to English classes and sitting in the back even though the teacher didn't allow me to help; going to staff meetings which are often in Ukrainian, a language that eludes me even more than Russian. And most recently it meant going to events that I wasn't even invited to.

On May 9, the former Allies except America celebrated Victory Day over the Nazis in WWII. I haven't experienced this holiday anywhere else, but I can't imagine it's observed more furtively than in the former Soviet Union. And rightly so, as the Soviets sacrificed millions of their citizens and massive swaths of their lands, more than any other single country during the war. Though if you ask a veteran here whether the Soviets needed America's help to defeat Germany, you're likely to get a resounding no. Victory Day is possibly the biggest point of pride for a former Soviet, the day they saved their own country and ideals from oblivion. This year marked the 65th anniversary of that day.

I was able to gather from teachers at my school that our students would be hosting a ceremony at a memorial in a tiny village nearby. I learned what time the bus would be leaving for the village and told them I would be there. Much to their surprise I actually showed up at 8am on a Sunday morning to catch a rickety old bus with students to go to an obscure village with no obvious motivation to do so.

I noticed the assistant director in charge of the ceremony was panicking slightly, and found out nobody had a camera to document the event. It just so happened I had brought my camera and I scored major points as the assistant director gave covert head jerks and finger points to make sure the proper photos were taken throughout.

As the students were getting ready, my school's director came over to me and offered that I give a short speech during the ceremony for the veterans. I of course was completely unprepared and was luckily allowed to give my speech in English and have it translated. I spoke about how Americans understand and respect the sacrifice the Soviet Union made in WWII. I told about my grandfather and how he fought against the Nazis, just as the men I was standing in front of had. I spoke of the solidarity between two rival nations that must always be remembered on a day when peace returned to the world.

That my grandfather was a veteran of WWII was rather surprising to those who I work with. I think they were actually impressed, and were willing to admit that perhaps I might understand a little bit about what this holiday means to them.

At one point I and the students gave flowers to the veterans and villagers. I found an old man who was wearing a 'California U.S.A.' trucker hat who didn't have a flower and gave him mine. I didn't realize the significance of this until later.

After the meeting, the entire village was bussed back to our school where the typical celebratory appetizers and spirits had been arranged. We ate and toasted and the mood moved from somber to joyous. Some of the women began singing a song, and immediately the entire room swelled with the voices of the villagers joining in 'Katusha', the song most Soviets associate with WWII and their victory. I brought out my camera again and began to video them as they sang. A couple of the women noticed and threw their arms around me and made sure that the revelers sang at least 5 more verses so I would have plenty of footage.

I looked down my table and noticed the man I had given my flower to was near the end. I caught his eye and he smiled and nodded at me. I went back to my mashed potatoes, and the teacher I was talking to was beckoned by the man to speak with him. When she returned she explained to me that the man was very thankful to me for giving him the flower. It was the only flower he was given, this man who fought so bravely to give himself the right to quietly pass his days in a small village in Ukraine, in freedom. We stood and toasted to each other and exchanged a furtive handshake. As he made his way out of the room he picked a few of the petals off the flower and gave them to me. I was almost beside myself.

As more people trickled out of the little cafeteria, the ladies began singing again. You could hear in their voices the jubilation and the pride at what their country had accomplished. It was so beautiful, the emotion so deep and real. I couldn't take it anymore. I broke down into tears and was completely overwhelmed by emotion. The mayor of the village I was talking to clapped me on the back and said, "It's a beautiful holiday isn't it?"

So it was that merely showing up made for one of the greatest experiences I've had in Peace Corps so far. My presence was unexpected, but I could tell it was appreciated. Who knows how this one day will pay off in the future. It's learning these subtleties that is helping me slowly but surely make something of my work.