The Four Corners of Ukraine

These are stories from Ukraine.
On my first solo trip to Ukraine I got to see some good friends, explore a new side of ukrainian life, work in a few camps and see the four corners of this beautiful country I might just have to call home. These stories aren't what they should be, but hopefully they give a glimpse of my month.

This is Ukraine.

Day Two: Korestan

It is two in the afternoon and I am sitting under the shade of an enormous tree in Babushka Nadia’s garden. The table before me is filled with potatoes, borsht, fresh vegetables slathered in mayonnaise, kielbasa sausage, and raw eggs. I am firmly encouraged to eat it all, and every time my plate starts to look a bit empty I am accused of eating too little. Dedushka Tolik, wearing just a pair of shorts and a straw hat which reads “Vancouver” sits on the steps in front of the house smoking a cigarette. The garden, exploding with vegetation all around us, is largely what has produced this excellent and traditional Ukrainian meal, and the vicious chickens that roam among the potato and tomato plants are surely what produced these raw eggs. Babushka Nadia rambles continually sometimes in Ukrainian, sometimes in Russian and as desperately as I try to understand, I keep turning to Vadim to act as my translator. And, oh yes, I am here with Vadim. My dear dear friend that I have not seen in two years. It was surreal enough just to think about seeing him, to have him pick me up at the airport, but then to spend three days in his hometown meeting his family and friends in the place in which he grew up, truly I feel as if I am living in a dream. I am swiftly shaken out of that dream as I see Vadim cracking a small hole in both ends of the egg and then swiftly sucking out its raw contents. It is very good for your health I am told. Babushka Nadia vigorously nods her head and watches me until I pick up my own egg and hesitantly crack the first small hole. Ignoring thoughts of salmonella poisoning or even just the idea of swallowing a raw egg whole, I swiftly take my own gulp and there, it wasn’t so bad at all! The rest of our afternoon is spent swimming in the beautiful river just 20 meters from their home and meeting the neighbors who have wandered down to do their laundry in the river or simply take a dip themselves. My Russian is improving, my skin is growing darker by the minute, I have been eaten alive my mosquitoes, and on top the of the raw egg, I have also enjoyed my first slice of pig fat and fresh garlic on bread. This is truly an outrageous cultural experience, and I count myself blessed in getting to experience it.

Blinchiki Lunch with Babushka Nadia.

Day 9: Zakarpatia

Under the mountain and stagnant air around me presses down heavy and forgotten. I carefully place each foot on the thin wooden planks that hover delicately above the narrow water filled passageways through which we climb. There is little light and little room in this labyrinth under the Zakarapatia mountains. Voices fill the echoing tunnels, some singing, some shrieking, some conversing in hushed whispers. While it would seem that I have somehow entered into the world of Lord of the Rings, I travel not with a troop of elves, but rather a band of Ukrainian children. Our feet carry us through the catacombs of Ukraine, most likely old tunnels and bunkers left of from one of the many wars Ukraine has endured. I am in the first week of my first camp and already these new kids have captured my heart. They always do.

Camp Zakarpatia: These are my girls

Day 17: Crimea

After two weeks spent in rainy Zakarpatia, a rough 18 hour train ride, and a ferry ride across the Simferopal bay, my heart is simply bursting to be in Andrevka. I have heard much about the Crimea. The Crimea! It is the Ukrainian Mediterranean, heavily influenced not just by its naturally Slavic roots, but by its neighbors across the water: Turkey and Greece. It is the Black Sea, it is the Crimean Mountains, it is vinyards, it is beaches... We drop off our bags at the unfinished, under-construction home of a friend where we are staying, throw on our swimsuits and run down to the beach. We are met by pristine blue water that stretches as far as the eye can see. Tall cliffs loom above the sandy beach. Men selling kebabs, kvas, fruit, pastries and fish roam the beach. A babble of Russian rises of from the sun bathers, swimmers, and beach campers. I am ready to be one of them. For one week I am to live, eat, breath the Crimea. Let this week never end.

The Black Sea

Day 27: Bogodukhiv (Home)

I am looking into the faces of children who have seemed more like dreams and distant memories for a very long time. My hands shake as the nervous idea that they won’t remember me creeps into my head. Still, the idiot grin of overwhelming joy spreads across my face as I realize this is reality. I am seeing my kids. I am seeing my home. And there they are on this hot summer day, lazing about the orphanage courtyard just as I left them. Contemporary rap music blasts from a first floor window and my heart skips a beat when I see that Dima is manning the CD player. And here comes the band of boys, no longer boys but young men: Lova, Eura, Babyshka, Vitya, Max…Grins spread across their faces when they see Vadim: their friend and mentor, and then shock when they realize who I am. I hear my name: Это Джия! It is Gia! Relief and joy. They haven’t forgotten me either.

The younger kids start coming into the courtyard and I can feel the buzz of excitement spread through them just as I felt it when I stepped off the bus here for the first time two years ago.

Stop. There he is. My Iliya.

And I hug him as I have wanted to do for two years and I must fight to keep back the tears. There is just no denying it, he is my favorite.

The trumpet sounds and I know exactly what that means: lunch! I am ushered into the cafeteria as kids splash me with water and as “Bon Appétit” is said over and over again. It is like déjà vu. So much is the same: the process, the words, the place, and yet me kids are different. I look into their faces and see how much they have grown, matured and changed in two years. Taller, stronger, more sure of themselves. I have missed so much.

The idiot grin in action. This is joy.