Literature Discussions

Community development PCVs find lots of different opportunities for serving their communities. During winter, Natalia Dohadailo invited me to lead a literature discussion seminar with her English students at the University. These are upper level intermediate students of English, though some are more fluent than others. Four are faithful members of the English Club at the Library. The discussions turned out to be more challenging than I had anticipated.

Our first selection was Jack London's short story "To Build a Fire," about man's futile struggle to survive the extreme cold of Northern Canada alone and on foot with only a wary wolf dog as his companion. The story was published in the Century Magazine in 1908 and was a great hit then and still is. London is best known for his great adventure novels: The Call of the Wild, White Fang, and Sea Wolf.

We discussed the main themes of the story, writing style, plot and characters, the general tone and tenor, the mood and atmosphere. It's chilling story, to say the least. But for the students, grasping the language and its import was difficult, and a play on words, "a chilling story," went over the heads of most.

Our next session focused on Kate Chopin's "The Story of an Hour," and a chapter from Mark Twain's Roughing It, "Lost in a Snowstorm.”

Twain's story of getting lost in a blinding blizzard in the Nevada desert is similar to London's man versus nature tale. But what different styles of writing, different moods, different endings! Twain is a master of American vernacular language with a sense of humor that underscores the conflicts and dilemmas of human nature. A finely honed sense of the absurd adds depth and interest to his plots and characters.

But I learned that he is a difficult read for foreign language students. His way of expressing ideas and insights, the melodrama, the satire, the irony, even the words, his vocabulary, are hard to grasp. I sympathize, because trying to read Gogol or other Ukrainian and Russian novels is almost impossible for students learning Russian. It takes a long time to read a paragraph, let alone to interpret and analyze it.

I found it helped to read together. That's what we did with Kate Chopin's short story, which anticipates her 1899 novel The Awakening. In "The Story of an Hour" Chopin explores the theme of a woman's self-assertion and desire for freedom. Chopin's ideas were considered "radical" at the time, although I suspect many American women then, fighting for education and the vote, found her work fascinating. Chopin's conflicts, unlike London's and Twain's, are internal, not external, not about man versus nature, but about the struggles within one's self. The overarching theme, however, what is HUMAN nature, is similar.

Again the students struggled with these concepts, but we pressed on and there was some insight, some understanding, some thoughts developing.

And what about the ending, I asked. This was also difficult. Adjectives didn't come easily. When I asked if the ending is unexpected, ironic, and sad, they agreed it was, yes, and we discussed each of these ideas in turn. Still, I think the students found Chopin's subject incomprehensible. They were uncomfortable with the story. I said it was fine to be uncomfortable and unsure. That was another hard concept to fathom.

We struggled on without any conclusions or tidy summing up. There were more questions than answers, more doubt than certainty. The difficulties and subtleties of language added another dimension to the troubling mix.
I didn't try to "fix" it. It was the way it was. No resolution. Just the brewing of a tangle of ideas and thoughts that we were left to deal with on our own.

The literature discussions were a challenge, and I thought long and hard about them. I decided to try a new approach at our next session. The session focused on Thomas Wolfe's “The Far and the Near,” a short story about a train engineer's vision and high expectations and the grave disappointment of reality.

I told the students we would first go around the table and say what we felt about this story, just a sentence or two. Then we would read together paragraph by paragraph (there were 15) and discuss each in turn. We would each read a paragraph aloud.

This worked much better. Each student commented on the story. This story is about a train engineer’s hopes....about disappointment....about unrealistic visions. Why, one student asked, did the engineer think the women to whom he had waved cheerfully for 20 years would be glad to see him when he decided to visit them after his retirement? “I didn't like this story,” one student confessed, with some hesitation. All good thoughts, good questions! It's okay not to like the story, I reassured them. This gave us the opportunity to talk about why some readers might like it, and some readers might not.

We talked briefly about the modern writers of the 20th century, whose stories did not always have happy endings. For Wolfe, looking at something from afar was not like seeing it up close. "The near” is usually a huge disappointment.

I tried to bring this concept home. I related my own experience of going past lovely villages on my train rides to and from Kiev, how pretty they looked, how pure and clean, how busy the people, tending gardens, selling produce, chatting together. In summer there were fields of sunflowers; in winter bare trees covered in white and ice. Such pleasant scenes!

"But what would I see if I went up close?" I paused. The students smiled and nodded. Would I see ugliness rather than beauty, mean-spirited relations rather than happy chats, litter and environmental wastes rather than flowers and white fences?

This struck a chord and students responded enthusiastically. They could tell about their own experiences. They understood. The discussion was more concrete, less abstract. A breakthrough!

Then we took turns reading, and I saw that the students read very well. A few times I slowed them down, asked them to focus word for word, deliberately, even dramatically. I modeled, they responded, and in the process discovered that they could get more meaning from the words when they slowed down. Sometimes we re-read a sentence. We studied words. Focused on vocabulary and meaning.

I felt better and I could see the students did too. They felt more comfortable, participated more, were less hesitant to express their views. We ended on the same page! And the students expressed interest in the next seminar. Later Natalia said this was a good sign, wanting to participate rather than having to participate!

We learn as we go. Teachers especially so. It's so much easier adjusting your approach than fighting against the wind, insisting on your own ideas about how and what you want students to know. They will get it if you teach from where they are, and move them forward in increments, one step at a time. When it works it's the best feeling in the world.

Twists and Turns

Flikr photo by Tapio Hurme


"Upon us all a little rain must fall."
Led Zeppelin, Rain Song, 1973 Houses of the Holy album.


Life is full of twists and turns. It’s not always ducky like the day I walked with ducks in the splendor of a blossoming spring in Ukraine. A few days later, something changed. Things turned dark. I’m not sure why. A twist. A turn. It has to do with Luba’s son Sergei. Something happened. On Saturday afternoon Luba got a phone call with bad news. It was a beautiful sunny day. She was working in her garden, happy as a lark. Then the call came. And everything changed. Luba’s been sad ever since. Did Sergei have a car accident? He had gone to Donestk on a business trip, I thought. Is he okay? What happened? I don’t know because I do not understand Russian. Luba’s elder son Vitaly came soon after the call, thank god, and so did her neighbor Tonya, but Luba was inconsolable. I am thankful for her friends who come in and out, because I have never felt so helpless and useless in my life. What is going on? What happened?


It’s been four days, and things aren’t much clearer, or much better, except Luba is out of shock and just crying a lot and trying to carry on. I think Sergei is alive (that was my biggest fear), but I don't know where he is. I'm beginning to think the details are not important. I am a PCV in Ukraine, living with a family, a proud, hardworking family. Something has happened, and I am watching a mother grieve. I don’t know why.

Maybe it's better I don’t. Some things are beyond understanding. I pray Sergei is okay. I pray "this too shall pass," as my mom used to say when things got rough. I am sorry this has happened to Luba. Spring has turned dark at Luba’s house. A curtain has fallen, and it doesn’t look like it will lift soon. It's raining in Luba's life. Luba's tears.

Walking with Ducks

Now that spring is here and the weather is warmer, I'm walking more. I hesitate to say it, with my, ahem, personal history, but I've even started to use my bike again. Not often. When I'm not in a hurry or when I do not have too much to carry.

Lately I've been walking to and from the Post Office every day. I was expecting a few packages, plus those books from Toledo. The people who work there know me, the Amerikanka, and usually, I just have to show up, smile, say good day, and they look at each other knowingly to say without speaking, "has anything come in for the Amerikanka?" They shake their heads no or yes.

Finally I got a "yes," with a smile. The 3 boxes of books came from America! Passport? Nope. I had to go home to get my passport.

As I turned onto Panfelova, there they were: A flock of ducks, or would that be a group of ducks, or a flock of geece. About a dozen of them. They were wandering about in circles, scurrying this way and that, obviously lost. Their leader seemed indecisive. Were they looking for the river? How did they get so off track? They were a long way from the river, a long way from home.

I walked with them for a while. Not exactly a straight path. But we went a few blocks, and I saw some pretty lilac bushes turning green; pink blossoms on the bare branches of apricot trees, flowering like cherry blossoms; some bright red tulips and golden daffodils; a very pretty house with gingerbread decoration that I had seen but never really looked at. I was beginning to feel like a duck with pleasure. Going in circles, a long way from home? Or, to put a better spin on it, just wandering where my instincts took me?

I took out my camera and focused on what I was seeing. That in itself is a good thing. When I turned around I saw that the ducks were going off in a new direction. I walked toward Panfelova, and the ducks kept going in the opposite direction. I went East; they went West. A good sign. At least they were heading in the right direction, toward the river. And I was heading home to get my passport so I could get those books. Sometimes you just go where life takes you. A nice walk with ducks.

Earth Day 2010

We have been discussing environmental issues this month, April, at our English Club. The Peace Corps Ukraine Environmental Committee created and distributed a nice package of things we can do. We talked about global warming, the volcano in Iceland, hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes and other natural disasters around the globe. We talked about what we can do in our own communities to make the planet a safer place. Everyone is participating in some way to make our environment cleaner, safer, healthier. "Earth Day should be Everyday" is our slogan. And "think globally and act locally" is another oldie but goodie.

What can we do right now to help the environment, I asked. Don't use so much paper! Recycle bottles. Use things again instead of throwing them away. Save water, use less. Keep our rivers clean. Great answers! "Reduce, reuse, recycle," is the Earth Day slogan. And how about clean-up days? Oh sure, nods all around the room. At that moment I slowly pulled out a surprise package from my backback and, with a dramatic flourish, held it up, to much laughter: plastic trash bags and plastic gloves! They thought it was funny. I distributed them to the members, who proceeded to have fun trying them on, saying the gloves didn't fit, the bags were too small, and generally putting me on! "I know you know what to do with these," I said. They nodded and smiled.

We talked about using trash for art, which the younger kids liked especially. I told them about my being in San Miguel de Allenda, Mexico, with my grandchildren Julia and Tony many years ago and collecting bottle caps, junk, and pieces of tile on our walks to and from town, and using these items to make picture frames, collages and other art. Tonya, the teacher, said she'd try this with her classes at Kooryvchevka school.

The people of Starobilsk are also participating in their own way. Mostly they are out cleaning, raking, picking up refuse, sweeping streets and paths. At the university crews of students and teachers have been out collecting trash and cleaning around buildings (photo upper right). Starobilsk looks fresh and clean and green in its Spring finery.

Back at the English Club, I distributed Certificates of Participation in Earth Day 2010 to members, which they loved getting, and then sent them off with their plastic bags and gloves to keep the momentum going.

Bad News on the Polticial Front

A cartoon from a Romanian newspaper, but lots of people feel the same way in Ukraine.

A Peace Corps friend in southern Ukraine sent her fellow volunteers this news recently:

Mykola Azarov defended his decision to appoint an all-male government, saying he needed "people who can work 16-to-18 hours a day’ to fix the recession-hit economy."

”Conducting reforms is not women’s business,” the new pro-Russian prime minister insisted. He claimed it was too tough for women to say “no.”

He also ordered an Orthodox priest to exorcise the spirit of his female predecessor, former prime minister Julia Tymoshenko, from his office. “It was very hard to breathe in there,” he said

Women can’t work 16-18 hours a day? They can’t work for reform, can’t say no? Women are suffocating? Women’s place is in the home, not in politics?

Bad news. This doesn't say much for the new Yanukovich administration, or maybe it says more than we want to hear. Choosing a prime minister is the new president's first major decision, and for a lot of Ukrainians the choice of Azarov is a red flag. For some it is like a red flag in front of a bull. They are furious. It didn’t take long for Azarov to put his foot in his mouth. But then Barbara reminded me that Yanukovich himself had suggested, during the campaign, that woman’s place was in the kitchen, not in the cabinet. He got elected anyway.

Is this the 21st century? Is this a democratic society? Does such neanderthal thinking about women's place still exist? More than that, would a knowledgeable, fair-minded, contemporary executive call in a priest to exorcise his female predecessor's spirit?

Poor Ukraine. So many real problems to address, so little hope. First there's the problem of transparency. Then there’s the issue of accountability to the people, with the interests of oligarchs and power-hungry politicians taking precedence over the needs of ordinary citizens. There’s a desperate need for social change and enlightenment, for jobs and infrastructure building, for improvements in higher education, for rule of law.

Now Ukraine faces six years of rule by a misogynist prime minister who can't breath if the spirit of a woman is present, and a president who chose him and doesn’t care. Former president Leonid Kravchuk thinks Yanukovich is too busy ensuring he has control over the Parliament and the Courts (Kiev Post, 9 April 2010). He urged Yanukovich to provide democratic leadership, not authoritarian rule, but the signs are not good.

Is this what the people voted for? Some Ukrainians are already saying “I told you so.” Others are turning away from politics altogether. A few are protesting, but perhaps not enough. Is it any wonder so many people feel pessimistic about Ukraine’s future?

Starobilsk Has Talent!

"His poetry is unique, creative," said 83-year-old I. Myrostechenko, beloved historian of the local community and author of several books, including the story of Russian poet Gaston who briefly lived in Starobilsk. A plaque marks Gaston’s house, which is badly in need of preservation.

We were at the Library, about 30 people, celebrating the publication of Anton Palanadis' new book of poetry, "Almost Twins." I knew most of them from the English Club or social gatherings or my ramblings about town, and felt at home. Several people spoke about Anton’s work and read from the anthology--his former teachers, fellow poets, his mother (a librarian), and the director of the Cultural Center, Alexander Andrynov, himself a talented musician. I sat next to Olga, who translated from time to time. I couldn't understand it all, but the feelings were strong, admiring and proud. Vitaly Romashka of Starobilsk TV was there to cover the event. Mikhail, the photographer working on the Starobilsk Heritage Calendar, took photos.

Alosha played the guitar and sang a piece he had written himself. Here is another young talent, only 15 years old, but a serious student of voice and music. Olga leaned over and said she hoped Alosha would be able to study in America, "maybe at Julliard," she said. How I wish I could make that happen.

I feel like a witness to a hidden treasure. This village of 18,000, so far from large cities or urban centers of culture, proudly claims many artists, poets, folk art painters and craftspeople, scholars, musicians, singers and dancers. It claims great teachers who recognize and nurture this talent. Like Anton's Ukrainian language and literature teacher, also a poet, who early saw Anton's gifts and encouraged him to write. She spoke glowingly of his growth as a poet, of his dedication to truth and the written word.

No doubt about it. Starobilsk has talent. I believe it deserves a larger stage. I hope it is discovered, publicized, proclaimed to all the earth. “Let heaven and nature sing.” But how will this happen? Will these talents remain hidden, the beautiful gifts of a far-away village, or will they soar, rise above the village to achieve greater awareness and appreciation, wider audiences, broader acclaim. Only time will tell.

We Have Books!

Today was a banner day! Members of the Starobilsk English Club, with great anticipation, opened three boxes of books sent from Toledo, Ohio. It was exciting and special. They poured over the books with great enthusiasm and admired the selection, the titles, the illustrations. The children's books were a big hit.

Oh look, here’s Harry Potter, Vlad exclaimed, so excited to see several books in the series. Anton joined him. There’s poetry books in this box, Sveta said, and some novels, holding them up. I want to read all of these books, said Tonya the musician, holding an empty box over her head! I love detective stories. Here’s Dr. Seuss, perfect for my beginners, said Tonya the teacher. Who’s John Grishom? Does this say “good night moon”?

Such excitement. Such pleasure. "No one has ever done anything like this for us before," said Maria. "Please say thank you to your family and friends." Everyone clapped and smiled and posed for photos for all of you who donated books, money for postage, and loving thoughts at my 70th birthday party. You made lots of people happy. Words cannot adequately convey the deep appreciation.

We made a gift of 10 children’s books to Tonya, the teacher of English at Kooryshevka Village School. The village schools have so few resources that these books are a real treasure, a goldmine. Tonya couldn't wait to get to class on Monday to show her kids. It’s amazing how important small gifts can be.

So the Starobilsk Library has started its first collection of English books!

Because the cost of mailing is so high, though, we will look for other options as well. I think the postage was higher than the value of the books in the boxes that my daughter Elissa and I packed. My PCV friends Ilse and Carl suggested the option of raising money but buying books here in Ukraine. We were browsing in a bookstore in Kiev that sold fantastic English language series from Penquin, Macmillan, Oxford University Press and other publishers for learners at various levels, from beginners to intermediate to advanced. We don’t have these stores here but the larger urban centers do, and the price is reasonable. About 20-66 hryvnia a book, on average, or $2.50 to $8.50.

I will keep you posted. Meanwhile, we will work with the librarians to get the books we have now catalogued and prepared for lending. Members of the English Club will help translate the authors, titles and publishing information. Thanks to you, the Starobilsk library’s new collection has gotten off to a great start.

OBELISKS

While touring Kiev last weekend we ran across an obelisk, the kind of memorial that looks like the Washington monument. It was a black towering column that stood tall and majestic beyond a tree-lined boulevard leading to the Holodomor Memorial Park. We thought it was part of the Holodomor project, but it is a memorial to victims of all wars and other tragedies.

The Holodomor memorial park next to it also includes an obelisk, a contemporary version of the ancient architecture, with a golden triangle of arches on its very top, and a flock of storks or egrets at the bottom flying upward, as if to heaven, reminding us of rebirth.

What is it about obelisks? I've always thought of them as symbols of masculine power rising.

But the Kiev obelisk sent me on a google search, and toward a more charitable view of obelisks.

Obelisks are tall narrow tapering monuments that end in a pyramid at the top. They are ancient, Egyptian in origin (and perhaps Mexican), and were often created in pairs to guard the entrances to temples and sacred places. They are difficult to build, an engineering marvel. For more on this see http://www.pbs.org/ and the NOVA program "Pharoah's Obelisk" (February 2000), which explores how the ancients shaped, transported and erected their obelisks.

Obelisks symbolize the sun god Ra, also known as Atuk. They are thus integral aspects of creation myths and legends, connoting the creative force of the sun.

According to one historian, “Because of the Enlightenment-era association of Egypt with mortuary arts, obelisks became associated with timelessness and memorialization. Today they are found all over the world.”

The obelisks we see today, though, are not all from ancient Egypt. Only 29 of these originals remain in existence today, most in Rome not Egypt, an interesting fact.

One is in Istanbul. Emperor Theodosius had it shipped to Constantinople in 390 (imagine that!), where it was placed near the Blue Mosque and Roman Cistern. It's weather-beaten, shrouded in a faded glory, but its hieroglyphics and engraved symbols of ancient Egypt and the spread of Christianity still fascinate. I didn't know at the time how precious this obelisk was.

Another extant authentic obelisk is in Central Park, New York, Cleopatra's Needle's. Its partner is in London. This is a special pair, 68 feet tall, made of red granite, and inscribed with hieoroglyphics honoring the famed Queen and female pharoah. I'll look for this pair next time I'm in NY or London!

Cleopatria, by the way, worshipped Isis, the goddess of motherhood, magic and fertility, friend of slaves, sinners, the downtrodden, and protector of children and the dead. Worshop of Isis, in fact "spread throughout the Greco-Roman world, continuing until the suppression of paganism in the Christian era." It's fascinating what you learn on the way to understanding obelisks.

Most modern obelisks today honor historical figures of the past. For example, obelisks commemorate Abraham Lincoln in Springfield, Illinois, and Jefferson Davis in Fairview, Kentucky. Amazing, isn't it? That obelisks connect the Civil War presidents of the Union and the Confederacy as real life could never do.

One of my favorite obelisks is the Washington monument, standing over 556 feet in height and finished in December 1884, after many years of starts and stops. Compared to the authentic Egyptian obelisks, it is new, like America itself. It stands guard white and bright over the Mall of our capital city, a symbol of America's aspirations and founding ideals. When I lived in Washington I loved walking past the monument to the Tidal Basin and the cherry blossoms around it. The whole scene looked like a Japanese watercolor, a pink and white fairyland brushed on the bluest sky.

I have a renewed and less-facile appreciation of these towering monuments. Memorials come in all shapes and sizes, but the obelisk has certainly stood the test of time. Ancient or modern, they symbolize the universal human need to preserve and remember our ancestors, our personal histories, and our shared past. They unite generations, transport us to other times, tower into the heavens, remind us of the power of symbols, hold us in awe.

History and Hope

Holocaust Memorial, Kiev.

I was in Kiev over the weekend for a meeting of over-50 year old PCVs. It was great to be with close friends. We had our SNAC (Senior Network Action Committee) meeting at Peace Corps headquarters. We learned that the newest PCT Group 38, now in training in Chernigov, has many more seniors, many more over-70, than our group and previous groups did. Lillian Carter would be pleased! So are we.

After the meeting we had a grand tour of Kiev given by Dr. Valeriy Gontarenko (Dr. V), who grew up in Kiev and shared the glories and stories of his historic Podil neighborhood, one of the oldest in Kiev. We went to other sites, through a craftsmen and artisans neighborhood, to Parliament, the President's House, and majestic government buildings near bustling Chrishatik Street, the heart of the city, and to see St. Cyril's Church Museum, adorned with beautiful paintings.

We also went to the Holocaust memorial (above right) in Babi Yar, the large ravine outside of Kiev where over 33,000 Jews were rounded up and killed in cold blood on September 29-30, 1933, perhaps the largest two-day massacre of the Holocaust. Dr. Sasha Gonta met us there to share more information about this tragic event, one which the Soviet government didn't acknowledge and is only relatively recently being uncovered and discussed publicly. The Holocaust tragedy is also told in the documentary Babi Yar, by Anatoly Kuznetsov, based on the chilling and horrific experience of a survivor who played dead on top of thousands of corpses of loved ones and friends, artist Dina Pronicheva.

I cannot imagine the horror. I cannot imagine surviving. We walked the grounds aware that we were treading on a huge cemetary with thousands and thousands of unmarked graves, the voices of the massacred silenced, but not forgotten.

We also remembered another atrocity, the Holodomor, the starvation of 8-10 million Ukrainians in 1932-33 who, by order of Stalin, were forced at gun point, torture and threat of death or exile to Siberia, to give up their grain, all of it, their grinding wheels, their food. Controversy surrounds the details of this tragedy, and some deny it, but modern scholars have placed it in the context of Ukrainian resistance to Stalin's forced collectivization of their farms.

Our PCV friend Ilse, whose mother was born in Ukraine and fled with her husband to America in the1940s (Ilse's not sure how but with the help of friends), says her mother told many stories about this famine and her own tragic loss of several family members. It was good to have Ilse and her husband Carl with Jud and me on this visit.

It was president Yushchenko who had the Holodomor Park Memorial built to the victims in 2007-8 (photos right, the former president with his daughter). It includes a modern obelisk, along with the bronze statue of a starving young girl and a circle of grinding wheels. Very moving. It is set in a beautiful park near the Kiev Pediersk Lavra, the Monastery of the Caves, the oldest orthodox Christian monastery, started in 1015. The old and the new. Good and evil. Sacred history and holocaust history.

The Holodomor is one of the newest memorials in the capital city of Kiev, and it is filling the need to remember. Thousands of daily visitors and hundreds of flowers and lighted candles placed at the site attest to its power to move us. Yushchenko, I think, was right about this.

But president Yushchenko's obsession with historical truth and remembrance became unpopular, and he was accused, for example, of favoring history over solving present-day problems. Still, Ilse thinks he will go down in history as a good president. I agree. Not soon, not now, but in time.

He will be, perhaps, the Ukrainian equivalent of Turkey's Ataturk, who instituted a republic on the foundation of preserving the past. Istanbul is now a tourist attraction for millions of visitors from all over the world because of it. It can happen here.

The generation that witnessed the Holocaust and Holodomor is fast disappearing, so first-hand accounts of these tragic stories will be lost if they are not told, collected and preserved now, and if we do not have ways to remember them. We need to be the voices of the dead, a community of memory.

We need our memorials not only to celebrate our heroes and heroines, but also to remember the dark moments in our history, to remember the losses, the killing of the spirit. Scholars remind us time and again that if we don't remember our history, we are doomed to repeat it.

Uncovering the secrets and lies of the past is difficult, but it can be a positive first step toward the future. It can be part and parcel of plans for social action, economic development, and social change, in Ukraine as elsewhere. In time, all these goals will converge.

Istanbul is a great contemporary example of such convergence. Ukraine will one day use its history to illuminate a vibrant present. It will become, like Istanbul, a destination for honoring the past and looking with hope toward the future. History and hope. In time, Ukraine, in time.

Remembering Paul Robeson

flikr photos

It's Paul Robeson's birthday on April 9. Who is Paul Robeson, you ask? I had forgotten, too. Then I happened to see a Paul Robeson song album when I was looking for something else on the internet. It touched me, to be reminded of a great American, a Renaissance man and reformer, whom I hadn't thought about in years.

It's a blot on our democracy that this man was hounded into oblivian because of his beliefs. American history has its dark side, times when its democratic ideals and republican values were undermined by the heat of the moment and the negative spirit of the times. Robeson never gave up, but he was caught in this web of hatred and ignorance.

Today there are several biographies of Paul Robeson and they should be required reading in all our schools. I have added to my own reading list studies by historian Martin Duberman and American Studies scholar Jeffery Stewart, along with a biography by his only child, Paul Robeson, Jr. The Robeson foundation in Princeton, New Jersey, where he was born in 1898, is also striving to safeguard and preserve his memory.

Paul Robeson was an extraordinary person: a concert singer, scholar, actor of film and stage, professional athlete, writer, multi-lingual orator and lawyer, and social justice advocate. Robeson, the youngest of five children and the grandson of slaves, became one of Rutger University's most accomplished alumni. A member of Phi Beta Kappa, he was valedictorian of his graduating class in 1919, that eventful post-World War I year of race riots, terrorism and lynching.

He was the first major star to popularize the performance of Negro spirituals, and the first black actor of the 20th century to portray Shakespeare's Othello on Broardway. He was known for his role in Show Boat, and for thus paving the way for great talents such as Sidney Poitier and Harry Belafonte.

In speaking out against racism and fascism in the 1930s, Robeson became disillusioned with the "empty rhetoric" of America and developed a sympathy for the Soviet revolution in support of workers. Biographers note that he championed the cause of the common person wherever he traveled, and was beloved around the world for it.

A forerunner of the Civil Rights movement, and a trade union and peace activist, Robeson became a target of the McCarthy "communist hunters" in the 1950s. "Every effort was made to silence and discredit him." According to some historians, persecution by the U.S. govenrment and media virtually erased Robeson from mainstream culture and subsequent interpretations of U.S. history, including civil rights history.

What a shame. He died on January 23, 1976, at his sister's home in Philadelphia. Though I was an adult, I don't recall hearing about his death or any mention of it at the time. The silence is all the more shattering in recalling his greatness and pioneering efforts on behalf of peace and justice.

We need a Paul Robeson Day in America. Why not April 9? We remember Martin Luther KIng, Jr., Washington and Lincoln. We should likewise remember Paul Robeson, and pay homage to his heroism and commitment to social justice. It is time to honor this great American.

My Starobilsk Birthday Surprise

Olga came to Luba's to visit last week and invited me to our favorite cafe on Lenina Street, "for next Monday," she said emphatically. That's the cafe where we usually go for tea after our Sunday English Club meetings, to continue our conversations and enjoy each other's company. The Monday after Easter is a national holiday so I wondered about the timing, but I said "sure," as usual. I seldom turn down any invitation.

Monday was a warm spring day under a cobalt blue sky, perfect for a walk through the university campus to the cafe. When I got there, SURPRISE! About 12 members of our English Club greeted me with birthday wishes, a calla lily, and a beautiful cake made by Luda and her mother. It was as delicious as it was beautiful. Friends kept coming, and we shared tea and stories and fun.

As is the Ukrainian custom when celebrating a birthday, each member in turn around the table toasted to my good fortune, health, and happiness. They all had kind words to say. It was touching. Vlad, our youngest member and so faithful, recited a poem from memory (he only had to check the book once!). Alosha played guitar and sang love songs. Luda sang, her trained voice clear and lovely. Ira danced to music by her favorite American, Beyonce. Anton came to give a poetic toast. All the toasts were heartfelt and moving. I thanked everyone from the bottom of my heart, and offered a toast "to friendship" and "to my Starobilsk family."

When they asked me about my birthday in Toledo, I showed photos and told them that my daughter Elissa had asked people she invited to my party to bring "books for Starobilsk" or money for postage. "Not presents for you?" No, just books! And we got lots of them, more than we could send. Three boxes of books are on their way here from America, I announced. They were astonished, and pleased. It was like sharing good news with a big family gathered for a special occasion. I told them that when the books got here, we would open the boxes together at an English Club meeting. Smiles and clapping all around. "Please say thank you to our American friends," they said.

This year, my 70th year, my birthday celebrations followed me wherever I went! I had a party in Toledo with my daughters and grandchildren and friends; another in Saint Petersburg with my Florida family, my sister and brother, Sandie and Christopher; and a third celebration in Starobilsk, my village in Ukraine, where I have been welcomed, feted, and loved.

I feel so fortunate. I have received so much more than I could ever give. We Peace Corps Volunteers come to do good, but the best part, and maybe the most important, is getting to know a different culture and sharing friendships. Here in Starobilsk, we are Ukrainians and Americans united, sharing the universal language of respect and love.

Going to Severodonestk

I had to go to Severodonestk last week to sign off on a new bank account for the Peace Corps grant to Victoria for its “Know Your Rights” project. Not surprisingly, the Peace Corps-approved ProCredit bank does not have a branch in Starobilsk.

Severodonestk is a medium-sized industrial town about 60 miles from Starobilsk. It is not very attractive, with lots of Soviet-style buildings and belching chemical factories. Maybe I just didn't see the nicer parts of the city. Or perhaps it's that Spring hasn't arrived there yet. The town square is pretty, however, with a majestic cultural center, and the town features a huge bazaar covering several blocks between the center of town and the bus station. A pleasant walk. Dozens of plastic flower vendors added color to the scene, an irresistable lure for me, and I bought some pure white calla lilies as an Easter present for Luba.

But it took two hours to get there, on a crowded bus without shock absorbers on one of the worst roads in Ukraine I think. We bumped along at 30 miles per hour, hitting every pot hole. They were hard to avoid. The ride was jarring and jolting. People and packages went flying. We were on top of one another.

The bus ride back to Starobilsk was even worse. Travelers outnumbered buses, and people outnumbered seats. Instead of lines, there were crowds of people pushing and shoving, including babushkas with huge packages and bags plopped everywhere. One large woman shoved me aside and put her gigantic bags at my feet to block me even further. It was a different woman than the one who shoved in front of me at the cashier's counter when I bought my ticket. These shoving babuskas kept multiplying. Where were the sweet kerchieved-babuskas when you needed them?

My lilies stuck out from my shoulder bag, looking very pretty and perky I thought. But the pushing and shoving to get on the bus knocked off the white flowers so I ended up with long green plastic stems looking as forloin as I was feeling. Some passengers were kind enough to pick the callas off the ground and give them to me, not as pure white as they had been, but I managed to salvage a few. I was pushed onto the bus by three or four people and ended up, discheveled and disjointed, at a window seat.

On top of all this Ukrainian surrrealism, the jet lag from my trip home sent me drifting. I couldn't keep my eyes open, even with the shoving and pushing. More people threw themselves onto the overcrowded bus as I unwillingly slipped in and out of sleep. My tiredness took over. I awoke at one point to find a big bag on my lap. There was no room for it any place else. Such are the perils of a PCV in a far-away village in Ukraine.

By the time we got back to Starobilsk I wondered about the joys of travel. But it's not just here, I reminded myself; bad roads and obnoxious people are everywhere. I added another notch to my Peace Corps adventure belt, and saw the Calla lilies smiling at me.

Easter at Luba's

Luba's Paska (Easter bread) and red eggs (right).

My Easter window, with calla lilies from Severodonestk (my next blog will tell the story!).

On Saturday, while Luba was baking, a wild hail storm hit Starobilsk, knocking out power and sending Sergei and me outside to take photos. Hard to get a sense of it here, but that's hail on the ground, not snow. The sun came out briefly during the storm and splayed a lovely rainbow across the sky. It didn't last long, so I felt lucky to have seen it. A goodluck charm. Then it was back to grey and rain and hail. The lights came on about an hour later, and Luba went on with her Paska cooking.

Easter Sunday: Luba wakes me at 4:30 am, and we head out the door for church (the ancient monestary, now a nunnery) with our Easter basket. I thought we were going to walk (it's not far from the university and town center), but I was glad to see that Sergei was driving us. The church looked glorious, brighter than usual, as if a chorus of angels was beaming down on it. I prayed in silence, naming every family member and friends. Luba made the sign of the cross several times, lit a candle in remembrance of loved ones, then joined more than a dozen people out in the monestary courtyard, where she spread out some of the Paska and eggs, and a little bottle of cognac. We waited for the priest. He came by a few minutes later with a bucket of (holy) water and a bunch of pussy willows (I think they were), and sprayed our bowed and covered heads with water. "Christ has Risen," he intoned, and the crowd did likewise, three times. That was it! No mass, no sermon, no readings from screiptures, no music. Just being blessed. Same as last year, when I went with Valya in Chernigov. For me the simplicity of it seemed sacred, deeply personal.

Luba and I walked out the church to a waiting Sergei. I think we both felt truly blessed. I wondered why Sergei didn't join us but it seems that women predominate in celebrating these traditions and rituals. We went home, had our Easter breakfast, including 3 toasts with the blessed cognac, and then went back to bed for a few hours. It turned into a day of rest and relaxation.

Luba and I (dictionary in hand) sat outside in the late afternnoon, basking in the setting sun, practicing my Russian conversation. We talked about her garden, the things she was going to plant. Aren't you working in your garden today, I asked . No, not on Easter Sunday. Tomorrow.

I feel more comfortable with the language, not that I'm much more proficient, just more at ease.

It's that magic one year mark that more seasoned PCVs tell about. The PCVs in my Group 36 are coming full circle, celebrating a year in Ukraine on April 1, getting more comfortable, observing our second Easter, another spring. We begin again, our second year in a country we have come to love. Rebirth, voshroshdaynia, in a rough transliteration of the Russian word.

Happy Easter Everyone

Flikr photos

Easter ("Paska") is a big holiday in Ukraine, bigger than Christmas. It combines pagan and Christian traditions. Pysanky eggs, Easter bread and pussy willows are part of the Ukrainian Easter tradition.

The bread is round and tall, decorated with symbols of spring, rebirth, resurrection. Luba is baking the bread right now, filling the house with a comforting aroma that reminds me of my Grandmother Curro, my dad's mom. I added a Paska recipe below but there are lots more online.

Pussy willows, rather than palm leaves, which would be hard to find here, welcome new life and joy. And to me, the colorful Easter eggs, Pysanky, are among the most beautifully decorated eggs in the world. Luba boiled onion skins for an hour, put in the eggs and, viola, beautiful deep red Easter eggs, au naturale (no dyes used here!).

Ukrainians fill pretty straw baskets with the eggs and bread and bring them to church to be blessed by the priest, assuring good luck for the new year. Luba won't let Sergei or I touch the bread until after it is blessed! I look foward to filling a basket and joining Luba at church this Easter Sunday. Happy Easter to all.

Paska: Makes 1 large Ukrainian Easter Bread
Prep Time: 20 minutes
Cook Time: 55 minutes
Ingredients:
1/2 teapoon plus 1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup lukewarm water
1 package active dry yeast
1 1/2 cups milk
2 1/2 cups plus 5 cups all-purpose flour
3 beaten large eggs
1/3 cup melted butter
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
Preparation:
Scald the milk and set aside to cool to lukewarm. Dissolve 1/2 teaspoon sugar in water and sprinkle yeast over it. Mix and let stand 10 minutes. Combine yeast mixture with scalded milk and 2 1/2 cups flour. Beat until smooth. Cover and let rise until light and bubbly.
Add eggs, 1/2 cup sugar, melted butter, salt and 4 1/2 to 5 cups flour to make a dough that is not too stiff and not too slack. Knead until dough no longer sticks to the hand and is smooth and satiny (about 7 minutes in a mixer, longer by hand). Place in a greased bowl, turn to grease both sides, cover with greased plastic wrap and let rise until doubled. Punch down and let rise again.
Reserve 1/3 of the dough for decorating. Shape the rest into a round loaf and place in a 10- to 12-inch greased round pan. Now shape the reserved dough into decorations of choice -- a cross, swirls, rosettes, braiding, etc. Cover the pan with greased plastic wrap and let rise until almost doubled.
Heat oven to 400 degrees. Brush bread with 1 large egg beaten with 2 tablespoons water. Bake 15 minutes. Reduce temperature to 350 degrees and bake an additional 40 minutes or until an instant-read thermometer registers 190 degrees. If necessary, cover the top of the bread with aluminum foil to prevent overbrowning. Remove from oven and turn out onto wire rack to cool completely.