Future Leaders of Ukraine

With the children of Camp Sosnovy

I've met the future leaders of Ukraine. They are among the boys and girls at Camp Sosnovy.

All of the children are bright and beautiful. Some are athletic and fast. Some artistic and creative. Some serious and shy. Some boisterous and funny. And some are natural-born leaders.

In today's Ukraine there is little faith in government, at all levels. People tell me that local officials are unresponsive, laws not enforced, roads not paved, national leaders uninspiring, more influenced by the wealthy few than ordinary citizens. Nothing gets done and hope is fading.

But the future leaders of Ukraine are growing up. They are the children who stand out in every one of the eight groups at our camp.

These children are curious, not afraid to speak up. They ask questions and listen for answers. They initiate. They are first to try something new, to volunteer, to make suggestions. They have ideas and share them, and willingly listen to the ideas of others. They are both active and responsive.

Most of all, they motivate. They lead by example and others follow. They encourage, then praise. They are the future leaders of Ukraine. Ukraine will be in good hands.

A Happy Camper

I am at Camp Sosnovy (Pinewood) in Leman, Ukraine, a farming village in the forest just outside of Starobilsk. It takes some doing on the part of Olga and Luba to convince the camp director that a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) can be a good thing. After I get to the camp, it takes a few days to convince the counselors and staff that I can do anything other than be in their way. I understand. I have no idea what I'm doing either.

I find out when I get here that it is a camp for 8-15 year old kids from Luhansk Oblast. They are the cutest, brightest, most talented kids you'll find anywhere in the world. Some 270 of them, divided into 8 groups. They live in dorms or 2-story cottages, 3 to 4 to a room. Most of them study English in school. Most have never seen a real American. I am their first PCV, their first Amerikanka. This is so for the adults, too; stereotypes abound, I think mostly around the image of the ugly American.

Not sure where to begin, I wander around the camp site, dictionary in hand. One by one, the children come up to me, full of curiosity. In halting Russian I say I am from America, state of Florida, city of Saint Petersburg. Saint Petersburg? Yes, just like in Russia. I say I want to speak Russian but I am still learning. They catch on right away: I am one of them! I am a student too.

They see I need their help. They speak English. They help me translate. We spontaneously start a game: “My name is...” More children gather round. They come with slips of paper. They want my autograph! I use the dictionary, and they want to see how it works. Then another game begins: they look for words in Russian; I look for words in English. We take turns.
I take out my camera to capture the moment. I take a few shots, then give them my camera. It's okay to use my camera? Sure. They each take photos in turn. We are having a great time. The counselors and staff are watching. Day one ends on a happy note.

Every day is like this. Something new. New opportunities to get to know the kids and for them to get to know me. Same with the counselors and staff. I attend every gathering, sports events, performance programs, which are incredible. I learn the schedule. I just show up. I help out wherever I can, in the dorms, in the dining hall, at programs. For two days I join the kids for morning exercises.

By day three, Iryna, the program director who speaks some English, and I have become friends. She is a beautiful, multi-talented woman whose dream is to live in Odessa and work in year-round camps. I give her a Florida post card: “May all your dreams come true,” I write in Russian.

The counselors enjoy having me around now. Ira asks me to join the activities director up front to help lead the exercises. I like being with the kids, but this is a good sign: I am being accepted. I gladly do it. The kids wave and clap. Ira also makes a schedule for me to meet with the kids group by group, every day. I begin simply by being present, on the floor with the kids, maps spread out in front of us. We are learning about each other. Lots of Q&A. I'm getting ideas from Jud and other PCVs. The counselors start inviting me to join their groups. "The children love you," one says. I beam.

The kids are leading the way. And they are speaking English more and more. “Good morning. Hi. How are you.” I give them two thumbs up and say 'SUPER!” So now when I ask them “Kak dela,” how are you, they give me two thumbs up and say “super!” As we go in and out of the dining hall or around the camp site, I give them a 'high five.” The counselors and staff join in. New rituals are being created! The counselors look happy. The director looks happy. I am a happy camper!

Accidents

I fell off my bike today. My new red "velociped." I peddled through a rocky muddy hole filled with black water on Panfelova. Luckily, I fell to the side of the road, onto a patch of wild grasses and wildflowers. A pretty sight. Things went flying, pens, papers, cel phone, but apart from a bit of wounded pride I was okay. I gathered my stuff and took a minute to smell the roses. I love those lavender blue wildflowers that seem to open only in the morning. It could have been worse, this accident. I could have fallen into that muddy puddle. Another reminder to keep my eyes on the road.

Yesterday I skidded through a sandy spot on the road to work. I went for the hand brake, then remembered I had to back-peddle to stop. By this time I zigzagged right into the huge statute of Lenin at the entrance to the park. I looked up, and there was Lena, the teacher from School #3. I had been trying to contact her all week. And here we were. Serendipity. I handed her a flyer for the English Club, which she liked. We chatted in English. It felt good to have a real adult conversation! Another accident, another happy ending.

Cultural Immersion

Here I am in Berdyansk, a resort on the Sea of Azov. As my broither Loren, a historical genius who lives in Tallahassee, Florida, informs me, this is a sacred place for thousands of years, though the city itself dates only to the nineteenth century. He cites Jean Auel's "Clan of the Cave Bears," I think that's the title. I am with Luba, a volunteer with the NGO I am assigned to and at whose house I am staying in Starobilsk. She and five of her women friends, plus two teenaged sons who disappear as soon as we get to our B&B, are on holiday. I am here for a cultural immersion experience and to improve my Russian language.

It's pretty hard not to have fun. The beach is great, crowded as a marshruka in Chernigov (see http://juddolphin.blogspot.com/ for more on the marshruka experience), but everyione finds their own space. The water is warm but not too warm, with a sandy bottom and gentle waves to play in for hours. The women are funny, talented, brilliant. They especially enjoy my ineptness in their language, which sounds so beautiful, so lyrical, when they speak it. I hang in there, relying as much on pantomime as the language itself.. It's especially frustrating when I know they are talking politics, and I cannot join in. I am understanding more of what I hear, and it motivates me to keep at my Russian lessons.

But is a PCV supposed to be having this much fun? I'm beginning to feel guilty. I need to remind myself that this is cross-cultural learning at its best. Also, I'll be doing some grantwriting for the huamn rights NGO. There's the 3-weeks of summer camp in Lyman coming up in August, with the aim of improving healthy lifestyles. I'm working with the biblioteca and some teachers of English in Starobilsk to start an English Club in September. Ever the PCV, I decide to start a new project, the Starobilsk Women's Club, mostly to encompass the wonderful women who are teaching me so much, and finding it enjoyable. I make a sign and bring it out with a dramatic flourish at one of our meals., always a cultural experience. Once the women decipher my attempt at Russian, they burst out laughing. We are still laughing. We are all in this cultural immersion experience together!

Jud's Umbrella

When we were volunteers-in-training in Chernigov, my language cluster-mate Jud and I went to our favorite bazaar looking for umbrellas. Jud bought a bright blue umbrella with a silver lining . Perfect! We both thought it was an appropriate symbol of our Peace Corps experience: Always look for the silver lining.

Now we are at our sites. We have been in the midst of a brutal heat wave for the last few weeks. Jud in Konotop in northen Ukraine, Barbara in Sevestopol in Crimea, Rita in Severodonesk, just about any PCV anywhere in Ukraine, reported the same story: it's so hot! It's taken the energy out of most of us, but we push on. Ukrainians talk a lot about "global warming." They know what's going on.

Last night the lights went out and a cool front from Russia moved in, bringing rain and relief from the heat. The lights are back on and the rain continues. When I stopped in the Biblioteca today to talk to Iryna, the director, about the English club, she asked about my planned trip "to the sea." Yes, I said, we leave tomorrow. At first I was surprised she knew about it, but then I remembered what a seasoned PCV had once told us: when you're a PCV in a rural village, everyone seems to know what you're doing at all times!

I said in halting Russian, going through my dictionary, that I was looking forward to it. Too bad about the weather, Iryna said. It's okay, I replied, rain or shine, it will be a great trip. I thought of Jud's umbrella. Always look for the silver lining!

My Peace Corps Bikini

I have been invited to join Luba and her family for a holiday in Berdiansk, a resort on the Sea of Azov, about 7 hours south of Starobilsk. Great excitment. We're taking the train, leaving on Wednesday, 22 July. Luba asks me about a bathing suit. When I show her my old faithful one-piece suit, she crinkles her nose and shakes her head vigorously from side to side. In any language, that means "no way." OK, well I'll look for a new one.

So here I am at the Sunday bazaar, on a sweltering hot day, looking for a new one-piece bathing suit. They are nowhere to be found. Only bikinis. It's what everyone wears. Everyone. At last I find a stall that has a one-pecce suit. One. Large size. I ask the proprietor, a serious woman probably in her 60s, to show it to me. You want THIS, her look seems to say. Yep, that's the one for me. Well, ok. She hauls it down from way at the top of her displays with her hooked handle. I try it on, behind a skimpy curtain that doesn't provide much privacy. No matter. She looks at me, crinkles her nose and shakes her head vigorously from side to side. The same signal in the same universal language.

She takes down another and hands it to me. A black and yellow bikini. I don't think so. Just try it she urges, and sure enough she gets me into it. A bra and a little bottom. She nods approvingly. THIS is for you. I point to my middle. No problem, she says. "Normal'no." Which means the same thing in Russian and English. OK, I'll take it. Now I know I am in a Peace Corps frame-of-mind: open to anything!

Off I go with my package. The more I think about it, the more I like it. When I get home, Luba, who is in her next-to-nothing bikini, asks what I bought. You want to see? Off I go to my bedroom to try on my sexy black and yellow bikini. Beautiful, she nods with enthusiasm. You're all set for Berdiansk. I point to my stomach. She smiles and says, "normal'no!

Life in Starobelsk

Some favorite Kiev photos (I love the domed churches), plus Luba's house, where I am staying, and the road more travelled. I'll try adding others.

The people who live in Starobelsk take pride in their village. The sidewalks and streets are swept; there's hardly any litter (and lots of trash containers); the gardens are bountiful and beautiful; Lenin park is raked daily, spotless and shady, a nice place to sit especially in this hot weather; and the city buildings are well worn but well maintained. The unpaved roads are rough, but then this is a rural community. People walk or ride bikes; some have cars. There aren't any buses or those famous overcrowded Marshrukas that are the main modes of transportation in cities like Chernigov. Nope. It's walk or bike. Good for the legs, good for the soul.

Actually, I've discovered that the streets of Starobelsk are the main meeting places in town. I walk from Luba's house on Panfelova, down Karl Marx and over to Lenin Park pretty much daily, or to a store or shop or the bazaar, and invaribly meet someone I know. I've met teachers, city workers, people from the Cultural Center, the librarian, shopkeeprs this way, and we always stop and talk. No rush. No hurry. Today a trio of teenaged boys ran after me, gave me big smiles and asked, in English, "Are you from America?" Sure am, how did you know? We could tell! One wanted to practice his English, which was a heck of a lot better than my Russian. So we chatted all the way home. One of the boys was from Russia, just over the culturally porous border. He mentioned that America and Russia "no get along." Yes, that's true sometimes, but I hope it will be better now. "Da, politics separate the peoples," we all agreed.

This is the best thing about the Peace Corps. I think. It's not so much the work we do, or the projects, as it is meeting people and in the process shredding those old sterotypes. Good guys and bad guys. Cowboys and Indians. Commies vs. Americans. It's just people, trying to get along.

There is great curiosity about America. Great appreciation and some misgivings. The music, like hip hop, is big, and so are movies and sports. Luba woke me with great excitment, arms waving, the morning she heard the news on TV about Michael Jackson. The rest of the news, well, they mostly ignore it. They do know Obama!

Life's not easy here. The economy is bad, farms are suffering, the land issue is huge (who owns the land now that collective farms are no more), and unemployment is high. It often feels a lot like America in the 1950s, in terms of styles, technology, transportation, infrastructure, modern equipment. Today I marveled at an old, rickety tractor that was pulling a big old wagon, which street sweepers (older men and women usually) were using to dump the trash in as they cleaned along the curbs with handmade brooms and old shovels. On the other hand, more people have computers and cel phones, and more and more are going online. The demand is actually pushing city governments to respond by upgrading telecommunications systems.

And there are lots of stores that carry the products and services this technology needs. Small enterprises are growing in cities and in rural communities like Starobilsk, and perhaps this bodes well for the economic future of Ukraine and other former Soviet republics. The transformation is rough but inevitable. Young people are more optimistic than their parents and grandparents. The wave of the future.