I keep sighing. Not a normal sigh, but loud annoying
sighs that escape my lips before I can stop them. I
am sighing because my week break is over and I am
stressed about going back to site. Even as I sit here
in the comfort of my room, with my heater cranked and
huddled comfortably under my zero degree sleeping bag,
I still sigh.
I have to admit that even after all of the calamities
of the week I still had a wonderful time – if not a
bit too reflective. I say reflective because I had
time to think, time to myself….in fact, as I sat in
front of my fourth hour of television without the
smallest inkling of motivation to move, I had an
epiphany. This was my first day alone since before
the Peace Corps, in over seven months. I hadn't
realized it until that moment and I am surprised I'm
not rocking in a corner somewhere mumbling something
about potatoes.
The "calamities" part actually started before my week
break started. They started on a simple train ride
back from Kyiv. I woke up with a funny sensation that
I invented every excuse for in the following week. A
new shampoo, a new shower with actual hot water and
maybe dandruff were just a few I used to justify the
sensation. In reality, to put it subtly, I had little
bugs taking over my scalp and imbedding their larvae
into the roots of my hair.
I called my host mom first. "I have lice." "No!"
"Yes!" "Net! Net! Net!" "Da! Da!Da!" She told me that
the treatment was easy and not to worry. I remembered
children being quarantined when I was young, but my
doctor confirmed that all I needed was to rub this
lotion into my scalp and comb the intruders out.
At this point I was staying in my friend Gayle's
village and the pharmacy was closed until Monday. It
was Friday. I would have to do the treatment in the
city. The following day was the big, annual Halloween
party and I would have to go to an apartment filled
with at least ten other volunteers and put this stuff
in my hair without them noticing. I really didn't
want word to get out that Lice Girl crashed the party.
That night, after three magnificent hours of MacGuiver
("We can use the electrolytes from the cactus to
deflect the missile!") I had dreams of applying
medicine and yelling "die! die!" I woke up in a sweat
when I went into a pharmacy and was told, "we only
sell the medicine on January 31 and there is no
January 31 this year."
We found a pharmacy with no problem once in Kharkiv,
and once at the apartment I locked myself into the
bathroom and started to apply the watery lotion to my
scalp, only whispering the part about dying and
laughing a quiet, somewhat maniacal laugh. The
medicine smelled like vodka and after much thought,
I'm pretty sure that it was. After being told that
beer will help my headache and rubbing vinegar on my
legs will bring down my fever, vodka for lice sounded
like a practical approach.
I had to leave the medicine on until my hair dried so
I hung out in the apartment while the others whispered
comments about the alcoholic in the corner. Not
really. It dried without comment and then I took a
shower and combed the murdered trespassers out. And
stay out!
I had come up with a costume idea in a moment of
inspiration a few weeks earlier. I would be Kapusta
Devuchka (Cabbage Girl), Eryn was Kartoshka Kirshbaum
(Potato Kirshbaum – her last name), and Gail and Megan
would be Markovka Militsia, or the Carrot Police. We
were the Borsch Super Heros, complete with capes, eye
masks, and utility belts. The costumes came out quite
well and by the time the party started we were ready
to kick ass.
The party took place in a rented club in Kharkiv.
Volunteers from all over Ukraine came for the event
and I was able to meet a lot of new people. Costumes
ranged from Abe Lincoln and Baba to mystics and your
favorite Ukrainian Lunch lady. We left the club
around one am to find that the door was locked and no
one was answering. After forty minutes of holding
down the doorbell and making calls, Greg – the real
life MacGuiver – opened the door with a bobby pin.
Sometime during the evening my cell phone disappeared.
Not a huge deal seeing that I needed a new phone
anyway. The problem was the amount of time it took to
actually get a new phone. To-do lists are a wonderful
thing wherever you are, but I never noticed how much
more time to-do lists actually took here until trying
to get a new phone.
Megan and I walked around Kharkiv to three different
Life phone stores until we went to one that could get
me my old phone number back. I planned on buying a
phone there but they didn't take credit card. I
picked out a phone at the next store but they couldn't
get my sim card to work. By that time, hours later,
it was time to get a bus back to Megan's city where I
would be staying the next few days.
Since before coming to Ukraine I had heard horror
stories about living in the east. The east is known
as the industrial part of the country and I pictured
treeless cities full of factories and smog. I was
pleasantly surprised to find the east full of
beautiful fall trees and the nicest people I have met
yet in Ukraine. Everyone was nice and people actually
helped me out if I needed it.
The first day Megan and I went north to a monastery
set in the hills. The following days I stayed at her
apartment and relaxed while she was at work and in the
evenings we cooked amazing food and watched Sex and
the City for hours. I was also able to see where
Megan worked and met a lot of her co-workers, which
was an eye-opening experience. They were all so eager
to help her. They were all so nice. Her tutor
actually taught her Russian instead of doing grades
while she read from a book. Megan's language skills
were amazing for only seven months of practice.
It's hard not to compare even though our situations
are not all that comparable. She is in a city of
50,000. I am in a village of 1,500. Everyone speaks
Russian in her city. People speak Ukrainian, Sergik
and Russian in my village. She has a multitude of
stores and places to go. I have five stores, three of
which close in the winter.
But still, against my will I compare myself. My
language should be better. I should be more involved
in the community. I should have friends. I should be
doing better. Sigh. This is where it started. I try
to talk myself out of it. It is hard to improve my
Russian when I never hear it. I am not involved in
the community because no one helps me. Sigh. The
chances of having friends near my age are slim to none
in a tiny village. Sigh. I have always known that
making friends in my village would be a near
impossible task, but meeting other people's friends
puts my situation into sharper contrast. Sigh.
Comparison is something that I have done throughout
life – something that I think most people do, often
against their better judgment. Often, as in my case,
it leads to feelings of inadequacy. I feel like I'm
not good enough. Sigh. I feel like I have miles and
years to go before I can be good, before I can make a
positive change in anything. Sigh. I feel like I
need to try a lot harder and do a lot more. Sigh.
(This paragraph makes me want to look in a mirror and
recite "I'm good enough, I'm strong enough, and
dog-gone-it, people like me!")
These feelings are nothing more than my wish to be
something better. Megan is doing amazing things
already because of her openness and because she has a
community willing to help her and work with her –
somewhat opposite of my own experience. She is well
on her way to being one of those super volunteers and
creating what we all crave, that words used in every
Peace Corps workshop we ever attended, sustainable
development.
I had planned on going home on Thursday but was
detained longer because of a migraine that crept up on
me just before the bus left. The next available train
left on Saturday and I was more than happy to relax
and hang out for a few more days. We even had time to
make lasagna and popcorn. I left on Saturday morning
and took a fifteen hour train ride home. Not only was
I paranoid of lice, but the large man on the bed under
me had a gas problem. A loud gas problem.
I am now back in my room, filled with Nastia's stuffed
animals and her pictures on the walls. I have an
action plan to try to get myself more involved, to
feel more a part of the community. It is only a
question of whether the community really wants me here
or not, and I am not really sure what the answer to
that question is at the moment. Sigh.
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