Best behavior

Earlier this week, my Peace Corps training cluster experienced a first. Abe, my fellow patriot from Spokane, Washington, had his cell phone stolen from him before his very eyes.

Not to worry, fair reader. This story is not such a tragedy. Abe was returned late Sunday night from an excursion playing music in the woods with his Ukranian host brothers and some other young adults from their church. Abe was particularly interested in consorting with a young, 20 something Ukranian darling named Anya. Abe handed Anya his phone and asked, in what surely must have been incredibly suave Ukranian, “Daite nomer telefon, budlaska,” loosesly translated as “can I get your digits?”

Just as Anya was beginning to punch in the numbers, out of no where, a vagabond swooped in from behind, grabbed the phone, and ran off. Abe’s confusion soon morphed into anger, and he became momentarily determined to chase this thief down. Luckily, Abe is both clumsy and uncoordinated, and he tripped over his own feet and fell to the concrete, the stranger gaining a phone and Abe gaining his fair share of cuts and bruises.

The next morning at language class, as Abe was regaling us with his tale of woe, our Language teacher, Volodia, was incredibly concerned. Peace Corps regulation stipulate that if we are ever a victim of a crime, we are supposed to call our Security coordinator, “Papa Sergei,” immediately. He is a former Ukranian military man and incredibly scary looking but pretty sweet and friendly once you talk to him. Anyway, Abe, of course, had no phone, so calling became difficult. Volodia immediately made two calls, first to the local police, and then to Sergei.

A few hours later, a sedan that seemed to pop right out of the 1980s pulled in front of Volodia’s house. Two men in plain clothes walked out, both dressed in typical Ukranian fashion. We assumed these were the police, and as they walked in Volodia’s rapport with them confirmed our suspicions. Then things became a bit more muddled; it soon became clear that only one of these men was a police officer. The other was a local drunk who was severely high on some sort of drug (I’ve never seen what someone on Heroine is like, but I think it might be like this) whom the police suspected may have perpetrated the crime. Apparently, he has a habit for this sort of thing. Abe, however, was sure this was not the criminal, so the cop told the man he could leave. Although I don’t speak the language that well, from his stilted body language I could tell he was saying something along the lines of “See, I told you it wasn’t me this time” to which the cop curtly responded, “get the fuck out of here, you stupid drug addict.” Again, I should note that I don’t speak Ukranian.

Abe and Volodia spent the rest of the afternoon riding around with the police officer, interviewing different eyewitnesses to the event. The police seemed determined to find the culprit, and even felt they had a reasonable chance of doing so.

I relate this story for two primary reasons. The first is to show that in a small Ukranian town, everybody pretty much knows everybody. Theres probably a few dozen men who commit 95% of the crimes, and the cops know all of them by name and reputation. The second is to show that while it may be possible to catch the thief, the cops truly WANTED to catch the thief. If you showed up in any town in America, big or small, and said someone had stolen your phone, the cops would likely be angry you were making them fill out the paperwork. Here, however, the police were the ones egging on the investigation, especially for a foreigner. Most of the Ukranians I’ve met here so far seem to share this officers mindset: They truly want to give the extra effort to show us what amazing things Ukraine has to offer.

Of course, there are some locals who feel as if the Americans are intruding upon their home town and treat us with some contempt. But the vast majority are friendly and incredibly helpful. The other day, a neighbor came over to help out my host Mom Natalia cutting some metal bins in half (separate story.) Afterwards, unprompted, he brought over a large bottle of some very nice Ukranian beer, and encouraging me to join. While shopping in a local convenience store the other day, a young girl let me cut her in line and then said “I love Britney Spears.” Whenever we are sent out on assignments to learn about different organizations in our community, and we ask a local, they will often walk us to our desired destination, chatting us up (as best they can) along the way.

This desire to impress, of course, goes both ways. My fellow Americans and I are often on our best behavior around our host families. In fact, not so long ago, I did something that will shock those closest to me. I ate a whole, raw, tomato. Natalia placed one on my plate, and I tried to tell her I didn’t like tomatoes. But she insisted. “Dushe Svidze! Dushe Smachnoh!” Very Fresh, Very delicious! I gave in, dreading this moment I had put off for nearly 22 years. The truth is it wasn’t that bad. Not that I’m gonna start popping them on the regular, but I think it highlights how far I am willing to go.

Just this past weekend, when my host mom went to work, I mopped the floors of her house. Now, Ive mopped floors only in two situations in my life. The first was the bathrooms at camp. The second was after playing beer pong in my parent’s kitchen. This was the first time it was neither mandated nor meant to prevent parental rage. It was simply me wanting to show her how helpful I could be, how helpful Americans can be.

Every night after the meal, I insist to Natalia on washing he dishes. I force her to let me sweep and to dump out the dirty water from under the sink and to feed the dogs and bring in clothes from the line. Even when she puts up a fight, I fight back, and harder. “Mozhna Dopomoheetee.” I am able to help.

I’ve been here about a month, and I certainly haven’t changed any lives. The best thing I;ve done so far is teach a few classes on not smoking and stress management and helped my eleven year old next door neighbor with her English homework. But there is one thing thats already begun to happen, one thing that makes the hard days easier and the easy days entirely worthwhile.
Once in a while, I feel as if the Ukranians around me are acting just a little bitter nice, a little bit friendlier, just to show the Americans what a beautiful country Ukraine can be. But the thing I can state most unequivocally is that so far in Ukraine, all the difficulties and all the differences and all the dilemmas I face and have yet to face and will certainly face, all of these are, most definitely, bringing out the best in me.