Challenges

The last few days have been a whirlwind. Its really hard to know where to begin and where to end, but I’ll do my best to give you a taste of my first few days of this Peace Corps experience.

I arrived in D.C. just before 11 am on Monday morning. As I was getting off the train, I noticed one other gentleman lugging an obscene amount of luggage, and I decided to take a stab in the dark that he was along for the same ride. Turns out Jay was a 34 year old from Philadelphia who decided to take a chance before it was too late. He shared a lot in common with Kim, the 31 year old Lawyer who realized she hated her job. The three of us shared a cab to the Holiday Inn in Georgetown.

The D.C. shenanigans is part of a Peace Corps process known as staging, which is conspicuously similar to college orientation save for A) there is a much wider age range and B) we are all crazy enough to want to leave the country for two years. I realized pretty quickly off the bat that I was one of the younger persons, if not the youngest, in PC group 38-Ukraine.

The first-day of school feel permeates the whole event. Everyone feels pressured to introduce themselves to everybody else, and since there are 77 of us, this process gets laborious, and confusing. But even though we are meeting all these new people, none of us seem to overwhelmed. We all sort of realize that this is nothing compared to the challenges we are about to face, that the fear of meeting new people better not be on a radar because then, my friend, you are about to engage in a losing battle.

Although I tried to keep a low profile at first (really, I swear,) a few pithy comments here and there and suddenly I’m the funny guy. Of course its entirely possible that such characterization only existed in my delusional mind, and without a doubt I fueled any fire. At the very least my humor made me an interesting conversation partner, and allowed me to really start to get to to know those around me.

Sitting to my right was an older man named Bernie, 79 years old from New York City. Bernie was certainly not the archetype of the Peace Corps volunteer. He grew up a poor Jewish boy and worked his way through Syracuse University, first as an undergraduate and then eventually receiving his J.D. He had a distinguished career, and managed to pop out four kids and six grand kids on the side. A few years back, Bernie’s wife died. And so, rather than sit around waiting for his own demise, he decided to take the few healthy years he might have left and do something with it. His kids think he's crazy. His wife, he says, would have thought he was REALLY crazy. Pretty much everybody thinks he's crazy. I think hes sort of amazing.

At one point in the staging process, the facilitator asks us to discuss our hopes and fears as we started out on this process. Bernie and I begin talking about being Jewish in Ukraine, as to what that means and how we will be accepted both in our home communities and in our soon-to-be newfound homes. Two other young men at the table, Sam, who is Korean, and Kevin, who is half-Japanese, begin discussing their own racial fears. Sam brings up a story of another Asian-American Peace Corps volunteer who was constantly referred to as “Jackie Chan” in his home community. It was an incredibly frank and honest conversation, one that I’m not quite sure always happens during the staging process. Once the ball got rolling we really began opening up, talking about notions of identity, beginning to really dig in to the deeper question of why we were all here.

I was given special permission to leave staging for a couple of hours so I could attend a Passover seder. It was certainly interesting that they scheduled staging the day before one of the most important nights in the Jewish year; as many of my friends and family said to me beforehand, “I bet they wouldn't have scheduled it on easter.” They are probably right, but considering that Bernie and I were 2 of 3 or 4 Jews in our group, I’m not clear it made much of a difference. I was fortunate enough, however, to find a Seder in D.C. at the home of the Duvalls, a family I had known for some time through their cousin, Mike Fentin, who had two of the biggest buck teeth I had ever seen when we first met at age 9. The seder was quite wonderful, the family incredibly hospitable, and I was grateful for their hospitality. At the same time this was my first Seder that my father did not lead, and thats something Ill probably never get used to.

The next morning I went to breakfast with Tommy, my staging roommate. Tommy attended a small school in Virginia called Appalachian State, also known as the school that was present the day Michigan football died. Suffice it to say that we have very different recollections of the mood that fateful day in September 2007. Tommy, however, is an incredibly nice and caring guy, with a solid sense of humor to boot. Tommy was very inquisitive about my seder, and about the Passover laws in general. He was shocked when I told him I couldn’t eat bread. He was even more shocked when I told him I was a vegetarian to boot.

“You seem really intent on making life difficult for yourself, don’t you?” Tommy asked, more out of curiosity than anything. “At the same time,” I retorted, “you’ve decided to go live in Ukraine for two years.” We both shared a hearty laugh, but the significance of what he said certainly lingered.

On the plane ride over to Ukraine, I was one of the few volunteers who couldn’t sleep. I struck up a conversation with Kevin in the plane’s aisle, much to the chagrin of the flight attendants. We discussed a myriad of topics---family, Kevin’s girlfriend, interests, life goals, idiosyncrasies galore---but what was most interesting was that we both had a real flair for challenges. Kevin had recently finished a three month trek along the Pacific Crest Trail clad only in his back pack, using his guile and shiningly bright shaven head as his guide. We had very little in common in terms of life experiences (he grew up in Scottsdale, AZ to a Japanese father and a Texan mother) but we share a zest for living, a real love of what is new and a thrill for what is arduous.

Upon arriving in Kyiv, all 77 volunteers were sent to a retreat center. The bus ride wove us through the Ukrainian countryside, as we passed scrap metal huts and chickens and old Ukrainian Babusias on the side of the road. From the moment we stepped off the plane throughout our whole time at the retreat, we developed an immediate camaraderie through the shared ‘newness’ of our experience. The best part was the collective embrace of the newfound friendships, how everyone wanted to know everyone, everyone wanted to talk to everyone, everyone wanted to be open and friendly and nice to everyone. We developed a rag tag community built with brick, strong bonds formed in minutes, and rapports bloomed overnight.

After two days at the retreat center, we were separated into links, 8 in all. My link was separated into two clusters. Kevin was sent to a nearby village, so I was excited to have a good friend nearby.

Kevin and I were tasked with loading the bags for the link onto our bus. Time was of the essence, so we really pushed ourselves to throw about 40 or so various suitcases into the luggage compartment. By the end I was pretty tired, as a small bead of sweat began dripping down my face. For some reason, this minor workout made me feel great; it was the first time I had gotten my blood flowing in almost a week. Kevin felt the same way, and we discussed on the bus ride how a good work out can do wonders for the body and the mind.

Thats when it really started to come together. Passover, the Peace Corps, working out, all of it. People go running to stay in shape, to make it easier to walk up the stairs. People swim to keep their lungs vibrant. I follow Jewish traditions because it emboldens my soul, I keep Passover because it strengthens my willpower and resolve. And I joined the Peace Corps because after two years of hardship, of living in scrap metal huts and playing with chickens and getting fed by Babusias, everything else life throws at me will seem a little more manageable, a little less daunting.

When I get back two years from now, I hope you will be privy to a newer, stronger, better me. Because thats the point of challenges, so that next time a whirlwind hits, we are ready and we are strong and I, hopefully, will feel much more able.