It happens

I’m sorry its taken me so long to compose a follow up to Kiev Shock. Part II will still yet have to come at a later date. Too much has been happening recently, too much going through my mind, that I feel compelled to address these issues now. Stories can come later.

Its a matter of minutes now before I finish an undertaking that has taken me about two and a half weeks. I’ve been reading James Michener’s “The Source,” an unbelievable book that takes the reader on a 10,000 year journey in the land of Israel through the prism of an archaeological dig. The book has been an amazing, thought provoking, and entertaining read, and I highly recommend it. Yesterday, however, I came upon a paragraph that struck me in an entirely new way.

The scene consists of a Palestinian Arab, a German-Born Israeli Jew, and an American Catholic archaeologist, all intellectuals. After an impassioned speech by the Israeli regarding Israel and her moral prerogatives, the Arab interjects:

“After some years we Arabs will unite, impossible as that now seems...the united Arabs will dive the Jews into the sea. Just as we did the Crusaders. Of course, the entire civilized world will be aghast at the slaughter, but it will do nothing to stop us. Absolutely nothing. Spain, once again a monarchy perhaps, will accept some of the refugees. Poland and Holland will take some, as before. But then in the U.S. horrible pogroms will begin. I can’t see the reason too clearly now, but you’l think up some.” All he Jews in New York will be marched into a gigantic space ship and shot off into the air by a no-return rocket, and good Christians led by your President will applaud.”

The Arab, in the context of this story, is not attempting to frighten the Jew or show off a menacing tenacity. Rather, he is Michener’s unlikely vassal to convey what is the greatest fears of Israelis and, truthfully, World Jewry. We are convinced history will repeat itself, convinced we will one day be slaughtered en masse again, and this causes us to often behave irrationally and immorally.

This entry is not about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict---I’m no expert, and I don’t want to waste more print space speculating about hypotheticals than already has been done. This entry is about fear, all of our fears, and my fears. And how I hope to turn these into a net positive.

The past ten days have, without a doubt, been the most trying I have had so far in the Peace Corps. I have learned much about myself and others, much about the country which is to be my home for the next two years. I have begun to come to grips with my own limitations and I have begun to bring it that part of me that excepts no limits. I am finding myself and recreating myself and attempting to make myself a better person, a better man, a better volunteer.

This past Sunday, the proposal for our group Youth Development project was due, so last week was, of course, stressful times. I have had my qualms about our project from the beginning. The only real contact we have with local city officials is a woman named Ludmilla, whom I have been skeptical of from the beginning. She claims to want to be there for us during our stay, but we only seem to see her when she wants and/or needs something from us.

Initially, our group wanted to attempt to tackle the massive trash problem in our town. When we brought this idea to Ludmilla, she countered with one of her own. Why don’t you buy new soccer balls for the local youth team?

A few of the volunteers jumped at this idea---it seemed an easy way out of our project. But eventually, better wisdom prevailed. We realized that we could not simply throw money at a problem. The Peace Corps sent us here to make a lasting impact and to change the way people think about Americans. To allow others to see us as Piggy Banks, to fail to give them our time and our commitment and our energy, was a failure of everything we were said to represent.

We came to a compromise: Lets teach the kids about fundraising, instead. While I liked the concept of this idea, the practice seemed to get lost in the shuffle. Most members of my group were satisfied at working at this admirable but modest goal. I, however, was not. Five training groups have gone through this village and five have left and the town seems to be none the better or wiser for it. I felt as if we were simply continuing a string a meaningless projects, forgetting about the means and focusing on an ends where the team got new soccer balls and we got off without having to put too much of ourselves.

My opposition was met by even fiercer opposition. As I’m sure many of you can guess, I was a bit fiery with my insistence on more, which, to my fault, alienated some of my fellow volunteers. I felt very alone in my cause to do more, my desire to not simply go through the motions because I was tired, because I wanted to get through training on then, maybe, when I got to my site, I could focus on the big.

In short, I was afraid of failure, however I defined it.

What did I expect, truly, when I signed up for 27 months in a foreign land? What did my fellow volunteers expect? I was prepared for almost any hardship, any opposition from Ukranians, and sort of cultural differences that would be hard but in time I could manage and maybe even conquer. But I now that I definitely expected to find 300+ like minded folk, 300+ American Peace Corps volunteers who were like minded and just like me, outgoing, outside the box, a little bit adventurous and a little bit idealistic.

Was I hoping, in a strange, obscure, way, to finally find a place where I wasn’t the lone soldier, where I wasn’t outside the mainstream? Or maybe I was simply yearning to be in a place where, as an American in the midst of a Ukranian world, I was already different, and anything I thought or fought for or believed in could hardly set me apart any more?

I imagined a world of a bunch of do gooders with positive attitudes and bright smiles burgeoning through the jungle, metaphorical or real, to build something beautiful, something lasting, something grand. What I found is a bunch of kids, a bunch of human beings just like myself, who were struggling to come to grips with our identities and our limitations and the scope of our choices to commit to this place for so long. How much of ourselves are we willing to give? How much of myself am I willing to give?

Last week was a bad week, questioning myself and how I treated others and what I expected from others. But at the end of the week I was visited by Greg, a Peace Corps Volunteer at the tail end of his service. Greg did more for me in his brief visit than any of the cultural sessions or handbooks or stories the Peace Corps threw at me. Greg has done some amazing things in his village---he has built a resource center for teachers, helped bring some of the troubled kids to a life of hope, and was the director of a huge English language summer camp. But he also has truly enjoyed life during his time here. He has partied and traveled and made friends with Ukranians and Americans and met Ukranian girls and met American girls. He is leaving in a month and he is ready but he still has a smile on his face, not because of what hes leaving behind or what hes heading towards but rather because hes happy, hes satisfied, hes content.

There is a Ukranian word Boo-va-yay, which roughly translates to, “it happens.” It is a word that sums up this country and my experience more succinctly than any picture or video or certainly than this blog entry. My fantasies of Peace Corps life will not come true. Boovayay. Not everything will turn out the way I want it. Boovayay. Not everyone will like me or appreciate my ideas. Boovayay. I will know fear and failure, I will know pain and hardship. Boovayay. But somewhere in there I will also know success, I will know happiness and ecstasy and epiphany. And that, too, Boovayay.

Last night Natalia and I were talking, and she informed me that she hasnt been paid by her job in two months. The city of Kiev is broke, and if it wasn’t for the meager sum she gets from the Peace Corps for hosting me, she would be dipping into her savings. I was aghast. How could they not pay you? How can this happen? How can you not take recourse?

Natalia looked at me, with a smile on her face, and simply said “Tah-Kay Zhittya. Boovayay.” That’s the way life goes. It happens.

I don’t yet know why I came here, and I haven’t yet conquered my demons or fears. I am not yet the man I want to be, and I still fear my people will be driven into the sea. All I can say I’ve learned so far is that in life, Boovayay. And all we can do is accept that with a smile.