Status: Evacuated
The Consolidation Crew–Last photo in Ukraine
This post is made possible by my former university professor, who gently suggested that I do something with my time and update this shindig.
On March 1st, I sat in Regan National Airport in Washington DC, staring at the CNN report on the television screen. Russian soldiers were occupying the airport in Simferopol, Crimea in the southern part of Ukraine. Peace Corps had begun evacuating all volunteers within the country eight days earlier. I hadn’t said goodbye, cleared out my Kolomyia refrigerator, or properly packed. As I gawked at the screen and clutched my teddy bear, all I could think was “this isn’t how this was supposed to end.”
Currently, I am home in Nebraska, living out of my backpack in my uncle’s spare bedroom. Each day, I spend—on average—two hours refreshing the Kyiv Post. For the sake of both my sanity and social skills, I should probably wean that down a little…
So, how did Peace Corps transfer 229 volunteers from their Ukrainian sites to their US homes of record in under a week? Well, there was a system. It was well orchestrated. And intricate. And above all, we were fortunate enough to have a group of caring and professional Ukrainians who left their own families in the middle of a political upheaval in order to ensue that every PCV made it out of Ukraine safely (a specific thanks to my regional manager, who missed his son’s first steps in order to personally put his volunteers on the plane.). In a way, it was sort of an honor to participate in such a well-orchestrated, one-time event of this magnitude. And yet, I wish it had never happened.
The actual “leaving Ukraine” process is still quite hazy. Even two weeks later, it still hasn’t quite settled that we actually did that—we actually packed up and left. The whole experience feels like something I sleep walked through. I read that e-mail, I got on that bus, I boarded that plane, and I sat in my assigned seat. But I didn’t register it. Auto-pilot took over and I followed instructions, completely numb. Never did I think we’d actually evacuate. Worst case scenario in my head: we’d spend a weekend hanging out in consolidation and then, head back to site on Monday. Obviously, I thought wrong. …hence, my horrible packing efforts and the jar of canned chicken still hanging out in the back of my fridge. (Although, to be fair, Pani Nadia gave me that chicken in September. I never had any real intention of eating it.)
You see, Peace Corps comes with a built-in security system; somewhere in the mix of all the policies and paperwork encountered during pre-service training, the emergency plan is beat into your brain. It’s a pseudo-military hierarchy: there’s a security officer, PCV wardens throughout the country, and a series of alert statuses. Throughout the three months of EuroMaidan events, we’d steadily remained on “alert.” Basically, that meant “go about your daily life and if you see anything out of the ordinary, notify Peace Corps.” I saw my kids marching through the streets with flags and chanting. I saw Ukrainian Christmas trees decorated with purple tube lights. I saw no cause for concern.
Then, in late January, things moved to a “standfast” status, requiring all volunteers to remain at site and prepare for possible consolidation or house arrest. I bought a lot of brussel sprouts and an excess of eggs. I also half-assedly packed a bag. Roughly 2.5 feet of snow had just been dumped on us, and I could barely walk to the store. Realistically, it didn’t seem like anyone was going anywhere. So I stayed home with my tea…and waited.
Eventually, EuroMaidan calmed down and “standfast” was lifted. Things went on, like normal. I applied for a six-month extension of my service, writing a work plan stretching from March to November—it was two pages long. I called the kids in Brody and made plans to see them at an upcoming Peace Corps event in L’vivska Oblast. I bought new knitting supplies. I coordinated an English day camp for the coming weekend, and assigned the kiddos homework. After school on Tuesday, I took myself outside in the sunshine for a run through the village. As I ran I remember thinking specifically about “joy.” That’s what my service had evolved into: pure joy. That same afternoon afternoon, I got a phone call from my warden—the situation on Maiden was escalating and the “standfast” was back on.
Somehow, this “standfast” felt different. Something was more serious. An hour later, my regional manager called from Kyiv. He asked about the status of my emergency bag and my food supply—he also strongly advised me to cancel my Saturday English camp. I got nervous, made my cancellation calls, and I pouted as I mashed my refried beans. This revolution thing was spoiling all my fun. It was also getting a unnerving.
Wednesday rolled into Thursday, and Maiden started burning, quite literally. The Kyiv metro was shut down, and Peace Corps instructed us to consolidate on Friday. With a little more care than the initial attempt, I again half-assedly packed a bag, organized my belongings, and cleaned out my fridge (this whole process was eased by the consumption of my last L’vivska Christmas beer). Friday morning, I trouped across town to our consolidation point. I spent the day knitting on Chicago Marrieds’ couch/bed, convinced that this would soon blow over.
Friday evening, there was another e-mail. The subject held one important word: EVACUATE. Between the actual discovery of said e-mail and Vanessa’s declaration of “we’re gonna need more beer,” I don’t really remember any specifics. I called my mom and I aimlessly wandered around the room, trying to decide what was an appropriate next move. All and all, I’ve had better moments.
For my consolidation group, evacuation wasn’t immediate. Some groups began the bus to airplane process began at 8:00 AM the next morning. We sat until Monday. Which meant, we had to keep our impending departure a secret throughout the weekend. No Ukrainians could know we were on the way out. It was a safety thing. It was also ridiculously hard.
Over the weekend, there was a lot of Jenga playing and chip eating. Some people ventured into the city and bought souvenirs. I refused. Instead, Seth and I danced in our pajamas. Meredith blew bubbles. After witnessing said shenanigans, another volunteer declined to share a hostel room with us. Success!
Monday morning there was an 8:00 AM bus to L’viv where our consolidation group rendezvoused with other consolidation groups, and then, a there was a 4:10 flight to Vienna. Dinner in Vienna was followed by a night in the airport hotel, and another flight to Washington.
The flight was a flight. I pretended to care about the in-flight entertainment and drank my free wine. Upon our arrival at the DC airport, a large bus rolled up to gather the last 60 arriving evacuees. We were told 32 of us could fit on said bus, and there would be another along shortly. We loaded our bags and climbed aboard…there were empty seats everywhere. “We can all fit on here!” we called to the PC staff member charged with collecting us. “We’ll just put the rest of the bags in the aisle.” Very tactfully, he reminded us that in America there are both weight limits and safety standards for mass transport. I was confused. Where the hell were we?
I held it together from Kolomyia to DC. But upon arrival at the convention center, I was met by “my boys” –the guys who were supposed to lead Nebraska Wesleyan’s Global Service Learning across Ukraine with me this coming summer. This was the project. Together, we’d been conceptualizing and planning it for over a year. I crumbled. I cried like a toddler who just wants to put her shoes on before her socks. I cried for things I just couldn’t have, no matter how hard I stomped my foot. And like the good men that they are, Steven and Andrew took my bag, used their newly acquired USD to buy me a margarita, and held my other hand while I drank it.
Post American libations, I checked into a very comfortable hotel room. Three days of “transition camp” followed. There were info sessions about money, options, and safety. There were conferences with Peace Corps higher-ups. And most importantly, there was a buffet…involving bins of bacon. And a soft serve machine. There was also a vat of Reese’s Pieces. We were all encouraged to eat about our feelings. The salad bar, stocked with out-of-season produce, served as a make-shift shrink—and it was offering unlimited personal sessions—so we indulged. I have no regrets.
On Saturday March 1st, I again ventured to the airport. This time, I was Nebraska bound. But between airplanes that were late, airplanes that were broken, and airplanes that left without me, I never actually made it home…and probably would have been better off taking a platzkart Ukrainian train to my final destination. After another night in DC, I was delivered to my welcome-sign-wielding parents via United on Sunday morning. We hugged, laughed, and ate Mexican food.
So, how do I feel about this whole “evacuation” thing? To quote my students, “I have many emotions.” Most of them…I haven’t really sorted out yet. It’s overwhelming, confusing, exhausting, guilt-inducing, and a little surreal…just to name a few. It’s a set of feelings that is hard to articulate to friends and family—without seeming like a horrid ass. You are glad to see them, but at this time, in this moment, you had plans to be somewhere else. And even more so, you’d prefer to be finishing what you started.
So now, we wait. Peace Corps has left an open window: if the situation stabilizes during our 45 day administrative hold, we’ll return to our posts. If not, well…my brain really hasn’t gotten that far.
See You Again
Every Friday, Seth and I taught an “English Class” at Kolomyia’s organization for special needs students. In reality, no one was learning that much English. We spent roughly 90 minutes playing a matching game we created using UNO cards and colored, fuzzy dice. You throw the dice and match it with a card or pass the articulated card to Seth or I. Green five, or blue two, or red seven. It was simple and engaging. By the time we left, those kiddos could count to ten in English and identify red, blue and green. Though, we never made it to yellow. We bought the dice, but never quite got to that color in the lesson…шкода. Maybe next time.
Anyway, each Friday, we ended the class ended with “The Goodbye Song” and its accompanying dance. The kids loved it…and usually insisted we do it repeatedly. The fun would conclude with one of the girls–Yulia–definitely closing my laptop, signifying that the lesson is over and it was lunch time. So, Seth and I would grab our coats, get our hugs, and move on with our Friday. This was where I got my stereotypical Peace Corps warm fuzzies. We felt loved.
Fast forward to consolidation. On our last night in Kolomyia, Seth and I purchased L’vivska Christmas beer and sang “The Goodbye Song” to Meredith, Suzy, and symbolically all of Kolomyia. Meredith blew bubbles. Suzy took pictures. The other volunteer that was supposed to share our room decided he would rather sleep on the couch downstairs.
So, to all our Peace Corps volunteer friends and our Ukraine families: все буде добре. And we’re all gonna be okay. See you again.
Trust Меггі і Сет. They’re in the know.
Potato Masher Emotions
My Peace Corps country is making front page, international headlines. How often does that happen? Correct answer: almost never.
I spent the evening of February 19th in my kitchen, making refried beans. A potato masher seemed like the best kitchen tool for channeling frustration with uncertainty. It also allowed me to feel some solidarity with the locals without actually having to eat potatoes or interact with my neighbors after 7:00pm. I’d just finished an eight-class day—that’s enough to make anyone antisocial.
The day before, I sulked in my apartment, lamenting the essential cancellation and loss of both an English day camp I had been planning for several weeks and a larger project I’d been anticipating since before I even arrived in Ukraine. I talked to a bag of potato chips about my disappointment, frustration, and fear.
Chipsies don’t judge; chipsies understand.
Later that night, I whined about my losses to a fellow volunteer. “You made posters, didn’t you?” he asked. I did…and they were pretty.
So, that’s the latest. Currently, I am home, safe, and wearing my jammies. Don’t worry about me. Worry about the people of Ukraine.
Global Connections
A tale of teenage cross cultural exchange, brought to you by Mr. Benedict Cumberbatch and his cheekbones.
Some nine or so years ago, I moved into an all-girls, un-air conditioned, freshmen dorm. It was a hot, sticky, and chaotic first few weeks of college life. My floormates and I bonded, sweating through our pajamas as our mini-fans blew across our beds every night. To make a stretched comparison, it was sort of like a humid Peace Corps experience for 18 year-old women bound together by 100-year-old plaster walls. Except every room had its own sink. The sink was nice, as was the company–especially across the hall.
That year, I met one of my dearest friends, Miss Alicia Dallman. Her door was kitty-corner from mine and we often ate cereal together at odd hours. Three years later, we–along with two others–spent our last year of college dwelling in “The House of Insanity.” [House of Insanity: noun a Nebraska Wesleyan University legend that not only produced three Fulbright Scholars and a Hollings Scholar, but whose inhabitants also consumed several cases of homemade wine and almost burned said house to the ground whilst attempting to bake apple bread. also see: dance party in the kitchen, watching Sister Act repeatedly, Ninja!] She did a Fulbright year in Spain at the same time I did mine in Poland. And she was also offered the rare opportunity to extend her time in Spain for a second year. She had initiated and implemented a “Global Classrooms” program at her school, and they wanted her to expand the program to other schools. She’s very, very good at what she does–so much so that she became a bit of a global commodity.
Currently, Alicia teaches high school Spanish and English in Waverly, Nebraska. There she began an elective course focusing on global issues. She and the kids even got some press. You can read all about them here.
So, in conclusion: my friends are accomplished, well-rounded, and a little ridiculous. They also have better haircuts than your friends. THE END.
Well…not really. More or less, that was only a beginning. You see, Alicia’s Waverly student group has recently been studying Ukraine. News articles and YouTube videos are one thing, but they can only provide so much information. We wanted to bring our kids together via Skype to facilitate a cross-cultural discussion. Plus, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to collaborate and chat while legitimately claiming that we “are working.” A brain-child was born…
After several weeks of waiting and planning, we finally set a date. She readied her kids and I gathered and prepped mine. On Thursday evening (Ukraine time), six students crowded into my kitchen and around my laptop while the Waverly class gathered in a spare classroom over their lunch hour. As we waited for Skype to buzz, Sofia, Halia, Oliana, Vika, Oksana, and Khristina fretted about their English language skills. Together, we made a list of possible topics to bring about if the conversation lulled, and listed specific questions we for sure wanted answered. The girls also marveled at the roster for the class they would soon be speaking with–“So many interesting names,” they pointed out.
And finally, the conversation began. Awkwardly at first, and then, it slowly began to pick up momentum. Inquiries regarding language and diversity in Ukraine were articulately answered. The girls spoke about their hopes for Ukraine’s future and life in a nation at a crossroads. I was extremely impressed–and in some cases surprised–with their answers. I was also extremely proud of their confidence with their words.
Somewhere along the way, the girls realized that they didn’t have to be intimidated by these newfound American friends. Perhaps, it was when one Waverly student–a first-generation American, born to Ukrainian immigrant parents–stepped up to the screen and chatted with them fluent Ukrainian. Or maybe, it was the fact that all the US students seemed unfazed by their accents–they understood everything. Or maybe, they simply realized they possessed the skills to speak with these people without feeling self conscious.
And that was when the conversation shifted. Reading prepared questions went out the window. “Are cheerleaders real?” Sofia asked. “I saw them in a film.” Dressed in full Waverly High School attire, complete with a slit-skirt and a matching hair ribbon, a cheerleader stepped in front of the camera. Sofia giggled. “Wow…” she said. A conversational flood gated had opened.
For over an hour, the group discussed school life, stereotypes, and why all the girls think that Sherlock‘s Benedict Cumberbatch is just so dreamy. There was laughter. There was some diplomatic discussion. There was a lot of cross-cultural comparison. There was also a point in which the Ukrainian students pointed out that “The Americans we know always have a bottle of water. They are always drinking something. Does everyone do this?” The table in the foreground instantaneously filled up with all the H20 bottles in the room. “See?” I said, “It’s not just me.”
Finally, after a full 80 minutes of discussion, the Waverly kids had to get back to class. The kids said their goodbyes, waved, and asked to friend one another on Facebook.
After ending the Skype call, the girls hung around my apartment for a bit, finishing their tea and snacking on brownies. They recapped the discussion, marveling both at what they had learned and the fact that they’d just spent the last hour talking with a room full of native speakers.
“So…” Vika turned to me, “when can we talk with them again?”
Ponds and Pucks
After cleaning the snow off the ice and dragging the goals down the hill, a frozen pond becomes a source of city-wide entertainment. In this case there is no zamboni, just small children with brooms.
Cabin Fever
Snow, snow and more snow.
For the past week, I’ve been bunkered down in my apartment with my Jillian Michaels workout DVDs and reruns of Top Chef. Though I appreciate Jillian and all her intensity, she’s just not the best company. Actually, she’s more like the queen of isometric exercises who likes to giggle as lesser people cry. From hence forth, I shall refer to her as “Fitler.” And just to complicate things, my room is very small and narrow–either I smack the light fixture or kick the wardrobe. It makes Yoga Meltdown an interesting journey…and I’m sure my neighbors think I’m insane. But Fitler says she’s proud of me; she says it every single day. I like the affirmation.
On the other hand, watching Top Chef during root vegetable season is a specialized form of torture. I really don’t know why I do that…
When it comes down to it, I just don’t do well with being stuck inside, especially when that “stuck” means there’s no possibility of running. So for the last week or so, I’ve been all kinds of antsy. I may have also been a little bit cranky.
You see, when I look back on my Peace Corps experience, running–even if I wasn’t really running well–is the thing that has pulled me through. The most difficult points of my service always seem to correlate with the stretches were I couldn’t go outside, run, sweat a little bit, and clear my head. In my memory, dealing with a twisted knee, shuffling around on the dangerously icy streets last February, and being knocked down by mono all share one specific characteristic: they forced me to stay inside and to leave my sneakers on the shelf.
Fast forward to 2014: moving to Kolomyia has been hugely beneficial for my health both physically and mentally. No mold, no mono, no 45 minute trek to school, and my hair is growing in at it’s normal color (Thank you, non-chlorinated water!). My body felt healthy. And then, Ukrainian friends over-fed me for the holidays and winter hit with a seven-day stretch of falling snow. It was a bad combination. Not that it’s unexpected; it’s just part of the Eastern Europe Peace Corps game. So being an adult, I whined about it, had some hot chocolate, and spent 40 minutes with Fitler. But it wasn’t the same–I missed my road.
Today, the snow finally ceased and the sky cleared. It was a balmy 6 degrees F, and I really couldn’t take it anymore. The snow looked semi-packed down and there was sun. Sun. I donned several layers of UnderArmor, my Yak Traks, and two sets of gloves for the route to the village.
I got even more strange looks than normal, but really, who cares. The sidewalks are single-file. And sometimes, old men like to stop their bikes right in the middle of the path, creating a backlog three babas deep. I skidded past ladies in long coats, and in some cases, I literally had to stop and ask the guys chatting on the street “can I pass?” I made it out across the highway to the П’ядики turn-a-round with ice accumulating on my cap. On the way home, I started to feel sweaty. It was glorious.
Back at the dorm, I stretched in front of the dumpster as my neighbor walked by, shook her head at me, and laughed. Yes, my getup is ridiculous. And as I walked in the door, the front desk lady called me over. “Aren’t you cold?” she demanded. “No,” I said triumphantly, “I’ve been running!”
All and all, I’m slower and more out-of-shape than I was a few weeks ago. And until the snow disappears, that’s not going to change. But for the first time in awhile, I feel like my normal self. Behold: the power of Yak Trak running.
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- Nothing but snow.
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- In П’ядики.
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- It’s chilly at the turn-a-round.
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- Turn back onto the highway.
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- From the top of the hill.
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- Looking toward Цинява.
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- Trees and ice.
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- Turn to П’ядики.
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- Edge of Kolomyia.
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- Snow fills in the potholes…sorta.
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- Bringing the hat ice home.
And in celebration of my dear Fulbright buddies, Mike and Leanne, and the Muppet love we all share, it’s “We Got Cabin Fever” from Muppet Treasure Island. Honorable mention goes to Steven for that one time–beer in hand–he serenaded us with this song, while we waited out the snow in my Brody living room. Excuse me now. I must go flip my bandanas as I continue to go bananas.
The Latest
After five days of continuous flurries at various rates, this afternoon it finally stopped snowing. Though, our dorm’s handy, dandy maintenance guys remain in hiding and have yet to shovel the front walk. As I walked to English Club this afternoon, a single student was outside the gate, attempting to scoop a path for her parents’ visiting car. Poor, poor child–someone should tell her it’s a war of attrition.
As for the EuroMaiden situation in Kiev, today’s parliament meeting seems to have put Ukraine one step closer to a peaceful solution.
First off, here’s a few maps to clarify the state of the nation, as of January 27th. One regarding language and regions currently controlled by protesters:
The second focuses on political party location within Ukraine:
Returning to today’s events, the opposition leader entered today’s emergency parliament meeting with a list of proposed conditions to end the protests:
1) All protestors who have been charged and jailed would be given amnesty and would be released.
2) The law against public protest made on Jan 16 is rescinded.
3) All constitutional changes made during President Yanukovych’s administration giving the president extraordinary powers are rescinded.
4) The chief prosecutor who charged and prosecuted demonstrators is dismissed.
5) A new national election is called for this year (the next election is scheduled for 2015).
Earlier this afternoon, the prime minister resigned along with many of his cabinet members. The January 16th anti-protest laws were also repealed. Parliament will reconvene tomorrow.
Several news articles regarding today’s happenings:
**Again, all Peace Corps Volunteers in the country are safe and in no danger. We are all currently at site, attempting to dig out from under several feet of snow. …or, we’re simply waiting for the maintenance guys to show up and clean the front walk for us.
Winter Makes a Statement
Last winter was cold…and long. For that five-month stretch, the base of my winter attire consisted of a North Face jacket I wore on the plane ride over from America. It’s brown, and super durable…and really thin. Each time I visited my Kozelets host mama, she pulled at my jacket, felt the weight of it between her fingers, and launched into full chastisement mode. “Where is your real coat?” she demanded. I simply told her that this was my real coat. I wasn’t cold; being from hearty, Midwestern stock, it would take a lot to actually make me feel chilly. I braved the entire winter in that coat—November to March. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking…
Early in the fall, I was gifted a Ukrainian winter coat by a departing volunteer. It’s black, shiny, and obviously made for a woman both thinner and shorter than myself. And I do not care. It’s like walking down the street wrapped in a waterproof sleeping bag. Plus, it comes with a huge, fur-lined hood. It both protects my ears and makes me feel pretty. Because I am a lady.
My new coat and I are making a fashion statement all over town. It’s cold outside…and this year I am too much of a pansy to go back to my North Face.
Now that it’s here, winter isn’t wasting any time. It started snowing Friday afternoon…and it hasn’t stopped. Currently, there’s about 20 inches of snow on the ground. And because it’s the weekend, my building’s maintenance guys are MIA. Therefore, the front walk remains un-shoveled. Watching the kids return to the dorm, shuffling single-file up the steps, and attempting to not drag their bags through the snow, was entertaining. Especially because I was inside with my tea.
Cold and snow in Ukraine equates to one important thing: I’m not going anywhere. The roads are a mess, and drivers are even less competent in winter conditions. As a Ukrainian friend told me last year, “it’s almost like they’re surprised that we have snow.”
So, what am I doing? Attempting to utilize both my space heaters to keep my apartment warm. It’s a popular January pastime; my neighbors are doing the same. We blow the fuse at least once a day.
There’s been knitting. Lots and lots of knitting. According to Meredith, I’m creating a “socks and hats gang.” I’ll work up the secret handshake later.
And since the roads are a mess, there’s been no running. Instead, I’ve been spending time with my Jillian Michaels DVDs and remembering why she’s a evil sadist who likes to make my quads cry.
Update
It’s a January Sunday morning in Ukraine. For me, this equates to PJs, drinking my good (imported from America) coffee, knitting , the latest installment of Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me, and an absolute refusal to put on real pants. It’s all usual. Life is quiet and snowy.
Yet, this Ukrainian January has been anything but typical. What began as the mumblings of “revolution” has swollen into a full-fledged battle cry. In the past week, with the passing of a slew of legislation limiting the rights of protesters and free speech, the EuroMaiden protests have regained their momentum. It’s no loner just confined to that one square in Kiev; the movement is spreading to major cities across the country
Here’s the run down:
Last week, the protests on Maiden were dwindling. It seemed as though the cold and lack of progress would send everyone home in the next few weeks. Then, the president—possibly illegally—passed a group of new laws intended to force the protesters off Kiev’s main square. This idea backfired, big time.
In the ensuing days, the protests on Maiden took a different turn. Earlier last week, the demonstrations in Kiev turned violent. Riot police clashed with protesters, many were injured, and five were killed. With no real progress in Kyiv, the opposition has taken to occupying administrative buildings in oblast centers (state capital cities). It started in the west, and is continually progressing farther and farther east.
Currently, my oblast—Ivano-Frankivsk—is “occupied” by the opposition party. Though, as the story goes, they met no resistance when attempting to take over the building. Instead, the police simply stepped aside. However, that has not been the case in every city.
In many ways, it’s a juxtaposition of media and reality. I see the news; I read the headlines. And then, I look out my window and see nothing. There’s just the snow and a few people–this morning it was that rag, tag group of puppies who terrorize our dumpster–coming and going.
My day-to-day is normal, peaceful, and safe. There is no danger in my community, or anywhere near. Kiev is a 15-hour journey away, and with this amount of snow steadily falling, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.
I cannot stress this enough: volunteers—myself included—are in no danger. Peace Corps Security is closely monitoring the situation. They’ve done this before, and they will continue to take every precaution for us. All the volunteers are safe and monitoring the situation from our respective sites as we continue about our daily routines.
It’s a remarkable time to be in Ukraine. The next few days will bring definite answers, and possibly, change. For now, Maiden is quiet. The parliament is set to discuss possible compromises and solutions on Tuesday.
In the mean time, here’s a few articles and links for those wanting more information regarding the EuroMaiden situation:
Ukraine Dance If You Want To... 