The Borderland Chronicles

I’m in Kiev this week for my Peace Corps mid-service medical examination, and also to help my girlfriend move into her new apartment in the city. Both have gone swimmingly thus far. I’m TB free, 15 pounds lighter than when I arrived in Ukraine 18 months ago and the apartment is very cozy.

The weather as warm and sunny as it is, this morning I opted to walk from my girlfriend’s apartment in the Perchesk region, near the monastery, to the city center, past Independence Square, along Khreschatik, up Shevchenko, down through the botanical gardens, to the Peace Corps office.

During this time I observed children dressed in their best – girls in black and white jumpers and blouses, their hair in tight braids with large white bows atop their heads, and the boys in black suits and ties – hand-in-hand with parents and each other on their way to their first day of school. The first of September is the inaugural first day of school in Ukraine each year. It’s commonly known here as First Bell.

Last year on the first of September I was at the small Krasne village school near my home in Artemovsk, being welcomed as a new teacher and giving a speech in Russian to curious students, parents and faculty. This year I’m in Kiev taking a break from the festivities. But while watching these students in Kiev file into their schools this morning, a thought came to mind. It was 10 years ago today that I began my first day of my senior year at Gresham High School. Time, indeed, does seem to fly by.

Another observation. While walking along Khreschatik Street, I noticed voices coming from a loudspeaker and flags and banners being waved. I went to get a closer look and accidentally found myself in the middle of a large group of Yulia Tymoshenko supporters rallying and protesting for her release. Things in the rally seemed calm; I didn’t observe anyone acting hostile. Even if the rally would have turned violent, there were plenty of police around to take control of the situation. For those of you that aren’t aware, Tymoshenko is the former Ukrainian prime minister who was recently jailed for contempt of court during the first days of her corruption trial. You can read more about what’s going on in this New York Times article.

Posted in Culture, Holidays, Kiev, Krasne, Peace Corps, Politics, School, Ukraine |

Each year Ukrainian schools celebrate the end of the school year with a Last Bell. Following singing, dancing, certificate presentations and dramatic performances, a student of the graduating 11th form, hand-in-hand with an entering 1st form student, ring the ceremonial bell, signaling the beginning of summer holiday. These are a few photos from that day last week, May 27th, at the Red Village School, where I worked as a teacher this past year.

Posted in Culture, Holidays, Krasne, Peace Corps, Ukraine |

I recently published a piece in Matador about a day in the life of an expat here in Artemovsk, Ukraine. That is to say I wrote about my typical day and the editors thought it interesting enough to publish.

Here’s a snippet:

Fields of golden sunflowers, their blooming heads bowing to the sun, line the pot-holed roads that wind their way through the rolling steppe and disappear in the haze at the horizon. I try to remain focused on them instead of the factory smokestacks as the number 35 marshrutka bounces its way toward the Red Village.

I’m quiet on the marshrutka, as not to make it more apparent that I’m the lone American in this small eastern Ukrainian town. It’s already enough that I wear a week’s worth of scruff on my face, my hair over my ears and a one-strap Timbuk2 bag over my shoulder. The cultural norm for a young man my age here is to be clean-shaven with well-kempt short hair. And if anything at all is to be carried, it should be carried in a floral-patterned shopping bag held at your side.

You can read the story in its entirety over at Matador.

Posted in Artemovsk, Culture, Krasne, Life, Peace Corps, Ukraine |

While away this week in Chirnigov for a Peace Corps Russian language refresher event my first column for the Artemovsk’s газета Вперед hit the streets. The column, which the editors cleverly titled ”Я не шпион!” – meaning “I’m not a spy!” – can be read in Russian here. I’ve posted the English version below.

I’m not a spy!

Arriving in Ukraine on April 1 of last year, there was no fooling me about the drastic lifestyle change that lay ahead. Once past security and passport control at Boryspil Airport, it took only a moment for the reality of the situation to sink in. Signposts in Cyrillic, taxi drivers heckling arriving travelers, haggling with each other over prices, a flatter landscape than I’m used to, all lending to thoughts of being far away from home. Not knowing how to speak anything other than “yes,” “no,” “please” and “thank you,” and without any ability to read neither Ukrainian nor Russian, I was greatly overwhelmed.

Luckily, Peace Corps sent people to pick us up. Not long after being swept away from the airport, I found myself at a sanatorium near Chirnigov. There, I was introduced to the Cyrillic alphabet and assigned the task of learning the Russian language. I spent only three days studying before I was again whisked away, this time to the city of Obukhov, 30 minutes by marshrutka from Kiev.

I lived with a Ukrainian family for two months. I studied the Russian language, taught English, health, leadership, journalism and about civic rights and responsibilities to students of School No. 5. I learned first hand about Ukrainian culture and traditions, partaking in holiday celebrations with my host family and their friends. On Easter, I lit candles and stood outside in the dark and cold at 4:00 in the early morning, waiting – unknowingly – to be doused with cold holy water as a precession led by a priest came strolling past. At a birthday party I toasted not once, not twice, but nearly a dozen times to a young woman turning 19 years old. “For Anya!” “For love!” “For family!” “For couples!” For friendship!” “For new acquaintances!” “For bud’mo!” “For Ukraine!” And so on.

Like the wind, my time in Obukhov passed quickly. In June I arrived in Artemovsk. No longer was I living near my American volunteer friends, nor was I living with a Ukrainian family. I would no longer have their help to guide me. I would be alone in a new place, with only a shred of knowledge of the Russian language to get me by.

I was assigned the task of working at a small village school. But because I arrived in June, my students were already out for the summer. I spent the next two months discovering my new city. I bought a bicycle, thinking that would be the best way of covering a lot of ground. In Portland, Oregon, where I lived in America, everyone I knew owned a bicycle. And most of those people used it as their main form of transportation. Thinking I could get away with that here, I hit the road on my new blue Ukrainian-made Doroshnyk. Moments later I nearly died when a bus passed within a meter of me, startling me and sending me off the road into a patch of tall grass.

So, on foot I set out to learn about my new home, the small eastern Ukrainian city where I’d be living for the next two years. I found a park, many cafes and an excellent bazaar. I met some English-speaking friends who helped make me feel welcome. I practiced my Russian with a bicycle shop owner and some of my babushka neighbors.

Before when Ukrainians asked, “Where are you from? America! Why would you come to Ukraine? Are you a spy?” it was difficult for me to explain to them my answer in Russian. It is difficult even to convey my reasons for coming here in my native tongue, as I still sometimes wonder about that myself.

What it boils down to is this: I am in Ukraine to help and to learn. I want to better understand your culture and, if you are interested, I would like to share with you mine.

Posted in Artemovsk, Culture, Encounters, Journalism, Kiev, Krasne, Life, Media, Peace Corps, Russian, Teaching, Travel, Ukraine |

I wrote last week about my experience at the local theater’s Art House Cinema night (Raffle Winner, Jan. 12), and how after the film I was approached by a journalist from «Вперед» to do an interview. Well, that interview was published yesterday and is now online. You can find it here. But I should warn you, it’s in Russian. Translating the interview with Google Translate won’t work perfectly, but it will give you the basic gist of it. It will also provide you with a few laughs, like when the state of  Oregon is translated as “oregano” and “Papa” is translated as “Pope,” unintentionally identifying my father as “Pope Stephen.” There are also times in which I’m referred to as a she.

Anyway, below is the introduction to the interview, which I’ll translate into English.

Крис Миллер хочет написать для газеты «Вперед»
серию статей о жизни американца в Украине

С Крисом Миллером из Америки мы познакомились в кинотеатре «Победа». Как выяснилось, наш американский гость очень любит кинематограф. Поэтому в среду, 12 января, с удовольствием посетил ARThOuSe sinema club, где демонстрировался первый фильм-катастрофа о стрит-арте «Выход через сувенирную лавку», кинодебют художника-вандала Бэнкси. После просмотра неординарного кино присутствующие делились впечатлениями. Крис также высказал своё мнение по поводу граффити, ведь в стране, где он живет, подобное увлечение уличных художников очень развито.

Крис с удовольствием посещал бы местный кинотеатр, но в силу языкового барьера, а также дубляжа на украинском языке, которого Миллер вообще не знает, делает это редко.

***

Chris Miller wants to write for “Forward” newspaper
a series of articles about the life of an American in Ukraine

I met with Chris Miller, from America, at the cinema “Victory”. As it turned out, our American visitor loves the cinema. Therefore, on Wednesday, January 12, he gladly visited Arthouse Cinema Club to see “Exit through the gift shop, the film debut of artist-vandal Banksy. After viewing the extraordinary film people shared their impressions. Chris also expressed his opinion about graffiti art, because in the country where he lives, street art is an accepted hobby and art form.

Chris would be happy to attend the local cinema more often, but because of language barriers, as well as dubbing in Ukrainian language, which Miller does not know, he does it rarely.

If you do choose to try and translate this piece from Russian to English, you’ll also discover, like the title says, that I accepted an invitation from «Вперед» to write a bi-weekly column about my experiences. I handed in my first one today, and it should be in next week’s edition. Once the columns go online I’ll post them to this blog in English along with a link to the «Вперед» website, where you can find them in Russian.

Posted in Artemovsk, Culture, Encounters, Journalism, Kiev, Krasne, Life, Media, Peace Corps, Portland, Russian, Teaching, Travel, Ukraine |

While dining at the local pizzeria last weekend, I noticed that Exit Through The Gift Shop was going to be playing at my local movie theater. I later learned that it would be screened as part of a monthly Art House Cinema event, in where the local cinema shows foreign films (usually dubbed in Russian) and holds a discussion about the context of the film after the showing. Tonight was the January Art House Cinema film, so I took my pal Igor along to check it out.

Attendance was sparse, which I find hard to understand, given the table full of champagne, wine and cheese. Before the flick started each person was given two slips of paper. One read, “I liked the film.” The other, “I did not like the film.” On the back sides were numbers. Mine, for example, was number 14.

After a short introduction from the host, a glass of red champagne and a triangle of cheese on toothpick, we settled in for the flick. Surprisingly, I understood more than I’d hoped. Perhaps it was due to the fact that I’d seen the film already. But I like to think it was because my Russian language skills are improving. Either way, the experience was enjoyable. A couple times during the film I even found myself translating for Igor.

Afterward, each attendee dropped one of their cards into a jar. I put in my “I liked the film” card. Once everyone had dropped their card in, a drawing was held. The host read the chosen card. ”Number 14,” she said.

“That’s you!” Igor said, his finger pointed at me.

“Someone?” The host said.

Igor pushed me forward. “Me,” I said. “I have number 14.”

And so, in front of a crowd of non-English-speaking Ukrainians, I walked up front to accept my prize. But that wasn’t it. Once there, the host began asking questions. Who was I, what did I think of the film, yada, yada, yada and more in Russian that I didn’t understand.

“I liked the film,” I said. “But I’m sorry. It’s difficult for me to explain why I like it in Russian. I’m American, and I speak Russian poorly.”

But my attempt at being coy was met with extreme exuberance, something I should have expected.

“American!” the host said. “So, you came all the way from America to see this film here tonight?”

Laughter.

“No,” I said. “I live and work here in Artemovsk.”

“We know!” the host said. “You are Chris, yes? You work at the Krasne Village School? And where in America are you from?”

I said, “I’m from Portland, Oregon.”

The host said, “And tell us what you think about the film.”

With Igor translating, I went on to explain the unique role alternative art plays in America and Western Europe, that it’s not for everyone, of course, but some people really connect with it. I elaborated on some of the Banksy pieces shown in the film, explaining how one could view them as social commentary. This raised some eyebrows. Luckily, it didn’t prompt any questions from the audience. I wanted to step out of the spotlight as quickly as I could.

“Thank you, Chris, for joining us tonight,” the host said. “Are you ready for your prize? We are giving you a gift certificate worth 70 griven to use at City Pizzeria. We hope you come back for the next Art House Cinema. Everyone, congratulate Chris!”

Applause.

A moment later, as people began filing out, I was stopped by a young man inquiring about private English lessons. Then a woman from the local paper approached me for an interview. I didn’t mention this earlier, and perhaps I should have, but this whole time I’d had a bladder full of beer. Before the film Igor and I killed an hour’s time by drinking in the pizzeria. Now I really had to release the demon, but was forced to chat.

After scheduling a tutoring session and a newspaper interview I finally made it to the toilet.* As I relieved myself in the urinal I couldn’t help but think that this might be the first time I’ve won a raffle or lottery of any sort. If I’m wrong, and I have won before, I certainly couldn’t tell you when that last time was. But anyway, as I stood there, this prideful feeling came over me. I was being recognized for having my number drawn, sure. But these people knew who I was even before that. I was more than a raffle winner; I was a member and valuable asset of the community.

(*Note: Read about and watch my past encounters with the Ukrainian media here, here and here.)

Posted in Artemovsk, Krasne, Life, School, Teaching, Ukraine |

Winter has arrived, that bitingly cold and miserably wet season dreaded by many PCVs in Ukraine. For me, it’s my first. Having arrived in March of 2010, I’d only heard the horrors of the worst Ukrainian winter in decades, about stranded buses, and broken space heaters, streets caked with ice and the feeling of being held prisoner in your own apartment. In June, while listening to these stories told by group 36 and 37 volunteers, I felt as though winter was a world away. Now, it’s here.

Transitioning from an unusually warm autumn to winter hasn’t been easy. I’ll admit there were times when I thought those volunteers were exaggerating. Upon updating my Facebook status one day, saying that I couldn’t wait for the first snow of the season, a PCV friend of mine warned me I had no idea what I was wishing for, that I’d be sorry. I won’t say she was correct absolutely, but I will say now that I know where she’s coming from.

The day our first snow arrived here in Artemovsk I boarded a marshrutka to school. More people crowded aboard at each stop. Standing as we made our way up a hill, the thought of sliding backward entered my mind. I thought it silly and ignored it. But perhaps my mind was trying to tell me something. A moment later, as the bus rounded a steep corner, it lost traction, slid back and to the side about 20 feet into the curb and small guardrail. Everyone gasped. Not a breath was taken until we came to a stop. By then people and bags were strewn about the bus. On any given day you can just about get to second base with your marshrutka-riding pals. On this day, bent over an older gentleman at almost a 90-degree angle with my hand on his lap to keep my face from falling in it, I nearly got to third. When our eyes met for a brief moment after the incident, it was as if we’d known each other for much longer than a 25-minute ride.

When I reached my stop near the school the elderly man exited, too. He cleared his throat and asked, “Are you the American teacher?” I told him, yes. He said, “Do you like the winter? Because we have three more months of it.” I told him what I could in Russian, which was that I like the frost and snow and that my apartment is very warm. He said, “Molodets.” Good job.

Aboard the same marshrutka the next day I ran into the man again. He told me he thought he might see me. Then he handed me a jar of preserved vegetables. They were from his wife. He explained that if I heat them on the stove just so, twisting and jabbing his closed hand in the air as if he were sliding a skillet across a burner, that they’d keep me warm. He said, “My grandson told me you’re a good teacher, so we must take care of you.” He never said which of my students was his grandson.

My run-in with the old man brought to light something I think is important to remember during these chilly winter months, and that’s that even in as cold a place as Ukraine, warmth exists among the people. That night, back in my apartment, despite the blustery storm outside my window, I sat cozily at my kitchen table, feasting on a large plate of pasta with preserved vegetables.

Posted in Artemovsk, Encounters, Krasne, Peace Corps, Ukraine |

Yes, this post is a day late. World AIDS Day was yesterday, Dec. 1. But My mobile Internet USB drive needs to be topped up on the first of every month. To do so, I must pay a fee and then wait a day. Hence the timing of this post.

The Krasne Village School celebrated World AIDS Day by drawing and painting HIV/AIDS awareness posters. Each form (grade) created a poster of its own to display around school. Afterward, the teaching staff, including myself, broke the students into to large groups – older students and younger students – and showed videos provided to me by Peace Corps. Sveta, the school’s information and technologies teacher, had a video of her own that she showed, too. After a bit of coercing (I’ll explain in a minute), I was allowed to speak about HIV and AIDS to the older students. I explained the importance of education, protection and awareness. I gave some real-life examples of situations in which people have contracted HIV, and discussed with students what those people could have done to prevent such a thing from happening. Despite a few chuckles when discussing sex and condom use, the students handled it well.

Two weeks ago, when I approached my director about conducting some sort of project for World AIDS Day, I was all but shooed away. The volunteer that lived in Artemovsk prior to me had done a small HIV/AIDS education project in Krasne before, which sparked outrage among students’ parents. She taught the older students how to properly put on condoms by practicing on bananas, but then passed out condoms to students as young as 10. That last bit was what my director had a problem with. She told me she’d think about allowing me to conduct a lesson or two and let me know.

On Nov. 30, my director got back to me. She said I could speak about HIV and AIDS to the students and share whatever information I had with them. But no way was I to pass out condoms, she said. Fair enough. I could at least highlight the importance of using a rubber. And so I did. I was just pleased that my school participated in this day of awareness at all, because the attitude I was met with when bringing up the idea of a project for World AIDS Day was so discouraging. In the end, it turned out alright. In fact, my director and I are now planning a PEPFAR project for next year. We sat down for our first meeting regarding it this afternoon.

Posted in Krasne, School, Teaching, Ukraine |

Got a call this morning as I was walking out the door. It was Nikolai, my counterpart. Chris, he said, are you at home? Don’t come to school, he said. We’re on break this week. I asked him to repeat what he said just to be sure. He shouted into the phone NO SCHOOL! He tends to shout when I ask for him to repeat things, thinking I’ll understand better if the words are spoken loudly at me. What he doesn’t understand is that it’s not the volume of the words that prevents me from understanding him, but rather his pronunciation of Russian words, which tend to align more with Surjic – a mix of the Russian and Ukrainian languages – or Ukrainian. For instance, any word that begins with what would be a hard “G” sound Nikolai speaks with an “H” sound. Also, his unorthodox speaking patterns prevent me usually from comprehending what he says on the first go-round. Anyway, we worked it out. I’ll be on vacation this week.

Posted in Blogtober, Krasne, School, Ukraine |

Posted in Blogtober, Journalism, Krasne, Teaching, Ukraine |