I teach at a Teacher Training Institute. This last year I’ve taught such classes as:
Creative Writing, Teaching Speaking, Teaching Reading, Teaching Writing, Teaching Listening, Teaching Country Studies, Teaching Young Learners, etc.
My students are all English Teachers from Ukraine. Every five years they are required to take recertification courses at my institute. The first time they go, they are there for one month. The next time they go, they go for three different weeks spread throughout the year.
So what do I do? These are teachers of English, with experience in teaching English. I do feel qualified to teach them because I have had methodological training in school. And, more importantly, I have life experience—a lifetime of classes in American schools, where the teaching is approached differently. I also know such songs as "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain" and "Goin' on a Bear Hunt" and "There Was an Old Lady" and "The Wheels on the Bus." So for me, my role here is to give a little bit of methodology, and give a lot of new ideas that they can adapt and use in their classrooms.
So here’s an example of a class I’ve taught and will teach again: Teaching Country Studies.
Teachers Will Be Able to:
Participate in experiential learning activities for teaching Country Studies to their Students
Modify and Adapt activities for their classrooms
Those are the basic TWBATs I have for all my classes. I’m a big fan of experiential learning, which means that you learn by experiencing it rather than just talking about it.
Warm up: Finish the sentence
Each Teacher gets a slip of paper. They will anonymously finish the sentence:
Is it true that Americans_______________________
Trainer will collect. Trainer will sort and read and answer at the end of the session.
For this class I try to give them a little information that they can’t get in the classroom, as well as a taste of several kinds of activities, so I set up three “booths” with samples of the activities. During my class they are not expected to finish all the activities, merely get a taste of them. I emphasize that so that they don’t get frustrated about not having enough time
Station Activity 1: Map Work
ACTIVITY 1A: Spell and Find
Teachers are given their own un-labeled map of the US that they are to write on, a reference map labeled with all fifty states, a reference sheet of the fifty states and their capitals, and the following Scrabble Tiles:
A-2, C, D-2, E-2, G, H, I-2, L, M, N-3, O-2, P, R, S, T-2, U, V, W, Y
Teachers must:
a) form as many states’ names as possible using those tiles.
b) color in the state on HO1 (unlabeled map), using a blue highlighter
ACTIVITY 1B: Name that Shape
Teachers are given a labeled map of the United States, a reference sheet of the fifty states and their capitals, and shapes of unidentified states.
Teachers must
a) identify the states by shape
b) mark where the capital is on their map
c) write in the name of the capital.
Why did I pick these activities? For me, it’s just showing different ideas of things you can do with a map. Even more, it helps prevent training “answer robots,” students who simply look for the answer and repeat and cannot put together two pieces of information logically. It also uses different strengths: linguistic strengths (spelling words), as well as special intelligences (picture smarts).
ACTIVITY 2: Design a flag and quarter for Washington State
Teachers will design a flag and quarter for Washington State, using important symbols and information about Washington State.
Here, teachers are reading about Washington state, using art to show understanding, and putting together information. Again, moving away from being Answer Robots.
ACTIVITY 3: Seattle Festivals Logic Problem
Teachers are given a logic problem I created about four different festivals in Seattle: Gay Pride, Bumbershoot, Folklife, and The Freemont Solstice Festival. They are to fill in a chart telling which friend went to which festival, which month it was in, and what sort of festival it was.
Here, I’m using a logic problem to teach about the different festivals. The idea here is that they can put together information and have students read about it in creative ways. Again, using a different strength, this time logic and reasoning.
ACTIVITY 4: Jeopardy game
Now teachers play a small Jeopardy game based on information given in the class. This is not so they can play, but rather so they can learn HOW to play a Jeopardy game.
ACTIVITY 5: Is it true that Americans _________ followup
At this time I address all the questions that the Ukrainian teachers have put down about Americans. Most of the questions I get are based on food, personality, and work such as
Is it true that Americans have only one or two weeks of vacations?
Is it true that Americans don't like to speak about their problems (they do it with doctors or psychologists only)?
Is it true that Americans always smile?
Is it true that Americans eat fast food 3 times a day?
So you can see, when I’m teaching, I’m not simply teaching ABOUT America, I’m giving techniques for teaching about them—ones that many of them have never seen. And yet I’m still giving some extra information, such as: that handout on Washington State. And addressing common questions they usually have about Americans.
My job is tricky, because I’m not just teaching, but I’m teaching about teaching. It’s made it very interesting—not duplicating teaching techniques, how to give different information, how to collaborate, etc. I’d never done teacher training before, but I’m getting great experience doing it. And it does help that I do the same lessons again and again.
The final thing I do is that I make all my lesson plans and information available to all teachers, which is very time consuming. It’s one thing to make a lesson plan; quite another thing to write it in a presentable way for teachers taking your classes. I have to make the directions understandable to Ukrainian teachers, not just myself, so vague notes on how to do it are not acceptable, and neither is simply writing down “Do the Hokey Pokey”—because most Ukrainians have never played The Hokey Pokey and I need to write down directions for how to do it, since it’s not just for me. I’m also often giving lesson plans to teachers who have been doing this for 10-20 years, so I’d better have something great so they don’t feel like I’m wasting their time.
So that’s what I do for my Peace Corps “job.” I do teach less than most of the other volunteers, but as you can see, my time is really put into developing materials and presentation of said materials. There are more bits and pieces, but that’s my standard daily job. Hope you enjoyed it!
Monday, October 6, 2008
One year in Ukraine
Wow. It doesn’t seem like yesterday that I arrived, but it certainly doesn’t feel like it’s been a year.
October 1, 2007 I stepped off that plane into blistering hot heat. We were greeted by a sign in English saying “Welcome to Ukraine,” and we were greeted by friendly smiles from Peace Corps staff, friendly smiles that are still dear to my heart. It was unseasonably warm in Kyiv, and we were all dying while waiting on the bus. We were herded, eyes unseeing, ears unhearing, into our pre-training site. Everything was strange, the faces, the policies, the billboards. It was all novel—the Cyrillic signs, people speaking in an unfamiliar language, people selling things by the side of the road, the cars driving like they were in the Pole Position game, the layouts of the stores, the prices, the inability to communicate.
It was all novel because it was all new and interesting and WOW this was why we signed up for Peace Corps.
We were given our languages—I was given Russian, and some people rejoiced, while others complained. Our first day of language class—given the letters of our names and asked to make it into our names.
Д Ж У Л И Я
None familiar but that little Y, which wasn't a Y, but an OO. I couldn't spell my own name: Джулия. Overwhelming! Being taught to say “My name is” and ask “What is your name?” Running to the really cute security guard and asking him “Как вас завут?” KAK VAC ZAVOOT? Then giggling like crazy fangirls when he told us, then promptly forgetting because our brains short circuited at having spoken to a really good looking dude in a foreign language.
One year ago. Rumors of who was going where. Whispers of “So and so already knows about her family.” Talk of possibilities. I vaguely remember the presentation. I remember Vova’s funny talk about the Village with Town-like qualities, and Larissa’s talk of Chernigov with bellydancing. I remember being told I would be in Chernigov.
I remember how much luggage I had. WAY more than anyone in our group. A comical amount of luggage. I remember hauling it to the busses. I remember finally getting on our busses. I remember really really really having to pee and everyone filing into an LCF’s apartment to use the bathroom before heading to Chernigov. I wonder what the babushkas in the building thought—20 Americans stomping up the stairs and waiting in a line to go into this little apartment.
I remember getting to Chernigov. My host mother, Alla, was there. She was a large, stern-looking woman. I remember being intimidated and timid and so I stayed on the bus and helped people get their luggage. Finally got to her and felt embarrassed about all my luggage. Proudly said Меня завут Джулия MENYA ZAVOOT JULIA and her saying her name, then having literally nothing else to say other than hello. So I stayed silent. She seemed so serious, and I wondered what she thought of me. I wondered if she was happy to see me, because she didn’t smile. I wondered if she was irritated by my luggage, since we had to STUFF it into the taxi. I wondered if she was weirded out by this stranger living in her home who didn’t speak a lick of the language.
My host mother, Alla
I remember the first meal. Some of the food was good, some was not so great, but there was too much of it. I remember feeling overwhelmed, and wanting to make a good impression, and forcing myself to overeat because I didn’t know how to say no politely. My host sister was shy, but she spoke English, which helped. Perhaps a bit too much. She was 17 and from the village, and only now do I believe I understand who she was in relation to my host mom—I think she was my host mom’s cousin’s daughter.
I remember doing charades to ask when to be woken up. I remember in the morning being walked to my class, which was very close. I remember being taught to say “I have a family. I have a mother. I have a father. I have a sister. Do you have a family?” I was introduced to Yulia, my host mother’s friend’s daughter. Yulia was my age and she couldn’t stop laughing at how ridiculous I sounded—and I did. “DO YOU HAVE A FAMILY?” sounds pretty funny, no matter how you say it. I remember my host mother asking me something, which sounded like “Do you need a magazine?” And I thought “I don’t need a magazine, I have one.” Later I realized she was asking if I needed to go to the store—the word “Magazine” means “Store” in Russian.
I remember enjoying language classes, and we had so many. I remember feeling frustrated and anxious and not making friends during training. I remember just feeling overwhelmed. I also remember the feelings of giving up near the end. Then came swearing in.
We met our counterparts, we met the US Ambassador.
My counterpart, Iryna
We swore in. I was proud to be an American that day. Taking the oath that all of us take:
I, Julia Johansen, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the constitution of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps of the United States of America, serving Ukraine to the best of my abilities and demonstrating the respect and consideration due its people. So help me God.
This past year has been packed.
I’ve made several lifelong friends—some best friends, both Ukrainian and American. I’ve come to have some favorite Ukrainian foods that I KNOW I will miss back in the US. I’ve learned to live and thrive within my community. I’ve learned that the more you know of a language the more you realize you don’t know. I’ve learned to speak Russian—enough to have conversations, but not enough to be able to tell my landlord properly that the pilot light on my kalonka keeps going out. I got a beautiful Ukrainian cat who is the perfect mixture of ornry and sweet. I have an apartment that I’m only ashamed to show people when it looks like a homeless person has been living here. I’ve settled into good routines. I filled out my first grant. I found great organizations and great people to work with. I’ve found what it is to be a Peace Corps Volunteer.
And you know, I’ve had it so much easier than many PCVs. So much so that I often hesitate to complain about having to take bucket baths in my modern bathroom, or that I have to walk through a small field of mud, or that my apartment feels cold. No one gossips about what I bought, or how much money I spend on shampoo. I, in general, have consistent hot water, I can use the water from my tap, and I even have water after midnight. I can throw my toilet paper in the toilet, and my toilet is in the same room as my bathtub. I have Internet in my apartment. My town sells pesto and hot sauce and bento boxes and bleu cheese.
And yet there is still a need. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer, and this has been one interesting year in my life.
October 1, 2007 I stepped off that plane into blistering hot heat. We were greeted by a sign in English saying “Welcome to Ukraine,” and we were greeted by friendly smiles from Peace Corps staff, friendly smiles that are still dear to my heart. It was unseasonably warm in Kyiv, and we were all dying while waiting on the bus. We were herded, eyes unseeing, ears unhearing, into our pre-training site. Everything was strange, the faces, the policies, the billboards. It was all novel—the Cyrillic signs, people speaking in an unfamiliar language, people selling things by the side of the road, the cars driving like they were in the Pole Position game, the layouts of the stores, the prices, the inability to communicate.
It was all novel because it was all new and interesting and WOW this was why we signed up for Peace Corps.
We were given our languages—I was given Russian, and some people rejoiced, while others complained. Our first day of language class—given the letters of our names and asked to make it into our names.
Д Ж У Л И Я
None familiar but that little Y, which wasn't a Y, but an OO. I couldn't spell my own name: Джулия. Overwhelming! Being taught to say “My name is” and ask “What is your name?” Running to the really cute security guard and asking him “Как вас завут?” KAK VAC ZAVOOT? Then giggling like crazy fangirls when he told us, then promptly forgetting because our brains short circuited at having spoken to a really good looking dude in a foreign language.
One year ago. Rumors of who was going where. Whispers of “So and so already knows about her family.” Talk of possibilities. I vaguely remember the presentation. I remember Vova’s funny talk about the Village with Town-like qualities, and Larissa’s talk of Chernigov with bellydancing. I remember being told I would be in Chernigov.
I remember how much luggage I had. WAY more than anyone in our group. A comical amount of luggage. I remember hauling it to the busses. I remember finally getting on our busses. I remember really really really having to pee and everyone filing into an LCF’s apartment to use the bathroom before heading to Chernigov. I wonder what the babushkas in the building thought—20 Americans stomping up the stairs and waiting in a line to go into this little apartment.
I remember getting to Chernigov. My host mother, Alla, was there. She was a large, stern-looking woman. I remember being intimidated and timid and so I stayed on the bus and helped people get their luggage. Finally got to her and felt embarrassed about all my luggage. Proudly said Меня завут Джулия MENYA ZAVOOT JULIA and her saying her name, then having literally nothing else to say other than hello. So I stayed silent. She seemed so serious, and I wondered what she thought of me. I wondered if she was happy to see me, because she didn’t smile. I wondered if she was irritated by my luggage, since we had to STUFF it into the taxi. I wondered if she was weirded out by this stranger living in her home who didn’t speak a lick of the language.
My host mother, Alla
I remember the first meal. Some of the food was good, some was not so great, but there was too much of it. I remember feeling overwhelmed, and wanting to make a good impression, and forcing myself to overeat because I didn’t know how to say no politely. My host sister was shy, but she spoke English, which helped. Perhaps a bit too much. She was 17 and from the village, and only now do I believe I understand who she was in relation to my host mom—I think she was my host mom’s cousin’s daughter.
I remember doing charades to ask when to be woken up. I remember in the morning being walked to my class, which was very close. I remember being taught to say “I have a family. I have a mother. I have a father. I have a sister. Do you have a family?” I was introduced to Yulia, my host mother’s friend’s daughter. Yulia was my age and she couldn’t stop laughing at how ridiculous I sounded—and I did. “DO YOU HAVE A FAMILY?” sounds pretty funny, no matter how you say it. I remember my host mother asking me something, which sounded like “Do you need a magazine?” And I thought “I don’t need a magazine, I have one.” Later I realized she was asking if I needed to go to the store—the word “Magazine” means “Store” in Russian.
I remember enjoying language classes, and we had so many. I remember feeling frustrated and anxious and not making friends during training. I remember just feeling overwhelmed. I also remember the feelings of giving up near the end. Then came swearing in.
We met our counterparts, we met the US Ambassador.
My counterpart, Iryna
We swore in. I was proud to be an American that day. Taking the oath that all of us take:
I, Julia Johansen, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the constitution of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps of the United States of America, serving Ukraine to the best of my abilities and demonstrating the respect and consideration due its people. So help me God.
This past year has been packed.
I’ve made several lifelong friends—some best friends, both Ukrainian and American. I’ve come to have some favorite Ukrainian foods that I KNOW I will miss back in the US. I’ve learned to live and thrive within my community. I’ve learned that the more you know of a language the more you realize you don’t know. I’ve learned to speak Russian—enough to have conversations, but not enough to be able to tell my landlord properly that the pilot light on my kalonka keeps going out. I got a beautiful Ukrainian cat who is the perfect mixture of ornry and sweet. I have an apartment that I’m only ashamed to show people when it looks like a homeless person has been living here. I’ve settled into good routines. I filled out my first grant. I found great organizations and great people to work with. I’ve found what it is to be a Peace Corps Volunteer.
And you know, I’ve had it so much easier than many PCVs. So much so that I often hesitate to complain about having to take bucket baths in my modern bathroom, or that I have to walk through a small field of mud, or that my apartment feels cold. No one gossips about what I bought, or how much money I spend on shampoo. I, in general, have consistent hot water, I can use the water from my tap, and I even have water after midnight. I can throw my toilet paper in the toilet, and my toilet is in the same room as my bathtub. I have Internet in my apartment. My town sells pesto and hot sauce and bento boxes and bleu cheese.
And yet there is still a need. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer, and this has been one interesting year in my life.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
For your viewing pleasure
The first Russian song I learned! It's by a band called Kino and the singer is Victor Tsoi. It's catchy, melodic, and easy!
День как день,
Только ты почему-то грустишь.
И вокруг всё поют,
Только ты один молчишь.
Потерял аппетит
И не хочешь сходить в кино.
Ты идёшь в магазин,
Чтобы купить вино.
Солнце светит, и растёт трава,
Но тебе она не нужна.
Всё не так, и всё не то,
Когда твоя девушка больна,
Когда больна...
Ты идёшь в магазин,
Головою поник,
Как будто иссяк
Чистый горный родник.
Она где-то лежит,
Ест мёд и пьёт аспирин,
И вот ты идёшь
На вечеринку один.
Солнце светит, и растёт трава,
Но тебе она не нужна.
Всё не так, и всё не то,
Когда твоя девушка больна.
На вечеринку один,
Когда твоя девушка больна.
День как день,
Только ты почему-то грустишь.
И вокруг всё поют,
Только ты один молчишь.
Потерял аппетит
И не хочешь сходить в кино.
Ты идёшь в магазин,
Чтобы купить вино.
Солнце светит, и растёт трава,
Но тебе она не нужна.
Всё не так, и всё не то,
Когда твоя девушка больна,
Когда больна...
Ты идёшь в магазин,
Головою поник,
Как будто иссяк
Чистый горный родник.
Она где-то лежит,
Ест мёд и пьёт аспирин,
И вот ты идёшь
На вечеринку один.
Солнце светит, и растёт трава,
Но тебе она не нужна.
Всё не так, и всё не то,
Когда твоя девушка больна.
На вечеринку один,
Когда твоя девушка больна.
Culture Shock
Your emotional reserves, which are what help you have that thick skin, are what help you not react to cultural moments. They are what you draw upon in order to be culturally appropriate, culturally sensitive, and that all-knowing, wise, open-minded American. They help you deal with people staring or people pointing to you, or a whole marshrutka full of people talking about the American and what do you think she's doing here and and she doesn't understand Russian (I DO!), etc. Not that that last thing happened recently.
The emotional reserves start to go away as you are bombarded by new culture, loss of freedom, loss of language, stress of language learning, not being able to talk to your best friend, not being able to eat food you love and are familiar with, being treated like you are three years old, being around Americans you may not like, getting trained in your job and having to do homework, having someone else tie your shoes for you (yes, this happened to me), being treated like a 3-year-old, having your personal space invaded, and your body space invaded.
Your emotional reserves can deal with any of those things, but the result of being bombarded by all these things all at once for an extended period of time drains them. You lose that thick skin. Things start to bother you that would ordinarily not bother you. You become a bit more emotionally frayed and you react more. Because those emotional reserves are tapped—they're too busy trying to deal with the big stuff that the little stuff seeps through.
I knew this would happen. During our training, they showed us a video of the negative things that could happen, specifically sexual harassment. A woman in the video told about how she was sexually harassed every day with all the cat calls and sexual comments tossed at her as she walked down the street every day. One gal in our group made the comment that was pretty much along the lines of: "She should be more culturally sensitive. That's just part of Latino culture, and she shouldn't apply American standards to their culture." Or something close to that. I remember thinking at the time that the girl in our training girl had no idea what she was talking about, because something happening day after day has *got* to wear at you.
It's like someone touching you. That's fine. But now imagine them touching you in the same spot again and again and again. Where you could first shrug it off, now it's a point of contention and irritation and you JUST WANT THEM TO STOP. I knew this at the beginning of training.
And yet I was completely shocked when culture shock hit me. I remember it so clearly. A girl in my language lesson snapped at me. It was Halloween, only 31 days after getting into Ukraine. Only 31 days of Peace Corps training. Only 31 days of using up those emotional reserves. The comment ate at me all day. It made me angry and sick and more angry. For some reason, around 11pm, I just started bawling. I tried to call my best friend in America, but my phone had no money on it, which made me cry harder, and I had no idea why, which made me cry even harder. And not some stoic lady-like cry—this was an "8-year-old-who-just-got-spanked-and-now-can't-go-to-the-sleepover cry. There was nothing I could put my finger on--not any one thing, except for some stupid little comment, and I sure as hell knew one small comment didn't cause this reaction.
I probably sobbed for three hours that night. It really sucked. My own emotional reaction shocked me--I haven't bawled that hard in a while--I'm 32 and kinda thought I was past that.
Things that really helped me: Peace Corps's booklet called "A Few Minor Adjustments," which addresses culture shock. It really helped. REALLY. Also, making friends that I really liked and who I could call and talk to, because previously I had felt very alone being amongst so many Americans and not really having a close friend.
It hit me that hard again, about 6 months in country. It was late at night and I started to just feel SO ALONE. I went to the disco, hoping that just being around people would make me feel better, but it made me feel more alone, and I called America, sobbing at the disco. I just couldn't stop crying. It sucked.
I hate being shocked at my own emotional reactions. I hate when they take me unawares. I was shocked at myself the first time I screamed at my host sister (17 year olds!!!). I was shocked at myself when I got angry at every little thing. I was shocked at myself by how dismayed I was at having fried eggs with TOO MUCH OIL. And yet, when those reserves are drained, you are the emotional equivalent of a car without shocks on a rocky road.
I consider myself lucky--two emotional breakdowns in 11 months. For six months it's been smooth sailing, and I'm in a position to have built up those emotional reserves. I have autonomy, I have friends, I have people close to me, I can communicate, I have internet (woo hoo!). But I also know it's likely that I'll have at least one or two more of these moments.
The following is a metaphor I wrote about culture shock:
I'd wanted to swim in the ocean for about 10 years. More precisely, I wanted to be flown in a helicopter out in the middle of the ocean, be dropped out far enough that I couldn't see the land, then I wanted to swim to shore.
I'd read all the books about what to do, what to take, and how to do it. I had my shark repellent, my space sticks energy sticks, and even a flare for if it got really bad. Gearing up for this moment, I practiced every day in the swimming pool, and I was totally pumped. I'd even read first-hand accounts from people who had done precisely this same thing. I even knew what emotions I would likely be feeling and how to deal with them.
I was prepared. Everything was ready. I was ready. Completely.
They flew me in a helicopter, told me exactly what to do if I needed help, then I made the leap into that huge ocean. I watched the helicopter fly away, and I started to swim. I was feeling strong and awesome. Everything was going according to plan.
Then I started to get a little tired, and I felt something bump my foot. The smell of the salt water was getting to me, and I was starting to get a sunburn. I realized that as much as I had prepared, NOTHING could have prepared me for that feeling of being in the middle of the ocean all alone and not being able to see shore. I started to feel overwhelmed by all the water around me and how alone I felt, but I pushed it off, knowing I couldn't feel this way because I had prepared. But what I hadn't prepared for was my very own emotional reaction to everything. As much as my brain was ready, my emotions weren't, and after much pushing down, the emotions overwhelmed me.
It finally passed and I pressed on. The dream and the realization of that dream driving me further. Most of the time I'm fine and it's under control, but every now and then, the vastness of the sea gets to me.
The emotional reserves start to go away as you are bombarded by new culture, loss of freedom, loss of language, stress of language learning, not being able to talk to your best friend, not being able to eat food you love and are familiar with, being treated like you are three years old, being around Americans you may not like, getting trained in your job and having to do homework, having someone else tie your shoes for you (yes, this happened to me), being treated like a 3-year-old, having your personal space invaded, and your body space invaded.
Your emotional reserves can deal with any of those things, but the result of being bombarded by all these things all at once for an extended period of time drains them. You lose that thick skin. Things start to bother you that would ordinarily not bother you. You become a bit more emotionally frayed and you react more. Because those emotional reserves are tapped—they're too busy trying to deal with the big stuff that the little stuff seeps through.
I knew this would happen. During our training, they showed us a video of the negative things that could happen, specifically sexual harassment. A woman in the video told about how she was sexually harassed every day with all the cat calls and sexual comments tossed at her as she walked down the street every day. One gal in our group made the comment that was pretty much along the lines of: "She should be more culturally sensitive. That's just part of Latino culture, and she shouldn't apply American standards to their culture." Or something close to that. I remember thinking at the time that the girl in our training girl had no idea what she was talking about, because something happening day after day has *got* to wear at you.
It's like someone touching you. That's fine. But now imagine them touching you in the same spot again and again and again. Where you could first shrug it off, now it's a point of contention and irritation and you JUST WANT THEM TO STOP. I knew this at the beginning of training.
And yet I was completely shocked when culture shock hit me. I remember it so clearly. A girl in my language lesson snapped at me. It was Halloween, only 31 days after getting into Ukraine. Only 31 days of Peace Corps training. Only 31 days of using up those emotional reserves. The comment ate at me all day. It made me angry and sick and more angry. For some reason, around 11pm, I just started bawling. I tried to call my best friend in America, but my phone had no money on it, which made me cry harder, and I had no idea why, which made me cry even harder. And not some stoic lady-like cry—this was an "8-year-old-who-just-got-spanked-and-now-can't-go-to-the-sleepover cry. There was nothing I could put my finger on--not any one thing, except for some stupid little comment, and I sure as hell knew one small comment didn't cause this reaction.
I probably sobbed for three hours that night. It really sucked. My own emotional reaction shocked me--I haven't bawled that hard in a while--I'm 32 and kinda thought I was past that.
Things that really helped me: Peace Corps's booklet called "A Few Minor Adjustments," which addresses culture shock. It really helped. REALLY. Also, making friends that I really liked and who I could call and talk to, because previously I had felt very alone being amongst so many Americans and not really having a close friend.
It hit me that hard again, about 6 months in country. It was late at night and I started to just feel SO ALONE. I went to the disco, hoping that just being around people would make me feel better, but it made me feel more alone, and I called America, sobbing at the disco. I just couldn't stop crying. It sucked.
I hate being shocked at my own emotional reactions. I hate when they take me unawares. I was shocked at myself the first time I screamed at my host sister (17 year olds!!!). I was shocked at myself when I got angry at every little thing. I was shocked at myself by how dismayed I was at having fried eggs with TOO MUCH OIL. And yet, when those reserves are drained, you are the emotional equivalent of a car without shocks on a rocky road.
I consider myself lucky--two emotional breakdowns in 11 months. For six months it's been smooth sailing, and I'm in a position to have built up those emotional reserves. I have autonomy, I have friends, I have people close to me, I can communicate, I have internet (woo hoo!). But I also know it's likely that I'll have at least one or two more of these moments.
The following is a metaphor I wrote about culture shock:
I'd wanted to swim in the ocean for about 10 years. More precisely, I wanted to be flown in a helicopter out in the middle of the ocean, be dropped out far enough that I couldn't see the land, then I wanted to swim to shore.
I'd read all the books about what to do, what to take, and how to do it. I had my shark repellent, my space sticks energy sticks, and even a flare for if it got really bad. Gearing up for this moment, I practiced every day in the swimming pool, and I was totally pumped. I'd even read first-hand accounts from people who had done precisely this same thing. I even knew what emotions I would likely be feeling and how to deal with them.
I was prepared. Everything was ready. I was ready. Completely.
They flew me in a helicopter, told me exactly what to do if I needed help, then I made the leap into that huge ocean. I watched the helicopter fly away, and I started to swim. I was feeling strong and awesome. Everything was going according to plan.
Then I started to get a little tired, and I felt something bump my foot. The smell of the salt water was getting to me, and I was starting to get a sunburn. I realized that as much as I had prepared, NOTHING could have prepared me for that feeling of being in the middle of the ocean all alone and not being able to see shore. I started to feel overwhelmed by all the water around me and how alone I felt, but I pushed it off, knowing I couldn't feel this way because I had prepared. But what I hadn't prepared for was my very own emotional reaction to everything. As much as my brain was ready, my emotions weren't, and after much pushing down, the emotions overwhelmed me.
It finally passed and I pressed on. The dream and the realization of that dream driving me further. Most of the time I'm fine and it's under control, but every now and then, the vastness of the sea gets to me.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
My favorite Ukrainian songs
These songs are REALLY catchy.
А.Р.М.И.Я - Мы сделали это This WILL get stuck in your head.
LILU - Будь ближе Fun video. Pop.
Алиби: Мелодия дождя Soft, melodic.
Юлия Войс "Где ты, мой ангел" Generically good.
Тина Кароль "Полюс притяжения" Beautiful voice.
Марта-Цветок Seriously, check out her outfit. Crazy.
Ирина Билык Нас Нет The video plays like a movie
Потап и Настя Каменских - Не пара (uncensored) Russian Hip-Hop. This video has naked women, so don't watch if you're easily offended. Great song.
Потап и Настя Каменских - VNATURE (uncensored) More Russian Hip-Hop, more naked women. Great song, though.
Потап, Дядя Вадя и Ugo - Наташа More hiphop. Sans boobies.
А.Р.М.И.Я - Мы сделали это This WILL get stuck in your head.
LILU - Будь ближе Fun video. Pop.
Алиби: Мелодия дождя Soft, melodic.
Юлия Войс "Где ты, мой ангел" Generically good.
Тина Кароль "Полюс притяжения" Beautiful voice.
Марта-Цветок Seriously, check out her outfit. Crazy.
Ирина Билык Нас Нет The video plays like a movie
Потап и Настя Каменских - Не пара (uncensored) Russian Hip-Hop. This video has naked women, so don't watch if you're easily offended. Great song.
Потап и Настя Каменских - VNATURE (uncensored) More Russian Hip-Hop, more naked women. Great song, though.
Потап, Дядя Вадя и Ugo - Наташа More hiphop. Sans boobies.
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