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.
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