The school cleaning lady is a babushka named Valya. Sometimes if we stay late after school to use the internet or just hang out, we run into her. She speaks zero English, but is incredibly talented at gesturing and pointing. We managed to communicate not only our names, but also that we live with Ukrainian host families, where we live along the metro line, and more. She is so animated and eager to take us under her wing, like poor little American ducklings. She hugs us and gives us big kisses on the cheek. One night, Valya showed up to clean right as we were leaving, so she made us wait for her so that she could take the bus and metro with us. We couldn't understand a word she was saying, but she chattered at us the whole way home, using hand motions and exaggerated facial expressions to communicate what she really wanted us to understand. I got off at my stop and tried to wave goodbye to Valya and the other two teachers, but Valya got off the metro with me. We stood on the escalator, and she continued gesturing and talking to me. Earlier, I thought she said she lived at a different stop, so I was sweating a little bit as we rode the escalator up to the street. Was she trying to come home with me? Fortunately, we reached the surface and she waved goodnight, heading a different direction than me.
I didn't see Valya for a few weeks until I arrived at the school early one day to find her chatting on the office phone. Way to use your resources, Valya. She waved at me as I came in, and continued chatting as I went into the teachers' room to work on my stuff. When she was done racking up the phone bill, she came in to say hi to me. Valya prides herself on her massage skills, and now, alone in the school, I became the victim of an unsolicited back rub. First she just rubbed my shoulders as I sat in my chair, but then she leaned me forward, supporting me with one hand from the front, and using her other hand to beat my back to a pulp. I am incredibly ticklish, but I didn't want to offend her, so I metaphorically shoved my fist in my mouth and held back peals of laughter. When she was done with my back, she rubbed my neck and then travelled upwards to my scalp. She massaged my hairline around my face, and did this thing where she stuck her fingers almost in my ears and then quickly wiggled them back and forth. I don't think I can really describe it. She finished up with another shoulder massage, migrating down my arms. At the end of it, I was red, embarassed, and had terrifically tousled hair. I stood up to say thank-you, expecting another bear-hug from her, so I jumped the gun and tried to hug her first instead. As I leaned in, she looked behind her, thinking that I was just trying to get something behind her. She finally realized what I was doing, and gave me a hug and a thumping pat on the back. Why am I so awkward?
On the topic of babushkas, I got on a bus the other day, along with thirty head-scarfed babushkas and dedushkas. The entire bus was crammed with them. I don't have any awkward story about them, I just don't want to forget that picture.
I was on a marshrutka (one of those tiny yellow busses) on the way home from church, and this time I was fortunate enough to have a seat. When an old woman with her bags got on the bus, I offered her my seat. The offering of one's seat on the bus is part courtesy and part social requirement. It used to be a law that you had to give your seat to the old folks or pregnant women, and even though it's not required by law anymore, people will give you wierd looks if you don't. Actually, what will most likely happen is that the bab will walk up to you and glare at you until you surrender your seat. If that doesn't work, she will yell at you. So when this babushka got on the marshrutka, I moved to give her my seat. She waved me to sit down, stowed her bags up by the driver, and happily stood next to me for the ride. When my stop came, I moved my leg out into the aisle to stand up, and bumped her with it in the process. As I stood up, I hastily apologized in English, just from instinct. Her response? She gave me a wry grin and winked at me. Kindest babushka ever. They are usually crusty old crabs who yell at any young creature in their way, but this lady actually WINKED at me. I got off the marshrutka, totally exhilarated, and gushed all about it to Camille. Unbelievable, and it made my day.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Some Happenings.
Until a couple weeks ago, my host mom was sick and kept mostly to her room. It's surprising to see her out and about, cleaning and talking and even, sometimes, laughing. The other night I was in the sitting room eating dinner when she and my host sister came into the room, arguing and giggling in Russian. I looked back and forth between them, and my sister finally asked, "Isaac Newton...How do you say his name? We say it several different ways." When I pronounced it for them, my mom and sister laughed and to each other and my mom gave her the "I told you so!" lecture in Russian. The sound of so much laughter from my mom was refreshing, and I felt pretty dang smart knowing so much about science...haha.
I was dreading a haircut, but my hair was gradually turning into a Euromullet. After school one evening, Jill finally convinced me to let her cut my hair. I was nervous. She was nervous. Jill had never cut girl hair before. Lynsie sat in the doorway of the school bathroom and played Sufjan Stevens on the iPod. Jill dressed me in garbage bags and soaked my head in the sink. I was so worried about how it would turn out; I faced the white bathroom wall and refused to look in the mirror until it was over. I sat in a chair and listened to the foreboding snip-snip-snip of the cheap scissors she bought at the market. Partway through the haircut, something gave way and I was able to relax. The three of us sat quietly in the school bathroom listening to the music and the sound of the scissors. I stared at the white wall, and felt drops of water run down my shirt, despite the garbage bag's best efforts. And I was happy.
A couple weeks ago, Camille and I arrived on the metro platform and found that a crowd had gathered. Then we noticed that the train was not pulled all the way up alongside the platform, but was stopped about a fourth of the way into the station. Highly unusual. It had not let it's passengers off yet, and the crowd stood by the front. I walked up to the edge of the platform, and peered down to see what everybody was fussing about. Twenty feet to my left, between the train and the platform, was an old woman. I couldn't figure out how she got down there without being squished like a bug--there's only about a six-inch gap between the platform edge and the train. An old man was lying on his stomach on the platform, reaching down to her. She just cried and crawled around. The station workers were yelling something to her, which, of course, I couldn't understand. Somehow they managed to get her up on the platform, and the police took her away. The crowd remained, so the old man waved his arms and yelled at everybody to go away. The train pulled the rest of the way into the station, and Camille and I walked away. A few minutes later, a woman walked up to us and asked us a question in Russian. We told her that we only speak English, and she switched languages, "Oh that's fine, so do I. Did you see what happened?" We told her all that we saw, and what little we knew. She told us that she was on the train that was stopped. They were still in the tunnel when the train abrubtly stopped and the lights went out. They waited a long time without knowing what was happening. The train was full, and people were pushing and yelling. I can't even imagine the chaos when the driver slammed on his brakes. Even when the train comes to a regular, slow stop, people fall over if they aren't holding on to something. I've had strangers catch my falling body. But to have the driver actually slam on his brakes because a woman was down on the tracks--it must have been like being in a car accident. We think that this is what must have happened: Somehow, the woman fell(?) down onto the tracks while waiting for the train. The driver saw her as he approached and tried to stop as quickly as possible. Even though there's only a six-inch gap between the platform and the train, I guess there's some room underneath the platform where she took refuge. Camille and I asked the woman who was on the train if she had ever seen anything like that before. She, and every other native Kiev-ian we asked, said that they had never seen that happen. That night I dreamed about hiding under the station platform as the train came storming in.
One particularly rainy, cold, trafficky day, we only had two kids show up to school. That's right, TWO. Jill was home sick, so Lynsie and I were teaching by ourselves. Liza showed up on time, and we thought she was going to be the only student, but Igor showed up twenty minutes late. Fortunately, these kids are both in the older class and are quite fluent in English, so we had it easy. Instead of having normal classes, rotating teachers every half hour, Lynsie and I both hung out in the classroom and the four of us just had a party day. During opening exercises, Lynsie and I sat in the student chairs while Liza taught us the school rules, did the weather chart and the calander, and lead us in the alphabet song. I think we are pretty genius, because it was fun for her, fun for the teachers, and she was still practicing English. Part way through opening exercises, Liza ripped the loudest fart and then just giggled. I didn't even know that a little body could produce a sound of such caliber. Igor hadn't shown up yet, so we three girls just laughed till we cried, squeaking out poots in between. For the first class, we frosted cookies and put white chocolate chips on top. Igor showed up part way through, and the four of us ate a week's worth of sugar. Lynsie and I took turns leading the kids in different activities, but we mostly just played. At one point, the four of us were playing Old Maid, so we put some music on. As soon as the music started, Liza threw down her cards and started dancing without any prompting from us. This is Take Two, on camera. Remember that part in Mean Girls with the little sister in front of the TV? Yeah...basically Liza.
In Drama class, we decided to introduce the Ukrainian children to Britney Spears. Seven-year-old Liza was shakin' it like her financial health depended on it, and she required backup dancers, so we promised we would follow along to her moves. Because that's what any good teacher would do, and we are fully invested in her education. We figured that since the music was in English, they were still learning! Camera man: eight-year-old Igor.
This is Liza. And Liza's favorite mode of transportation.
I was dreading a haircut, but my hair was gradually turning into a Euromullet. After school one evening, Jill finally convinced me to let her cut my hair. I was nervous. She was nervous. Jill had never cut girl hair before. Lynsie sat in the doorway of the school bathroom and played Sufjan Stevens on the iPod. Jill dressed me in garbage bags and soaked my head in the sink. I was so worried about how it would turn out; I faced the white bathroom wall and refused to look in the mirror until it was over. I sat in a chair and listened to the foreboding snip-snip-snip of the cheap scissors she bought at the market. Partway through the haircut, something gave way and I was able to relax. The three of us sat quietly in the school bathroom listening to the music and the sound of the scissors. I stared at the white wall, and felt drops of water run down my shirt, despite the garbage bag's best efforts. And I was happy.
A couple weeks ago, Camille and I arrived on the metro platform and found that a crowd had gathered. Then we noticed that the train was not pulled all the way up alongside the platform, but was stopped about a fourth of the way into the station. Highly unusual. It had not let it's passengers off yet, and the crowd stood by the front. I walked up to the edge of the platform, and peered down to see what everybody was fussing about. Twenty feet to my left, between the train and the platform, was an old woman. I couldn't figure out how she got down there without being squished like a bug--there's only about a six-inch gap between the platform edge and the train. An old man was lying on his stomach on the platform, reaching down to her. She just cried and crawled around. The station workers were yelling something to her, which, of course, I couldn't understand. Somehow they managed to get her up on the platform, and the police took her away. The crowd remained, so the old man waved his arms and yelled at everybody to go away. The train pulled the rest of the way into the station, and Camille and I walked away. A few minutes later, a woman walked up to us and asked us a question in Russian. We told her that we only speak English, and she switched languages, "Oh that's fine, so do I. Did you see what happened?" We told her all that we saw, and what little we knew. She told us that she was on the train that was stopped. They were still in the tunnel when the train abrubtly stopped and the lights went out. They waited a long time without knowing what was happening. The train was full, and people were pushing and yelling. I can't even imagine the chaos when the driver slammed on his brakes. Even when the train comes to a regular, slow stop, people fall over if they aren't holding on to something. I've had strangers catch my falling body. But to have the driver actually slam on his brakes because a woman was down on the tracks--it must have been like being in a car accident. We think that this is what must have happened: Somehow, the woman fell(?) down onto the tracks while waiting for the train. The driver saw her as he approached and tried to stop as quickly as possible. Even though there's only a six-inch gap between the platform and the train, I guess there's some room underneath the platform where she took refuge. Camille and I asked the woman who was on the train if she had ever seen anything like that before. She, and every other native Kiev-ian we asked, said that they had never seen that happen. That night I dreamed about hiding under the station platform as the train came storming in.
One particularly rainy, cold, trafficky day, we only had two kids show up to school. That's right, TWO. Jill was home sick, so Lynsie and I were teaching by ourselves. Liza showed up on time, and we thought she was going to be the only student, but Igor showed up twenty minutes late. Fortunately, these kids are both in the older class and are quite fluent in English, so we had it easy. Instead of having normal classes, rotating teachers every half hour, Lynsie and I both hung out in the classroom and the four of us just had a party day. During opening exercises, Lynsie and I sat in the student chairs while Liza taught us the school rules, did the weather chart and the calander, and lead us in the alphabet song. I think we are pretty genius, because it was fun for her, fun for the teachers, and she was still practicing English. Part way through opening exercises, Liza ripped the loudest fart and then just giggled. I didn't even know that a little body could produce a sound of such caliber. Igor hadn't shown up yet, so we three girls just laughed till we cried, squeaking out poots in between. For the first class, we frosted cookies and put white chocolate chips on top. Igor showed up part way through, and the four of us ate a week's worth of sugar. Lynsie and I took turns leading the kids in different activities, but we mostly just played. At one point, the four of us were playing Old Maid, so we put some music on. As soon as the music started, Liza threw down her cards and started dancing without any prompting from us. This is Take Two, on camera. Remember that part in Mean Girls with the little sister in front of the TV? Yeah...basically Liza.
In Drama class, we decided to introduce the Ukrainian children to Britney Spears. Seven-year-old Liza was shakin' it like her financial health depended on it, and she required backup dancers, so we promised we would follow along to her moves. Because that's what any good teacher would do, and we are fully invested in her education. We figured that since the music was in English, they were still learning! Camera man: eight-year-old Igor.
This is Liza. And Liza's favorite mode of transportation.
Monday, November 2, 2009
When Pigs Fly
This past week we had our second (and last) vacation until the end of the semester. Three of us took an overnight train to a city in western Ukraine called Lviv. The day before we were supposed to come back to Kiev, swine flu hit the West big time. Everybody in the city walked around wearing surgical masks, or with a scarf over their faces. We got back to Kiev early Halloween morning, assuming that Kiev would be calmer since it's not in the West. No such luck. When we got home, we found out that the government imposed a 3-week forced vacation for all schools and the university. Normally, this would be the answer to every child's prayers. Unfortunately, vacation is not so exciting when it is -2 degrees Celsius outside, and the government has closed all restaurants, businesses, museums, stores, cafes, clubs, theaters, cinemas, etc. Public gatherings are illegal, so church (at least FHE and Institute classes), parties, etc. are officially against the law. Several girls' host families aren't even letting them leave their houses, and one girl has to wear a garlic necklace. Please note that almost everybody is going around in surgical masks. On Friday, the last mask in Kiev was sold for a hundred bucks. Pharmacies are closing because they are out of medicine, and the ones that still have drugs have inflated prices by about 500%. The government isn't letting anybody in or out of the country, except for "pressing business." There is talk of closing the borders of our city as well.
Hysteria at it's best.
So what does this actually mean for me? Three weeks of mind-crunching boredom. At first I was really excited to have our one-week vacation extended to a month, but it looks like it's not going to be the prayed-for vacation that I thought it would be. It's too cold to play outside, and there's nowhere we can go inside since everything's shut. So far I have read about half of "Mansfield Park," and a few of us are hanging out at one of the schools learning dances on YouTube and eating brownie mix. I don't know what we're going to do once all the brownie mix is gone...
Hysteria at it's best.
So what does this actually mean for me? Three weeks of mind-crunching boredom. At first I was really excited to have our one-week vacation extended to a month, but it looks like it's not going to be the prayed-for vacation that I thought it would be. It's too cold to play outside, and there's nowhere we can go inside since everything's shut. So far I have read about half of "Mansfield Park," and a few of us are hanging out at one of the schools learning dances on YouTube and eating brownie mix. I don't know what we're going to do once all the brownie mix is gone...
Cast of Characters
The people who made the places:
Michal, airport angel
Tiger-breasted Kate, England
Crazy-eye Sean, Irish, Slovakia ride, glitter tattoos
Anna, Balloon Hostel owner
Karolina, worker
Barbara, worker
Bartok, brother of Anna/worker
Jacob, solo-travelling German
Tom, Australian astrophysicist, gorgeous
Harmonica Dan from San Fran/London
Eric, earned a cold shower
Dave? Polish, with crazy hair
Andrew, from Portland
Suza, travellin' Mama
Ashleigh, Australian, Ginger Monkey worker, paintballing, orangutan
Dror, Australia, sloth
Dan, Australia, jaguar
Jimbo, Ginger Monkey owner, Australian, delicious
Nick, Australian, fantastic drunk dancer/singer, paintball
Damien, Australian, paintball
Saint Jimmy, Australian, hot chocolate, paintball penguin
Kate, Australian, hamster
Patrick, Australian
Chrissie, Australian
Whitney, cool pants
Perry, San Jose
Ian, Irish
Andy, Australian, nap bed
Ryan, Australian
Chris, Australian, magic tricks and curls
Michal, airport angel
Tiger-breasted Kate, England
Crazy-eye Sean, Irish, Slovakia ride, glitter tattoos
Anna, Balloon Hostel owner
Karolina, worker
Barbara, worker
Bartok, brother of Anna/worker
Jacob, solo-travelling German
Tom, Australian astrophysicist, gorgeous
Harmonica Dan from San Fran/London
Eric, earned a cold shower
Dave? Polish, with crazy hair
Andrew, from Portland
Suza, travellin' Mama
Ashleigh, Australian, Ginger Monkey worker, paintballing, orangutan
Dror, Australia, sloth
Dan, Australia, jaguar
Jimbo, Ginger Monkey owner, Australian, delicious
Nick, Australian, fantastic drunk dancer/singer, paintball
Damien, Australian, paintball
Saint Jimmy, Australian, hot chocolate, paintball penguin
Kate, Australian, hamster
Patrick, Australian
Chrissie, Australian
Whitney, cool pants
Perry, San Jose
Ian, Irish
Andy, Australian, nap bed
Ryan, Australian
Chris, Australian, magic tricks and curls
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