First stop: Chernihiv

After a couple days of official Peace Corps business at a dormitory style hotel, my host family came to greet me and take me to their home to help immerse me in Ukrainian culture for three months. I’d be living with Valentyna, a 65-year-old retiree, and her son Dima, who’s 31 and a musician. Dima speaks fluent English, and that helped make life easier for me. Our mutual appreciation for music also helped us form a natural bond. Stepping inside their clean and cozy apartment, I immediately smelled the aroma of home cooking and anticipated sitting down for our first meal together. But first, we relaxed in Dima’s room and listened to some music from his impressive CD collection. He’s a big fan of 90’s hip hop, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw he

had Son of Bazerk, an album my childhood best friend and I used to jam to back in the day. For the next three months, Dima’s room would be a haven for relaxing after the day’s Ukrainian language training, maybe do a little homework, but still mostly speak English. We’d listen to music, watch movies and boxing matches, meander through Youtube videos and take virtual trips around the world on Google Earth.  And on one special occasion, Valentyna brought us dinner in there so we could eat and watch the Indy 500 live.

I knew I was going to have to lean on my faith to get me through my two-year service, and one of the first things I did was find out where the nearest Catholic church was.  As I headed out the door on Sunday morning to go to Mass, Valentyna had just come back from her Orthodox church service, leaving early so she could direct me to the church. And she didn’t just drop me off, she stayed for the whole Mass. That really touched me and I couldn’t help but get a little weepy-eyed sitting there in the pew as she turned my hymnal to the right page (which was a bit useless as I couldn’t make out the words).

She also made sure I got to the apartment where my group’s language training classes were held, walking me there and back the first couple of days. There wasn’t much communication along the way, but I did start to learn a few new words in Ukrainian, like bus (avtoboos), bus stop (zoopinka), school (shkola) and building (boodeenuk).

їсти, їсти! (Eat, eat!)

One thing I commonly read before coming here was the legendary hospitality of the Ukrainian people, and how they love to feed their guests. Man, is that ever true! I started out trying to eat everything that was placed in front of me, but it just wasn’t possible every time. But Valentyna is a great cook and I probably gained at least 10 pounds during my stay. It’s absolutely true that it’s mostly a meat-and-potatoes diet here, and always with bread on the side. I mean, it would be sacrilege not to have bread with your steaming bowl of hearty borscht. Or not have your borscht without a dollop of sour cream on top. Actually, once when Valentyna was away visiting her mom, I forgot to add the sour cream. When she called Dima to check up on things, I guess he mentioned that I didn’t have it with sour cream. Then he asked me, “Mom wants to know why you didn’t put сметана in your борщ.” Well, I certainly wouldn’t do that again!

The Wonders of Cabbage (and Other Folk Remedies)

Not having a car (or my bike) and walking everywhere was a big adjustment. I already had issues with my ankle from an old basketball injury and I was feeling the pain from all the walking I had to do. To help reduce the inflammation, Valentyna had me start drinking water mixed with turmeric powder (I was familiar with turmeric’s anti-inflammatory properties). We also tried overnight alcohol compresses, which did seem to make it feel better, but the alcohol started causing skin burns after awhile. For her next treatment, she would place raw cabbage leaves around my ankle and wrap it up with an old scarf just before I went to bed. I really got a kick out of such a peculiar healing remedy. I don’t know what felt better, the cooling effect of the cabbage leaves, or laughing as nurse Valentyna bandaged up my bum ankle in magic капуста leaves.

Before I knew it, three months had passed and I’d made it through pre-service training. Following Group 51’s swearing-in ceremony in Kyiv, I’d be heading to my new home in Mykolaiv, in the south of Ukraine, to begin my two-year service working with an organization that helps veterans affected by the war in Eastern Ukraine. In reading the blogs of many former Peace Corps volunteers, it’s not uncommon to hear about tearful goodbyes upon leaving their host families. In my case, it was no different. I tried to hold it together while Dima and Valentyna waited with me to board the bus. I thought about how they opened their hearts and home to me, genuinely caring about me and making me feel like part of the family. And as we gave each other a hug, yes, tears were in our eyes.