Last Tuesday I went to school donning
my work clothes to work on my school's HIV/AIDS memorial garden, part
of my project funded by PEPFAR (President's Emergency Plan For AIDS
Relief). We planted red roses in the shape of the HIV ribbon, painted
benches with statistics and ribbons, and will erect a memorial stone
in honor of those that died of HIV. Though the plan was to have the
garden ready by the Last Bell Ceremony for the previous week where we
would have an unveiling ceremony, there we were still working.
Actually, there were two last bell ceremonies, split up thus because
of the UEFA cup that is to take place this June in Ukraine, making
for a pretty awkward ceremony. The schools in Ukraine have been
moving their last bells and graduation ceremonies up so that it would
not coincide with the UEFA tournament. My garden would miss both
deadlines. We were supposed to work on it on Monday. Actually, we
were supposed to work on it all of the previous week, but one of the
school groundskeeper's mother had passed away and the other was sick.
So there I was, diligently stabbing the
soil with a shovel, digging a small trench along the 138 meter
perimeter of the garden for the borders while blisters slowly formed
on my palms, thinking about all the uncertainty and mishaps that I'm
drowning in. I and my school staff have been burdened by my visa
situation. I had to leave the country a few weeks ago in order to
re-enter and get a new visa. Within about a month of my re-entry, I
need to get myself registered. Ukraine passed this law recently
requiring foreigners to register in their place of residence. As we
can't own any property here, it takes a landlord or host family to do
this. Nobody is willing to register me because to register someone as
a retiree requires one to give up one's government subsidy. Almost
everyone in my town is a retiree. Even the ones that aren't retirees
have this misconception that if one registers someone to their
residence, that person can somehow claim ownership of the property.
In short, it is going to be an ordeal.
A camp that I was supposed to work at
in June got postponed to an indefinite date due to a food poisoning
outbreak. It is the same school that I trained at two years ago in
Obuhiv. It was supposed to take place from June 1-10. Up until today,
when I called the director to see if there was any news, I had no
clue when to expect to go.
My neighbor, Viktor, just passed away a
few days ago. My only interactions with him consisted of hellos, good
days, and the numerous times he came to my door begging to let him
borrow cash for “bread”, which we both knew was for beer.
Sometimes he'd do the low bow, putting his head to the ground,
reminiscent of the buffoon, Fyodor Pavlovitch from The Brothers
Karamazov. The other day I was walking back from school to find the
funeral procession taking place outside of my apartment building. I
stood there and witnessed the sad scene taking place.
My landlord had told me some weeks ago
that he wants to move back into his apartment, effectively kicking me
out. Amid the frenzy of looking for both an apartment and someone to
register me, last week I asked my neighbors if I could move in with
them and they agreed. Natasha and her mother Yeva would take me in
happily. A few days later I found that though they could still allow
me to live with them for the remainder of my extension they wouldn't
be able to add me to their apartment registration because their
documents were outdated. Natasha had a sister that passed away about
10 years prior and they never updated their registration document.
Well at least I had a place to stay. That is, until just a few days
later, they notified me that Natasha's dad from Russia is moving back
in with them. Once again, I'm homeless. Now I'm taking it day by day,
waiting for a call telling me that someone's found an apartment for
me and that someone is willing to register me. And with each passing day I
get a little more nervous that I'm going to be deported. My visa
expires on the 30th of this month. I'm torn. My plan is to
stay and I'll do everything I can to do so. But going home is going
home.
Digging those trenches felt so symbolic
of my current experiences. Two years into my service, ready to
extend, I find myself jumping through hoops to get registered. People
coming and going. From ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Like graves, I
dug those trenches. Toil. Uncertainty. I dug knowing that I'd never
really see the roses flower until I came back, if I ever come back. I
just realized that we planted the other red flowers in order to have
something to show until the red roses actually bloomed. I won't be
able to see the final results of my project.
The toil felt like one of the few
certain things to me at that moment. I literally didn't know (still don't) whether I'd have a place to live in the coming weeks or if I'd get a
call to come to Obuhiv suddenly. All I knew was the task in front of
me, the raw flesh oozing pus from my palms, my shoulders and arms
burning from the monotonous work of digging. It was humbling. Not in
the way that people misuse when they get a Grammy or an Academy Award
and say, “Wow. Thank you. This is truly humbling”. No. I felt
utterly humbled, humiliated, downtrodden. And I really mean it. When
all your plans fall through and you have to take everything day to
day, that is humbling. When you find yourself digging trenches
literally and figuratively, that is humbling. When people around you
are dying and you realize that one day someone will be digging a hole
for you as I was doing at that moment, that is humbling. I was
reminded of the first two chapters of Ecclesiastes.
And I can't help but think that maybe
that is me thinking most clearly. In light of Truth, I was put in my
place.
“Now listen, you who say, 'Today or
tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry
on business and make money,' Why, you do not even know what will
happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a
little while and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, 'If it is
the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that.'” - James
4:13-15
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