Got some prints made of shots I took of the kids at the baby house. I am putting together some framed photos and a little photo book to leave with the staff as a thank you for all their help during my time with them. I teared up while picking out the pictures and again when I looked at the finished prints. These little buggers have really been impressed upon my heart and the idea of leaving them now, when I have no idea where they will all end up, is breaking my heart. I've kept these feelings at bay so that I could continue with my work and not just break down and cry everyday. However, as the days count down to my departure, I am finding it more difficult to stay strong.

What am I doing here?

This question has been on my mind as I am preparing to leave Ukraine in just 5 short weeks. I was just looking back at the title description of this blog and musing about how much broader my experiences have been than I originally imagined. My 'research' here has expanded to include looking at issue of occupational justice in the community. For those who aren't OTs and aren't following my jargon...that basically means that I have expanded my scope to not just learn about life for a child in an orphanage here, but to examine life for a child with a disability in any form and how the context of their environment supports or inhibits them from having the freedom to engage in activities that they deem meaningful for their lives.

I have been asked to present about my research at two Ukrainian universities in the next few weeks and sitting down to try and compress all that I have learned and seen into a 15 min. powerpoint presentation has proved daunting. I find myself wanting to compartmentalize my experiences to simplify it but the more I try to separate all the things I have learned, the more I see the connections between them.

One interesting piece I am hoping to use in my presentations is a commentary about the inaccessibility of the public spaces in town. I am going to take photos and videos of how someone in a wheelchair (for example) would need to travel to get down one street. There is no consistency in repair requirements so one shop owner can repair the sidewalk in front of his shop and create a curb...the other can make a curb cut (small ramp to allow wheelchair to pass easily). The result is that there is a ramp to cross one side of the street and then a giant curb on the other side, so I have actually seen people in wheelchairs ride in the street because it is impossible to navigate the sidewalks. Also, the trend is to use pavers for the sidewalks right now and I can only imagine how uncomfortable that would be to ride over in a wheelchair..not to mention how dangerous for someone with a visual impairment (one paver sticking up and its a recipe for a fall!).

Я українкая

Okay, NOW it is truly official. I am a Ukrainian girl. I know that some of my other posts may have alluded to my ongoing assimilation here but this morning something happened that really, I think, means that I have made a rather complete transition. Okay readers, settle down, I am going to ease your suspense :)

It all started with a puddle. Not just an ordinary puddle. This one was special in a number of ways. This puddle refused to conform to the generally held belief that puddles should be round in shape, and located out of doors. Oh no, this puddle wanted to be indoors, more specifically it wanted to live in my kitchen and it didn't want to restrict itself to a tidy (and easy to eliminate) pool under the broken faucet from whence it came. Instead, this highly evolved puddle knew what to do to prolong its slippery life. It decided to expand and snake across my kitchen floor and hide parts of itself under my refrigerator, my heavy cabinets and my kitchen table.

I gathered an arsenal of towels, sponges, mops and even (in one last desperate move) bravely traversed the sodden battlefield to turn off the water source for the whole apartment. Nothing worked. That pesky perseverant puddle just would not quit! HELP! I cried. Come quick! I shouted into the phone. But oh no! Another snag… my landlady is in the hospital…she has just given birth!! Thusly, she cannot come help today but, ‘maybe tomorrow’. Wha? Tomorrow???…I quickly struggle to explain that no, she should really not come try to help me tomorrow after just giving birth! ‘Okay Sarah, tomorrow we will send someone to help you.’

Loyal readers….you may be wondering to yourself just now, ‘what bit about this story is telling me how Ukrainian my dear friend Sarah has become?’ Your confusion is warranted because the part of the story that made me realize I was Ukrainian was what happened at the end of this scene.

This morning I woke up to an early phone call from the sister of my landlady who announced in very rapid Russian that she was standing outside my front door and she had a repairman with her. So I groggily went to open the door so they could help me tame the rouge puddle in my kitchen. Now, in America if a repairman comes to my house I do my very best to stay out of his way but stay close enough to just keep an eye on what is happening. I have even had repairmen come to my apartment here in Ukraine before and that is just want I did. Today, though, was different. As soon as he went to work and she sat down to wait I found myself filling my electric kettle and beginning to arrange some biscuits and dried fruits on a plate. I found myself setting the table with three teacups and asking if they would care for some tea. Then…the part that REALLY proves I am a Ukrainian girl now is that when they both politely declined I KNEW in my head that they were just being polite and that I should ask at least one more time to discern if they really would like some. So, sure enough I poured myself a cup and asked again if they would care for some tea. And…then they both said yes and we all sat down together and had a lovely little breakfast of fruits, biscuits and cashews. The repairman would do a little work and then sit down to sip his tea and then go back to work. This all seemed utterly appropriate at the time. I found myself just sitting at my table thinking about how funny it would be to find myself sitting down to a lovely cup of tea with my repairman in the US. HA! To think, it took a puddle for me to become aware of my cultural assimilation. I told you it was no ordinary puddle ;)

Gettin' cold up in them thar hills!

Tonight at 2am it is time to "fall back" in Ukraine...yep, daylight savings time... which basically means that the sun will be on the horizon tomorrow evening as early as 3:30 and it will be full darkness by 5:30.....ughhh, depressing!!
I am learning how Ukrainians have evolved to cope with such dark, depressing weather...lots of alcohol! Or lots of time nice spent with friends and family....I just had a lovely evening with Irina and Sergei and the kids...played hide and seek with Eva and had a little dance party to some accordion music. Good times! It rather makes me wish that my life in the US were not so comfortable...sometimes it takes a little collective discomfort to spur such a lovely sense of commiseration. This is one of many things I hope to continue in the states (maybe minus the discomfort).

P.S. to Mom and Dad....Irina and Sergei loved their gifts...Sergei nearly fell over when he saw the whisky and proceeded to drink a third of the bottle! He said I am no longer allowed to come back to visit unless I bring this whisky with me every time! hehe

I think I just got dumped…

Today I had the strangest sensation after having a very unexpected conversation with the wonderful woman who started out as the main therapist/teacher at the Rainbow Center (the rehab. Center for children in Artemivsk that I helped renovate). She had been working as a volunteer for the past two months with the promise that she would have a salary once we were able to secure more donations. Things were moving slowly and I felt terribly that she was volunteering so much of her time (3 hours a day!) without the pay that was promised but I wasn’t sure what to do to make everything move along more quickly…I’m new at this whole thing you see. Well, while back in the US for those 2 weeks I figured out a short-term solution and a way to pay her for at least 4 months.

So, yesterday I rode up to the center at the times she was usually there to give her the good news! I arrived to locked doors and a deserted room. Plan B…head to the main office to speak to the director of the building. She was thrilled to see me back after being away so long and let me into the Rainbow Center space. I could see that more work had been done after I left…there were new decorations on the walls… evidence that kids had been there working long after my last visit. The director explained that the therapist had stopped coming two weeks prior, stating that she could no longer afford to work without any pay. I nodded my head. I wasn’t surprised…I had been so grateful to her for sticking around as long as she had. But, I was confident. Now that I had figured out the financial situation, she would be happy to return to work!

So, I called the therapist and asked if we could meet this morning. She seemed hesitant but my resolve was unshaken. Surely she would be overjoyed to get back to work…she would be so happy to see that I had worked everything out to pay her for the two months prior and for two additional months! Everything would be fine. I started making a list of all the grand ideas I had for the future of the center. She would love them. She would ooh and ahh and be so inspired! I was looking forward to a great meeting.

This morning I woke to rare sunshine and I thought, yes…it is going to be a great day…maybe D and I can get back to working in the rehab center as early as this afternoon! I spotted her in the park and her face lit up in a smile and she jogged to give me a big hug. A happy reunion!! We strolled a bit and exchanged cordialities and then found a nice bench in the sun to sit and have a little chat. Thankfully, I let her speak first, otherwise I can’t imagine how much more dreadfully the whole scene would have played out. While she explained (in Russian) the whole story I nodded my head in understanding…thinking that I already knew the whole story. Thinking the whole time “I wish she would just stop talking so I can pull out my magic envelope of money and we can get to the giggling and the excitement!” Suddenly something she was explaining was not fitting with the story I had worked out in my head…wait, are you saying you can’t continue working at the center…ever…again…???? But…wha….no…it doesn’t make sense….I don’t understand (and not just because it was said in a foreign language)…

I felt a bit like Prince Charming pulling out Cinderella’s glass slipper when I pulled the crisp white envelope out of my bag and held it in two hands saying “but don’t you see…I have the solution right here!”

No, Sarah…she said. I need more stability. You will be fine without me. You will find someone younger, someone smarter, someone more experienced than me. The center will be great. But no, I cannot work there anymore…the paperwork is already filed.

I teared up. I’ve never quite felt this way before. Never in my life have I been dumped…until now… I have been dumped by a middle-aged Ukrainian woman…in a foreign language. They didn’t cover this in the orientation…

Double-“0” Dales

To preface this posting for those readers who weren’t privy to my silly college nickname, “Dales” is a name that many of my college buddies knew me as, and one that many of them still call me.

This posting is coming after a two week stint back in the US during the latter part of my year in Ukraine. The main goal of my trip was to get a new visa for Ukraine to replace the one that was apparently void after I reported my passport stolen back in April (more on that whole story later). I had to stay in the country long enough to ship off my documents to the Ukrainian Embassy in Washington, DC and wait for them to make it back to me. I planned the trip as best I could so that I could make the most of my time.

The title of this posting is fitting for how I have felt during this month, leaving Ukraine for a brief visit back to the hustle, bustle, and familiar convenience of the US, that then hopping on a plane to return to my “other life.” In so many ways I felt like a stranger in my own country (had a near panic attack the first time I went to a mall again…so many colors and lights and people!) and yet it was so easy to just fall back into the role of domestic goddess (baking pies, trips to the pumpkin patch, cooking dinner, and weeding the garden). Weeding the garden? Wait a second…something doesn’t compute here….one day I am weeding the garden in Saint Louis on a sunny day and the next I am bent against the wind, wearing a fur-collared parka, shouting in a foreign tongue after a man with a briefcase and a gun (picture on his shirt…).

Yes, this double life of mine really keeps me on my toes. At times it is surprising how easy it is to slip back into “character” depending on my surroundings…I surprised myself at how few slipups I had. I only once tried to order a burrito at Qdoba in Russian.

As my time in Ukraine begins to wind down I find myself feeling more and more reflective about my time here and what the future of my love-affair with Ukraine will look like.
When I first became acquainted with this crazy-cool country I just knew that I would be back someday and I feel the same still. There is most definitely a corner of my heart and mind that is firmly connected to this place, and now to many people here.
Yesterday as I spent my morning at the orphanage I could tell something big was happening...the office was in a tizzy, people running this way and that and there was a group of strange women lurking. The hurried conversational exchanges in Russian were much too fast for me to really understand what was going on and so I was quite confused when I left for the day and saw a big group of staff members (and the strangers) outside with one little girl who I have become quite attached to during my time here. Her hair had been rag curled and looked just adorable, she had on a new dress and was just grinning away as her teacher secured a colorful flower crown on top of her ringlets. To join the group felt intrusive at that moment and since I wasn't sure what was going on, and there was no way to ask discretely, I just excused myself and started for the door. As I turned my back I felt I knew what was going on, little Olya was aging out of the orphanage and was transferring to the older-child home and this was her "graduation" ceremony.
I felt a pang of sadness as I walked away, trying to be nonchalant, feeling a little hurt in my heart that I would not see this spunky little heart-breaker again. I resisted the urge to run back and scoop her up in a giant hug and tearfully tell her how much she touched my life and how much I wished such good and happy things for her. No. I can't do that. I am an adult. An outsider no less. It is not my place. I should be strong and not give her any reason to worry about what is to come. I should help teach her to deal with big life shifts with ease. I saw a picture in the orphanage office today that was taken of the oldest group of kids when I first arrived. Of the original 10 there are only 3 children that remain in that group. The others have aged-out and gone to boarding schools, or the house for disabled people, or adopted. Throughout this experience I have tried to stay professional and not allow myself to become attached but now I sit here and cannot imagine how I will not be haunted for the rest of my life by wondering what became of each of these children.

There are so many parts about my being here that I struggle to reconcile. My whole life I have been a champion for adoption but this experience has given me the chance to get up close and personal with the process and my ideas about it are challenged/reaffirmed/dashed all at once and all the time. At times international adoption seems like the perfect solution and other times it seems almost cruel in that it separates children from their heritage and identify. Some days I feel so righteous about giving a little love and affection to the kids, and other days I worry I am just setting them up for heart break when I leave.
Today I tearfully read a note from a friend who adopted three older children from Ukraine 3 years ago. Her youngest boy, 8 years old when she brought them home, is the type of kid who never complains-she was writing about how he is sick right now and hasn't made a peep about it. She shared that she knows the reason he is that way is because in his past he never had anyone around to take care of him or feel sick about the fact that he was hurting. She wrote that her beloved son must have had some compassionate caregivers at some time or another because he still retains an intense capacity to love...but that even they must have known that his life was going to be a tough one and he would have to learn how to take care of himself.
. I admire the work that the orphanage caregivers do, and like those who cared for my friend's son, they too work by the unwritten rule that they must prepare these children to be strong and independent and somewhat indifferent to the comings and goings of others in their lives. It has been hard enough on be these past 7 months to try and stay unattached and I don't even spend every day with them like these women do. I know why they do it, I even know that they must do it-both for their sanity and for the child-they don't know what the future has in store for these kids and they feel they have a duty to prepare them as best they can. However much I know about all this adoption stuff, however much I read the literature or see with my own eyes, for now I can just think of one thing to be sure of...that every child deserves the right to have someone who is crazy-mad-sick in love with them and couldn't imagine just walking away without so much as a good-bye hug
To my surprise today I found out that Olya was not in fact gone, she was being visited by her mother who is currently incarcerated. I couldn’t tell you which one out of the group of strange women was Olya’s mother , but I hope that Olya can, and I hope that she got a giant hug from her when they parted ways later that day.