I’m nestled between a tiny babushka holding a bouquet of flowers, and a teenage
boy who would never make it through a metal detector with the 53 spikes jetting
through his face. How I love Ukrainian diversity…
It was a cold and rainy walk to the metro this
morning. The stale alcohol and smoke-soaked clothing meet the damp air and could choke you if you inhale too deeply. I quickly find myself breathing
through my mouth. I never knew the smell of liquor could turn my stomach so
much, but 3 weeks have about done me in.
It’s every man for himself as you shove
your way through the crowds, praying you’ll file off of the metro before the doors squish you. Before I hit the door though, a man three times my size stumbles
into me, grins a golden smile, and the odor sweeping off of him is so pungent
that I turn my head for fresh air. He mumbles something in Russian, uses me as
a stabilizer, and trips off the train, slamming into one of the station’s
pillars. He leaves me there staring, battling between annoyance and compassion.
Compassion wins out though and I can’t help but wonder what has caused such
hopelessness in him. What has become so difficult that he’s decided life isn’t
worth walking through sober? I just can’t imagine ever thinking things were so
bad that I had to dissolve reality. Thank goodness…
At first, I thought men like my incoherent drunken
friend were a rarity who only frequented the metro platforms and small train
cabins. ((You know who I’m talking about…the sloppy drunkards that justify
rubbing against every woman they pass. Their stench sticking to your
clothing.)) But then I noticed men and woman a like boarding public
transportation with liters of beer in hand, downing swigs like it’s coca-cola. No
one seems to stare but my American teammates and myself. It’s one of those culture
shock moments that rattle me pretty regularly these days on the Race. Some more
disturbing than others…but all upsetting.
Watching these men stumble around the metro
triggered another thought this month. Where did this all start? This
addiction and abuse. A desire to wipe out truth. Then recalling the history I’ve
learn throughout the walking tours of each city we visit, I’m clued into a
possible explanation. I’m amazed to see how the haunting history of the
countries we’ve been in, continue to permeate the nations current people and
culture. The shame, control, and fear that have directed so much of Ukraine’s
past is evident in its people. No one smiles. Few are patient. It’s cold. So,
perhaps the drinking started to loosen them up? Or maybe it’s just there to
help them forget. Ukrainians will admit their country is learning to be happy,
learning to dream, and learning to hope. Maybe the alcohol was a stumbling
block placed to distract them from such 
phenomenal discoveries.
history’s chains over the country of Ukraine. I can’t help but pray similar
prayers over my own country and its people. It makes me reflect on how American
history haunts us. I mean we’ve been
through a journey. We’ve battled for religious independence. We’ve battled for
gender and racial equality. We were all under-estimated, robbed of
freedom, and clawed our way to independence. I watch as Americans today still struggle
daily for independence. They struggle to prove who they are and what they’re
capable of because they’re so concerned with what other people think of them. But has our fight for independence warped into an inability to be
submissive? Have we become too prideful in the fights others have won? Do we
hate what is different in color, religion, or gender, even though America was
suppose to be a melting pot of freedom? Hmm…Lord, we can’t seem to ever get it
right. Teach us.
