It wasn’t hard for our host family to spot us; with our round faces and camping backpacks we appeared like a herd of misplaced American turtles. They whisked us away in a white van to the house where we were staying. And thus marked the beginning of our Ukraine adventure.
I need to take a moment to describe our host home.
Autsanna is the driver. She speaks no English, but graciously agrees to drive us all over town in her white van. Sometimes with traditional Ukrainian tunes blaring over the speakers, we weave through traffic. The van tends to have trouble shifting gears right at the most appropriate times, such as when we are in the middle of a two lane road with cars speeding at us from both sides. But we always get out of it, sometimes with our fellow Ukrainian passengers giggling at us, the gasping and shrieking Americans. Autsanna also heads up the cooking committee, which has made sure we are well-fed here. We have been eating just about every two or three hours so far, full meals, which we attempt to finish each time because we don’t want to offend. Two days later and we are waddling around stuffed to the brim with meat, bread, dill and mayo of many varieties and salted pig fat, the Ukrainian national dish.
Maxim is our main host. He has worked in the gypsy ministry we are involved with for two years. He knows little English, but we whack through a thicket of laborious conversation with him. It is obvious that he cares about us and wants to make sure all is well. He made sure we knew not to “make a tragedy” when we descended the steep staircase from our sleeping quarters and he worried about us when we didn’t come home before dark. Whenever work or language barriers become difficult, Maxim always tells us “don’t worry, be happy” in his thick Eastern European accent.
Anya is our translator. Slender and calm, she descended on a scene of mass language mayhem at the end of one day of trying to communicate with no translator and no knowledge of Russian and saved the day. She is willing and ready to help and fill us in on what’s going on in the conversations around us.
The house is also packed with other Ukrainian missionaries who are friendly and happy, but no little English. We all grin at each other and chop our way through communication. It really is amazing how little language is needed to make a friend.
Other things to know about our humble abode:
-A rooster in the next door neighbor’s yard crows every hour or so. Well, I’m not sure if I can call it a crow. It’s more like a guffaw/death shriek. He has interrupted many a debrief session or naptime thus far.
-The house is guarded by a big white polar bear of a dog. Who is accompanied by a small white cat who finds it necessary to pee on our things. So far he’s got Stephanie and Jonathon, we have reason to believe that he plans to pick us all off one by one.
So, all in all, I couldn’t ask for a more friendly and quirky environment. I think I wouldn’t choose any other way to immerse myself in Ukrainian culture for three weeks.
