When they first brought me here, almost two weeks ago now, to my new work place and home, I felt like a small child. I sat for a long time in a small office while Ionka, Larisa and Ivan discussed my future here in Ukraine. I listened while Lyuda did her best to translate for me and the others made arrangements on my behalf. When they brought me to my new home, I cried, even though I tried so hard to wait until I was alone to let the tears come. That made me feel even more like a small child. I could not understand what was going on around me because of the language barrier. I felt totally dependent on those around me, especially Larisa. the thought of doing something as simple as taking the bus alone, or buying something for myself, terrified me. It will be nice when I can go out and do things on my own without someone there to talk for me. I need to learn everything over agian, start from the bottom, like a small child.
The children at the Internat make me both happy and sad. They take me by the hand and show me around, babbling on in Russian, asking me questions I don't know how to answer. So Ijust laugh and smile into their sweet faces. They whisper about me to each other, which is funny because I don't understand their language. It seems you can tell the age of the child by the colour of their hands. The smaller the child, the blacker the fingers. They like to play outside in the dirt. Cracking open walnuts and eating the insides with their grimy hands, offering some to me as a gift. Or playing with a piece of plastic bag, wearing it as a cape. Clothes never fit quite right. Shoes too small, pants too big. Sandals where the toes of the wearer go well beyond the ends of the shoes. Boys trying to run while holding their pants up. The bedrooms are bright and sunny, and each bed is covered with an MCC comforter - the kind I was folding at the Material Resource Center in Akron one day a few weeks ago. There is little else in each room.
Early Monday morning, I was wakened while it was still dark by a mosquito's incessant buzzing in my ears. Or was it the rain and the thunder that woke me? It's hard to tell, as I noticed both things immediately.
The pillows I sleep on are big heavy square things. I think they are filled with feathers, and I like that.
When I sleep, I often have dreams where I am at home, and then I wake and find myself in Ukraine.
The children at the Internat make me both happy and sad. They take me by the hand and show me around, babbling on in Russian, asking me questions I don't know how to answer. So Ijust laugh and smile into their sweet faces. They whisper about me to each other, which is funny because I don't understand their language. It seems you can tell the age of the child by the colour of their hands. The smaller the child, the blacker the fingers. They like to play outside in the dirt. Cracking open walnuts and eating the insides with their grimy hands, offering some to me as a gift. Or playing with a piece of plastic bag, wearing it as a cape. Clothes never fit quite right. Shoes too small, pants too big. Sandals where the toes of the wearer go well beyond the ends of the shoes. Boys trying to run while holding their pants up. The bedrooms are bright and sunny, and each bed is covered with an MCC comforter - the kind I was folding at the Material Resource Center in Akron one day a few weeks ago. There is little else in each room.
Early Monday morning, I was wakened while it was still dark by a mosquito's incessant buzzing in my ears. Or was it the rain and the thunder that woke me? It's hard to tell, as I noticed both things immediately.
The pillows I sleep on are big heavy square things. I think they are filled with feathers, and I like that.
When I sleep, I often have dreams where I am at home, and then I wake and find myself in Ukraine.
posted by Anonymous at 4:03 am
1 Comments:
Ditto everything that Donovan said!
Thank you so much for starting a blog, Jill. Seriously, I feel like I am seeing a whole other side of you for the first time, which is sort of weird considering we lived together for 12 years!
Your writing is truly beautiful. I love how you talk about feeling like a small child then go on to write about the small children you are surrounded by...how they have such dirty hands, kind of like how you are getting your "hands dirty" in this new experience...how they offer things to you that are not quite adequate and yet are meaningful because they come from the heart, like how you are offering yourself, feeling not quite adequate because of your inability to communicate, yet what you are doing is so meaningful.
Praying it gets easier soon!
Love, Rachel
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