Spring is Here....I Think

I've always loved spring. It is one of my favorite times of year – enjoying the freedom to play outside again, taking pictures in the wildflowers, wearing that pretty new dress on Easter Sunday... I have great memories of wonderful Texas springs, before the unbearable heat of summer begins to beat down.
We're in the midst of spring in Russia, too. I know this in my mind – I see the date on the calendar (March 23!), people tell me we're experiencing spring weather, children will go on holiday next week, etc. Somehow, though I have quite a hard time believing that spring is actually here.
We did have a few days of good weather – it actually got up to zero once or twice! However, it has snowed every day this week and is back around -10, although a few afternoons have warmed up to -5. I am experiencing some aspects of Russian spring that I had previously only read of: finding frozen rats and birds on the playgrounds and streets as the snow begins to settle; 6-inch thick ice which covered the sidewalks (there actually are sidewalks!) now melting and forming rivers you slosh through daily; icicles growing longer and longer, hanging treacherously off rain gutters, as the snow on roofs slowly melts (in St. P they say that 3 or 4 people die each year of falling icicles). I have also discovered that the slippery snow and ice in winter is NOTHING compared to the slippery ice in spring. You see, every day that it begins to warm up, even just a little, the hard-packed snow that has covered the sidewalks for the past 5 or 6 months begins to melt. Then, as soon as the sun goes down, it freezes again, making almost every sidewalk in town quite adventurous. I still laugh hysterically when I, or one of my companions, slips and falls mid-sentence as we walk down the street. Passersby look at me strangely, for this is quite normal for them and they fail to see the humor.
I have been warned, however, that summers here are not all fun and games. Apparently it can get all the way up to 20 degrees Celsius – about 80 degrees Fahrenheit. This is always said with such horror – twenty degrees! “Just wait, Jessie. Not even you will like it that hot.” I wish I could capture the expressions on people's faces when I tell them that in Texas, it sometimes gets up to 40 degrees Celsius.
This week has been mercifully slower, as I have been sick with whatever the rest of the town is sick with. All the schools have been quarantined until the beginning of April. My students were rather surprised at my shock at the news of a quarantine; apparently this happens nearly every year. They usually have a quarantine when, on average, 200-300 students in each school are sick for several weeks in a row. A few of my students were hospitalized back when it was really cold – they say they have trouble with their kidneys when it gets down to -40. I didn't know this could happen, and still think something might have been lost in translation, but I got the general gist: Cold Russian winters and Russian springs bring lots of sickness with them.
Other than the shock of “spring” things are pretty much the same. I am enjoying getting to know my students better, and am beginning to wonder how I will continue seeing them in the summer. It is fascinating to observe the different ways they do many of the same things I went through at their age – finals, applying for college, deciding what to do with their life, etc. Needless to say, they approach things very, very differently than I did. But they are young and excited about what the future holds, and I am excited for them as well. People are beginning to ask me what I will do when I go back, which usually leads to the question of “Where will you go back to?” Frankly, at this point, I have no idea. I'm considering a few schools, but am not yet ready to make any major decisions. So, we'll just wait and see. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the spring.

Living in Darkness

When I was a little girl, my uncle was in a band – The Clark Street Band. Of course, I was absolutely convinced he was the best singer in the entire world and that no other band could possibly be better than his. I remember sitting with my family at Maggie’s one night, a bar/restaurant in San Antonio, when I was about five, listening to him sing “Pretty Woman.” I was so proud of my uncle and so proud that I was related to him. Later (maybe days or weeks, I really don’t remember – after all, I was 5), as my family was driving somewhere in the car, “Pretty Woman” came on the radio. I was ecstatic and began to express my joy at hearing my Uncle Dennis on the radio. Needless to say, much laughter followed and I was kindly informed that this was not, in fact, my Uncle Dennis, but someone else singing the song. No matter what was said though, I knew that my uncle was still the best in the world, and if he wasn’t on the radio, then he certainly should be.
Over the past month, as I have settled into more of the “daily” life of Russia, I have been overwhelmed by feelings of living in darkness. While it is now getting much lighter outside (yesterday the sun didn’t set until almost 6!), it was very, very dark for a very, very long time. And I was only here for the last half of the worst part of the winter. The days that reached -40 seemed to stretch on forever. But there is a darkness that pervades this country that is much more oppressive than the weather… It took me a while to notice it, and you probably wouldn’t be able to put your finger on it if you were only here for a visit. For this is a beautiful land, with its plentiful forests, numerous palaces and museums, etc. If you were visiting friends or even just acquaintances, they would make you feel like the most wonderful person in the world, and whisk you around showing you all the beautiful sights there are to behold. And yet the people walk with a heavy step. Their backs are hunched over, the faces bent down, and no light is to be found. Russian history is my newest obsession, and in discovering, in great detail, the stories of their past, I have found just a glimpse of what may explain their present state. I always knew that Russians were an oppressed people, but before now I never realized how oppressed they have actually been. I have often wept as I read of the horrors committed to thousands under the tsars, only to be multiplied into the millions under Communism. And, sadly, I see the same kinds of things being done today – sometimes in the same way, and at other times the oppression takes a different form.
My students always ask me what has surprised me in Russia, or what has been difficult to become accustomed to. Only two things have been a difficult struggle for me: one, not valuing the individual, and two, not having a sense of hope. When Russians walk down the road, they do not smile at those that they pass, neither do they even acknowledge them. You are never supposed to look anyone in the eye; saying “hi” to a stranger would be unthinkable. While this might not sound like a big deal, it invades everything they do and reflects their entire way of life. Imagine going through life not being smiled at by anyone but those in your family, or those with whom you are very well acquainted. I can now tell you – it’s lonely, and it’s depressing. People have even told me that if you do smile at someone one the street or look them in the eye, then you are either being hypocritical or are trying to trick or deceive them in some way. “Why would you smile at someone you don’t know?” is the favorite question of everyone when we discuss this. I try to explain to them that there’s so much more to this than just a smile – it’s more about extending dignity to everyone, just because they are a person, just because everyone deserves a little glimmer of grace and hope in their life. And, tragically, this is a concept that do not understand.
Along with this comes their lack of hope for the future. Russians are fighters and survivors; they have had to be. They will do whatever it takes to survive, and, I must say, they are incredibly creative and resilient. I cannot imagine living the life that some of these people have lived, especially the older members of society. But when I talk to my students about problems – problems in Tihven, problems in Russia, problems all over the world – they are quick to recognize them, but not once have I had a student who actually thinks that something could be changed, even more ludicrous is the suggestion that they could in fact change anything. This is very difficult for me to deal with for a few reasons. One, I am a fixer; if I see a problem, I want to find a solution, fix the problem, cross it off my list, and move on to the next thing. The last class I shared this with laughed out loud and told me that I needed to find another country. That just doesn’t work here. And they are absolutely right – I have tried to “fix” things here and, every time, have failed miserably. But this is much more troubling for other reasons – why, I want to ask them, do you go on living if you don’t think that life can improve? Why strive for things if you don’t think you can help another person? Some of them go on because that is what they have done for centuries: they are survivors. Others don’t go on and they don’t strive at all. They become almost zombie-like in their actions and all of the good things of life evade them.
While this may sound over-exaggerated and pessimistic, I don’t think it is. Recently I had the pleasure of meeting the Nazarene missionary in St. Petersburg. We had a wonderful time together, talking, laughing, and discussing these very issues. I was so glad to hear someone else agree with my observations (someone who has been on this side of the world for 10 years, no less) and share my heartache. Part of the difference between me and them lies in the fact that I am an American, and part of the difference is that I’m incredibly optimistic and naively believe that I can do whatever I put my mind to, if I only work hard enough. But that doesn't explain everything – these people really are living under an air of hopelessness and oppression. And I don’t know what to do about it, and it breaks my heart.
I still desire to improve the lives of those around me, although I have no idea how to go about this. In the meantime, I’ll continue living as I always have. Most of the time people just attribute my different actions to the fact that I’m American, but sometimes they come right out and ask. The other day I told a man to go in front of me in line at the grocery store. He didn’t say anything at first, but looked at me quite suspiciously and stepped ahead of me. A few minutes later he turned around and demanded to know why I told him to go first. Quite surprised, I struggled to say that I had several things to buy and it would take me longer. He didn’t say anything, but just turned back around and made his purchases. As he walked past me toward the door, he stopped, looked at me in wonder again, mumbled a quick thank you, and nearly bolted for the door. Later as I was skiing with my friend Natalia, another skier came toward us on the trail. I smiled and nodded at him, as I always smile and nod at other people when we’re enjoying the same outdoor activities, whether it be skiing, hiking, biking, etc. This man then stopped skiing, turned around, and asked why I smiled at him. Natalia told him we were smiling because he was skiing without a jacket. Satisfied, he turned around and continued on his way. I was shocked. How sad it must be to have lived for 50-something years and be so surprised by the smile of a stranger that you would break social norms to ask them why they smiled at you.
Most of the time I feel like I’m very, very far away from my family, my friends, my “previous life” as I have come to think of it. But then there are moments that snap me back, and make me realize just how small the world is. Last week in my aerobics class, the last song played was “Pretty Woman.” As soon as the first words were uttered my head shot up in surprise and I looked quickly around the room. No one else even noticed, of course; they were all continuing with their stretches. But suddenly I was five years old again, sitting in Maggie’s, listening to my uncle sing. I could hear his voice, I could smell the food, I could see exactly where everyone was sitting. I’m sure the rest of the women wondered why I was teary as we finished aerobics that day. I almost told them it was my uncle on the cd, just to see what they would say. While this may seem ridiculous, sometimes it is the smallest of things that serve to put me back on my feet again. The world is not such a big place, and while Russia is incredibly different, it’s not impossible. People still want to be loved, still want their lives to be noticed, and still love it when you go just a little bit out of your way to tell them that they are special. So while I may not be able to fix the leaky bathtub, I can help mop up the water; I have not yet found a home for my homeless 10-year-old friend, but I can buy him bread and cheese; I have not found a way to change the government so that my friends actually get paid for the work they do every day, but I can cook dinner for them and we can spend the night talking and laughing (or trying to talk, anyway). Life is sometimes hard, but I still believe that life is good. There is hope. Sometimes it’s just a little hard to find.