30.11.08

tis the end to yet another surprising weekend. Beginning with my second day at Piano Theatre and finishing right now, in relief. On friday Andrea and I spent the afternoon at Piano Theatre, I made make up sticks by rolling sheets of paper into tight cylinders and she wrapped juggling balls in deflated balloon sacks, while a teenage 'actor' rehearsed for his performance today (Sunday) andthen tried to control a workshop of deaf four year olds. this 'actor' is a boy of about fifteen who is deaf, but completely uninhibited- he is a pantomime artist and pulled us out of our chairs, embarssing us in front of Vladimir, and then tried to restrain a toddler that squealed in heart warming delight properly from the moment he arrived to when he left. I was strangely exhausted on Friday, Andrea and I parted at the bus stop with a brief hug (she and most of the other volunteers were travelling to Helsinki that night to renew their visas- after another week in St. Petersburg they will return in about twenty days ). I had decided to take a walk through the nearby park.

At this point, having just finished on arrival training, as the stinging memory of the forest was beginning to fade, i was becoming more and more agitated. desperate for some sort of respite from the city- which was beginning to confound a newly devlopinghome sickness and disillusion. However, upon entering the forest my heart sunk. even when i couldnt see the traffic and buildings (from pathetically inclining my head a certain way) i could hear the bustle. at least there was no one else around. i skidded down what may have been a frozen stream, until having descended far enough- i lost the noise! on the other side of me either the river Volga or Atta simmered about 200 metres away, and although i could still see the city on it's far banks finally there was peace. i followed the frozen stream for about thirty minutes, breaking the ice crust at first but quickenough to skip away. everything was black and white, but because of it- strangely forboding. as the wind became sharper and more chilled, and my nose gradually redder and redder, i literally felt sick at the idea of returning. on the bus back to SFERA i stood looking demoralised and grim. i am officially a bumpkin. i didn't realise how much room i need, and its really quite pathetic. during the on-arrival training we had an exercise 'risk prevention' where we were supposed to draw our fears, and then think of solutions. i drew a girl surrounded by people and ticking clocks, going crazy.

Natalja suggested that i should carry my personal space 'inside', and surely i should be able to preserve a bed of tranquility and peace within myself- that wont be weathered or disturbed by any external environment. but everywhere i feel accosted, and testifying to my own weakness, i havent even been the recipient of that muchhostility. today at church, i made friends with fraternal Ugandan twins who have studied here for five years. One of them- Marina is taking Dental Surgery and Vicki something else as intellectually challenging. and although they are half Russian, (and therefore half white) daily they are abused by strangers. Vicki walked past a couple once, carrying her shopping, and one of the twosome spat in her face while the other bared her teeth. They have been pushed off buses, and people have sat in their laps because they were 'too dark to see'. They hate it here, and have hated it for five years. This, their final year, is a countdown. They have consolation in their qualifications, but Vicki is studying in Russian so even that has been an on going struggle. Living in Nizhny has made them 'mean'; and truthfully how can you meet a fist with a bared throat? Even on Saturday night, as i travelled by bus with my South Korean and German friends to an event (which i will explain about in a minute), i noticed how ridiculed some of the other passengers seemed by Jehnya- stupid stupid boys going so far as to openly imitate his english and laugh. Another South Korean member of the church has been beaten up by skin heads. It's not that Northern Ireland is completely free of racism, but at least there is a dawning if not general acceptancethat there are other countries in the world. people here just dont seem to realise that russia is not the sun. and nothing appalls me more then racism, it is pure ignorance.

I am 'protected' in that my own nationality can be mistaken for something pleasing or glamourous, as Natalja told me, young russian girls tie their pony tails excrutiatingly tightly in order to pull at the corner of theireyes because they think its 'beautiful'. and the only run-in i have had with Russian gangs was last night as i walked to a bus stationalone, suddenly terribly aware of all the facist dangers of a Russian street at night, when from nowhere a group of boys suddenly surrounded me. Luckily enough, it was so one of them could get my telephone number! And upon my 'ya nye panymayou' (i dont understand) they reacted with amusement rather then disgust. To be honest i was sort of glad of the attention because it meant i had an entourage accompanying me to Moskowski Woksal, but when we descended into a pitch black tunnel my heart started racing and in a fit of completely stupid never-repeat-again-you-stupid-whore desperation and panic i agreed to kiss him on the cheek if it meant he would leave me alone. eventually after a few nervous 'ne hachos' and 'i have a boyfriend already' he finally left me with 'crayseva' (which is the ugliest word for beautiful). I havent been confronted with any open aggression or hostility- all the russians i hav met have been absolutely hospitable, but the stares and the constant awareness of alienation is beginning to grind.

There are times though, usually on the bus, when chinese looking unchinese russians get on- North Siberians. They, cladin their fur hats and leather jackets dont turn any heads. I love to see them, and they usually stare me in the same questioning affinity. Like that day in Belfast when Native Americans were performing some cultural presentation, and began motioning and staring at me- deluded that i was in some way a member of their community. It is like magic, that feeling of recognition. I am not Siberian or Native American, but i can be mistaken for it. It could just be that nice feeling of physical similiarity, but i think these people are beautiful. They look chinese, but are not so frail, i have only seen the men, who are more 'bulky' and have brown skin like tanned leather with these beautiful eyes, that are rounder and framedin thick dark eyelashes. Their eyes are properly black, like tarr or oil. They are kind of like seals, and dont belong on the over crowded buses, at all. of course im day dreaming again, and probably look nothing like them, but i do love to see them, though its very rarely.

On Friday night and Saturday morning i helped Sveta prepare food for her birthday party, chopping vegtebles, cheese and hams for the various plates of salads. During celebrations or gatheringsthey dont include the same lazy and unhealthy bowls of crisps and chocolate we serve, instead she took time to cook real food.

A purple salad with boiled cabbage, beetroot and something else, another salad with tomatoe, cucumber,sweetcorn, cheese and other stuff, another chicken salad etc. but everything bound together with enthusiastic helpings of the mayonniase russians love to eat- which they even take with soup; so that in the morning, when she servedleft overs for breakfast, my stomach bubbled all through the church service (i cant digest mayonniase that early!). When the first of the six guests arrived, two women and a man, i stood wringing my hands in my opened room, tryingnot to look as abysmally awkward and nervous as i felt- where i stayed until my mentor, Susha appeared. I have only spent two days with her during my stay, and although in all honesty i kind of dislike the notion of a designated agony aunt (but am also very grateful of having someone to call in case i am abducted or something, and appreciate the system in general), i was so relieved to see her. we sat down to a feast, where i was stationed beside Natasha; an attractive strong russian woman, with decorated nails and curled maybe dyed black hair,who despite not speaking english made me feel at home with her bluntness. i can see that she pities me being so young and alone in a foreign country. she introduced me to her daughter, a girl of about fifteen who had as little to say to me as i to her, and motioned to plates of salad in case i wanted a refill. in the russian tradition of toasting, she declared that Sveta should never wait for a man, instead men shouldwait for her. I made my own toast, which Susha translated- thanking Sveta for her kindness and other general embarassing stuff. I was pleased when one of her guests complimented the bracelet and necklace she was wearing, that was my birthday present to her. once again, after a time at the table, the most intimidating guests proved to be generally open, going so far to ask me, through Susha, how russian and irish men compare.

i excusedmyself early, leaving at 5.45 to catch a bus to menina square where i met Jehnya and Deborah. We went to a christian gathering of international medicine students. It was in a room of their hostel in some new corner of the city, a clean building with two security guards that looked at us in the retired bemusement of people who have given up trying to remember every foreign face that passes through the door. We entered a room of about forty. Nearly everyone present wasMalaysian, except for maybe three chinese, one korean, five africans (Zambean, a beautiful Kenyan and something else) and an American woman that has introduced herself to me twice, but i still cant remember the name of- she is the musicallygifted wife of the pastor of Vineyard Church, from Michigan- and has lived here for ten years. Outside the toilets, where i waited for Deborah i made friends with David. A Malaysian who has studied medicine for something like five years, with whom i reminisced about cruncy peanut butter, told me i had 'nice features', somehow guessed Kowloon was the area in Hong Kong where i grew up, misses malaysian food most of all, is completely brilliantly and unwittingly tone deaf, has a cheerfully round face and welcoming demeanor. i like him very much. the meeting began with a briefing of the christmas event they hope to host at vineyard on the 20th december (i gave David my telephone number so that i can help cook the food), and then the american woman took over- she wanted to finish the last two verses of a praise song they had begun writing about a month ago; which is quite good. After that the group practised christmas carols- which they will sing once in english, and then swahili, russian and chinese. As i helped cutting out invitations and sang along,all the uneasiness which had begun to well up in me over the past few days disappiated. It was like stamping the snow off your boots when you get inside, or brushing dust off your coat, or shaking tiredness out of your body. i sang Silent Night in Swahili with real joy, looking around me, realising that i was in Russia, in a room full of Malaysians, caroling. and it was beautifully hilarious. it was a really special evening.

as for today? if you are not bored of reading! this morning i went to Vineyard, made friends with an american girl called Mary; from Missisippi, who graduated from university last year and has spent the last fifteen months teaching english in Russia. She lived in Siberia last year, and is visiting Belfast in about a month- as she will be travelling around Europe. this tuesday she has invited Deborah and I for dinner. Also i conversed again with the americanwoman, who was very surprised to hear i was 18, having assumed that i was in my twenties- and then wierdly asked if i had 'been alone as a child'.

After church, i rushed to Domactoire, where Piano Theatre was due to put on their show at 3pm. The son- Daniel, laughed when i exclaimed that it was 'very excellent'. The kids are properly talented, and i never realised how mesmerisingpantomime is. Before the show i had knelt in the dressing room, stroking Pasha- who had a clown's collar wrapped around his neck, in another one of those surreal moments. i was surrounded by suitcases bursting full of panto costumes, deaf 'actors' preparing for a performance, a talented family devoted to not only their art- but people, realising what russian experience i had come for. during rehearsals i sat in the empty audience enthralled by Vladimir's sixteen year old daughter, who i met for the first time today (after exchanging emails in August), that i have also forgotten the name of- she is spectacularly talented. So confident in her individuality that she can dress up in clown outfits and swan around on stage without the stuffy vanity and self consciousness of most girls her age- that i am probably still guilty of. Noticing my amazement Vladimir said something that particularly struck me, 'it is a special method; first imagination and then movement'. Some members of the cast were as young as maybe nine, and in one particularly outstanding skit the littlest boy and girl dressed up as an old sailor and his wife- he could not forget his days at sea, and neglected his doting elderly wife; who eventually having had enough resolved to leave, but in the end he takes off his sailor coat and wraps her up against the cold and their love prevails. I was happy that Sveta and Sirosha went, Sveta seemed particularly impressed- she is so sweet! She asked me via her lap top if they will have another performance. Entrance is free, and i noticed at the end that Vladimir was being interviewed by a woman who had a microphone. Almira also came, along with Angelie and Angelie's eight year old daughter Tasha.

Almira and I had arranged the previous day to spend the evening with Angelie, as she would be visiting her mother in law and i could have a cultural experience in meeting a 'real Russian babushka'. Really i would have agreed to anything, just to spend time with Almira. After the show, when the last member of the audience signed his name at the 'feedback stand' which i was manning, i went with Almira, Angelie and Tasha- getting in the second 'machina' (car) that i havebeen in this month. there is such precious comfort in sitting in a car and knowing that therefore, at least you are still on earth. even if in front of you there is a car seeped in inch thick dust, and even if the traffic is carnivorous, and your driver shouting down her mobile in thick hysterical russian. we drove to another part of the city, Almira also discovering to her surprise, that i am only eighteen- joking that the eight year old Tasha should entertain me instead. She also made some strange inquiry about mychildhood.

As i repeated 'wow' to Tasha's gymnastics and the photos she showed off in the small living room, Almira and Angelie set the table. Tasha's babushka is one of the many grannies that populate the streets and buses, and arecentral to the russian family. The only other russian babushka i have met was this petite beaming woman who Vladimir regarded with obvious affection, and introduced to me before the show, a friendly dignified woman that was very welcoming and tried to converse with me about the little green irish people, leprecauns. she even promised in her limited english that one day she would show me her collection, and later found me in the audience to introduce me to her nephew. For dinner we ate traditionan russian borche (a cabbage and beetroot soup) and vinigrette (beetroot, potatoe, cabbage etc.), we also had mashed potatoes, parsnip and ham. And then some orange winter fruit that tasted very similiar to satsuma, and coffee, with i have begun to drink every day. I discovered from Angelie (via Almira's translation) -who works for a bank, that the brief upsurge in the Russian economy has been destroyed by the American economy crisis, as they are dependant on the American dollar. Being part jew, in her childhood Angelie's family moved to the most eastern point of Russia during one of 'Russia's anti-semitic moods', a region which has apparently transformed. Every time she returns there are more chinese inhabitants, they are almost the majority of the population, and are supposedly trying to 'assimilate' the border into chinese territory. Angelie also worked as a chinese missionary for a few years or something. Under the influence of her granny she became a christian at the age of 16, and has been one ever since- despite the persecution they faced under a communist culture. However, she has lost both her brother- a drug addict, and husband who died only a year ago; an alcoholic.

Substance abuse is a huge problem here, and recently i am beginning to notice the underlying signs. As we left the apartment and clamboured down the stairs, we passed what i would describe as more of a creature then a man. He stood drooling and mumbling, his eyes completely glazed over as though reckoning with some other world or lost inside his own, and he stunk. As we got into the car i also noticed a lone drunk staggering down the road, and other volunteers will talk about the men they see drinking early in the mornings. Here a packet of cigarettes cost less then a pound, and you can buy a bottle of vodka for something like two quid. in this society, where advancement depends on 'connections'as i have been told again and again, so much hopelessness seems to have grown up. Almira doesnt like russian films or books as they are too bleak and very rarely have happy endings, she also explained the appeal of America for russians, where if you work hard enough and are talented nothing can limit your progress.

Almira described her communist memories, all tinged by a feeling of 'sadness'- although she was loved by her family and neighbours and everyone around her, there was no colour or life, people were afraid of their opinions and sunken in a paralysing immobility. Angelie remembers that what she was being taught at in school- about 'Mother Nature', had conflicted uneasily with the scriptures her granny would read to her. but on the flip side, Almira also remembers that it was safe to roam the streets at 3am, or leave your door unlocked, there was no want so there was less crime. ive wondered what type of positive or negative phenomenom communism is, and after the first naive enthusiasms inspired by an ideology so completely contrary to the gluttony of my own capitalist culture, with every conversation i am concluding that it is not good. communism is about survival, but surely the broken man turns to alcohol in order to 'survive', finally exhausted. surely survival is what forces people like Marina and Vicki to harden their hearts and hate their persecutors. Survival is numbing your heart against pain, or blinding your eyes, but in doing so, amputating your body of all its sensations and abilities. Survival reduces and dilutes us, we are not meant to exist- we are meant to live! and the purging of individuality does not produce equality, it only stamps out identity, and purpose, and joy, and variety, and inspiration and creativity. and hope! it exchanges it for material basics.

after dinner, we moved onto the computer where we looked at a satellite map on the internet. i made out the russian spelling of Millisle and Ballywalter, and showed them the Newtownards Penninsula; nearly overcome at the possibility of zooming in close enough to see my house, but we couldnt magnify to that extent. they showed me where they are from, and then Almira drove me home.

p.s. i'm nineteen in 24 days!