by Lani Horowitz
“I’m one of those boring business volunteers who
teaches courses like marketing to college students,” I warned a
fellow Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) when I offered to help out at her
summer camp in western Ukraine. To my surprise, volunteering for two
summer camps meant not only that I had to quickly learn how to teach
English to teenagers and little kids, but I also needed to re-learn how
to play games like checkers and “Duck, Duck, Goose” — which
I surely haven’t played in some thirty years.
One concern was that I would be working at camps in Western Ukraine,
where — surprise — Ukrainian is primarily spoken. In my city
of Chernihiv, Russian is the primary language. My other concern was that
I would — surprise — work with children. Except for visiting
my young nieces about three times a year, I don’t spend much time
with children. On the other hand, I might learn something, contribute
somehow to the development of some children in Ukraine, and actually
have fun. In fact, the latter turned out to be the case.
The first camp was an overnight camp called “Youth Leadership Camp,” sponsored
by the Lviv Youth Employment Center. The camp was held at Konvalia, a
camp facility in Truskavets, about two hours south of Lviv.
The camp facility itself was bare bones — even though the children’s
parents paid hefty tuition (grant funds covered volunteers’ food
and lodging and all supplies related to programming costs). The Youth
Leadership Camp gave twenty-five teenagers the opportunity to learn about
a variety of topics — business, advertising, health, environment,
debate, gender issues, and more. I was there to teach English two hours
each day and provide general exposure to Americans.
The organizer of the camp, PCV Cristina O’Keeffe, created the programming
for the camp from scratch. She actually had never been to camp before,
but with diligent research and common sense she designed a training program
for Ukrainian college students to learn how to run the camp. In the end,
these Ukrainian volunteers taught most of the lessons and kept the show
running, with Cristina taking a backseat and giving occasional guidance.
In between the lessons, debates, and speeches, we played countless hours
of checkers, Scrabble®, and Monopoly® — imported from America.
One twelve-year-old boy, Anton, wanted to play Scrabble® all the
time. More than once, I would find him waiting for me outside the stall
in the bathroom just to see if I wanted to play. By the end of this eighteen-day
camp, our spending 24/7 with each other meant a sorrowful departure — the
children were literally weeping at the thought of leaving their new best
friends. And, Cristina and I choked back a few tears, knowing that we
may have touched the lives of the future leaders of Ukraine.
The second camp was not just a camp for kids in the small town of Pidvolochisk
(population 10,000), but it was also a camp for PCVs — all fifteen
of us who showed up to help. Our demographics probably matched what Peace
Corps looks like worldwide: nine recent college graduates, five retirees,
and I — the monkey in the middle — at age thirty-six. Two
PCVs hosted us in their apartments, where our sleeping bags lined the
floors like the rows of kielbasa at the bazaar. Neither of these volunteers
had hot water, so we all took turns boiling large pots of water to take
baths. The weak plumbing system meant that toilet paper had to go in
the garbage can, certainly not a pretty sight with so many of us. Feeding
this group was also a chore.
This day camp was sponsored by Pidvolochisk’s School #1 but was
free for any child in the town. PCV Elizabeth Mendenhall organized the
camp. She bought most of the supplies herself or had items generously
donated from America — such as baseball bats, gloves, and balls.
Using the school gymnasium and the town’s public stadium, we held
two sessions daily. Approximately forty children attended each session.
In the morning, we offered basic English lessons for kids between five
and ten years old — covering the alphabet, numbers, and colors;
in the afternoon, junior high and high school children learned about
American culture and history, within the limits of their language abilities
(and ours). Each session lasted two hours, with the second hour usually
left for playing games. I had no idea that little kids could play “Duck,
Duck, Goose” for an entire hour. As well, I was fascinated by the
interest and enthusiasm of the older kids when we played baseball, made
tie-dye shirts, and wove friendship bracelets.
Now, I am back in Chernihiv. With laundry to do (all hand washing),
vegetables to be devoured and canned for winter, and school lessons to
be planned, I am like little blonde-haired blue-eyed Yulia in Pidvolochisk — who,
everyday, asked me in Ukrainian (three times until I understood her), “When
can we go play?” Somehow I doubt it will be another thirty years
before I play “Duck, Duck, Goose” again.
Originally published in the 2004 November/December
issue of Camping Magazine.
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