Letters from Molochansk

by Ben Stobbe

July 6, 2006. When I left Molochansk at the end of last October the sky was cloudy and the weather had turned cooler. Now on my return the sky is cloudy and the locals tell me the weather is cooler than it was a week ago. The appearance of other things has remained the same--mothers weave their bikes with their on-board children and cars bob and dodge the sharp-edged potholes, meandering around  weaving bikes and darting dogs.  Calling doves and the territorial, yapping dogs wake me up early with the thought ‘it’s good to be back.’

The Mennonite Centre with its freshly-polished interior looks well tended. The Baergs and Regehrs along with the witty, caustic and caring comments of Kate, our Director, have kept old programs going and started new ones. However, my arrival was incomplete. My two luggage bags were left in Frankfurt and my Linda remained in Victoria.  She will come after teaching summer school.

When I came into the Mennonite Centre that first morning in my crumpled airline clothes looking like a hockey player in the playoffs (no shaving kit), the dear ladies took charge. Olga, our receptionist, phoned Austrian Airlines in Dnipropetrovs’k and after a bit of a run-around contacted the baggage people.  They agreed to start the hunt. Ira, our cook, suggested Olga is far too nice a person to take on this job--for this you need to be more demanding and assertive. If I let her be in charge of this project she’d get the bags delivered and they’d even throw in few extra bags just to get her off the line! Well, it turned out I didn't need Ira’s persuasion--Olga’s charm worked; the bags were delivered that very evening right to my apartment door–a trip from Dnipropetrovs’k which is well over 2 hours. And I didn’t need any other bags. I was impressed with Austrian Airlines and with Olga.

At least a couple of times each week we have a common lunch in the kitchen. Often it is the highlight of my day. On Thursday Ira made borsht. Now, Ira’s borsht is very good on its own but it's even better
with a good dump of heavy Ukrainian sour cream. And so when the sour cream was handed about in a plastic squeeze container, I noticed that others were liberal in their application. They put gobs in, and so
did I, declaring that I love the Ukrainian sour cream. At this point Kate said, “well, then you will like this mayonnaise even better!” I held my composure and slurped it down like everyone else. I had another bowl, this time without mayonnaise. Mayonnaise belongs in sandwiches, not as an add-on to borsht. This fine meal was topped off with a slice of bread decorated with cheese and a sardine.

One thing that I suspect hasn’t changed that much is the interest of men in watching women work. For example, our maintenance man is a very good and conscientious worker.  But as soon as Olga, our receptionist, takes out the broom to sweep the steps and another lady comes out to weed the flowerbeds, he pulls out a cigarette and watches. I feel embarrassed and recall last year when a similar incident happened. I responded by grabbing a rake and joining the women. The  watching male was not upset--in fact, I suspect he felt sorry for me.  The women, however, were very upset. This was not proper that I would join them and rake  the lawn. Join my gender and smoke the weed--they would go and pull the weeds out of the garden.  The women do win out in the long run as shown by demographics; their life expectancy is much longer than that of men who fill their lungs with tar while the women exercise.

On Friday I asked Olga where I could buy eggs, as the market was already closed. Olga said that Ina, a staff member here, was going home and she would take me to a neighbouring store (close by and cheap, I was assured). They didn’t have any eggs. But dear Ina was not going to let me get out without buying something. I needed milk, so I bought that. Then she wanted me to buy sardines; however, I just couldn’t see myself living off those. I could see she felt a bit hurt that I didn’t buy sardines and I felt bad. Then her eyes lit up and she explained to the portly man behind the counter that I wanted something that resembled a baked square. I knew I could not reject her a second time so I said “da”. When he wanted to cut a 4x6 inch piece, I showed him I only wanted a 4x2 inch piece. And a good decision that was, for his knife cut through that pure fat as though it were water! Ina was overjoyed, now I can be fattened up with good Ukrainian salo. The top has a tanned, bacon look, the inside is white. It does have a nice smoked odorific waft to it. I fear a conspiracy has developed among the ladies to get some weight on me.

After taking it home, I asked Kate what I could possibly do with this, short of giving it the heave-ho. She said, “You are so lucky to get smoked salo--that is a real treat. Cut it in thin slices and put it on bread.” “Won’t it raise my cholesterol and be hard on my heart?” I asked. And then this highly trained nurse said, “Not if you take it with beer. The beer stimulates your liver and the liver gets rid of fat!” We Canadians have so much to learn.

We intend to put our weekly offerings on a blog site. So if you go to www.lindaandben.blogspot.com.  you will see this message and have an opportunity to join others in providing responses. Hopefully in future reports we can start some discussions. We do, of course,  very much appreciate personal correspondence, at benlindastobbe@yahoo.ca.