Seattle 1987

I sat on the gym floor, legs criss-cross-apple-sauced and fingers interlaced, as quiet as can be. I was five and spellbound. The guest speaker at our chapel was telling us stories of a place called Chernobyl, and about these orphans which are kids with no families, with knees the size of basketballs. Sick. And in need of help. These American nurses were allowed into a place called the Ukraine (they seemed surprised yet pleased) because they were doing (humanitarian) work to help the victims of the explosion. This will stay with me for the rest of my life and start a life-long love-affair with Ukraine.

Kyiv 2005

The first thing I noticed as I exited the airport in Kyiv was the relative size of everyone. No longer were the bodies narrow, hunched over. People moved around upright, with purpose and noise. It had been four years since my last visit in 2001 and I was anxious to find some of those places that haunted my memory. First is the orphanage, the smell of the building and food and soup, and the smell of children, but in the few years I was unable to visit, the orphanage had transformed partially into a day-school, as the government had shifted from large institutions to a smaller-scale foster-type system.