Together We Made a Small Event in History
About two months ago, The Day, jointly with Olha Herasymyuk, launched a campaign to collect books for a library destroyed by fire in the township of Chornukhy, Poltava oblast. It all started with a letter a village teacher sent to the popular Ukrainian television hostess, telling her about the accident. Olha Herasymyuk is our regular contributor. She told us the story, and the Editors proposed collecting books for the hamlet’s children. It became clear from the outset that the project would be a success. People willingly responded and came to help. Contrary to stereotype, society at large also responded. In fact, not only Ukraine did, but also the diaspora, although they are still anxious about the library, afraid it might again catch fire. And they distrust the local authorities. Recently most of what we had collected was delivered to Chornukhy. We set off at eight in the morning. The Kyiv delegation was made up of Olha Herasymyuk, representatives of the Shevchenko Committee, House of Writers, TSN film crew led by Lesia Sakada, Elia Plokhenko, an active coordinator of the project (hostess of the popular talk show “Without Taboo”), this author, and The Day’s staff photographer Mykola Lazarenko. Most importantly, there were two truckloads of books. Transportation and fuel were provided by ATEK, a firm in Kyiv run by Serhiy Shcherbakov. ATEK had also donated its entire library. The second shipment will include the rest of the books stored at the editorial office, the remainder of the ATEK library and bookshelves... Almost 200 kilometers passed in conversation, we were a bit nervous, anticipating the meeting and watching the landscape as we drove along. The outboard thermometer read -4.5 o C just outside Kyiv, but the mercury rose to -2.5 C as we reached Poltava oblast. We stopped in Pyriatyn, as Olha Herasymyuk said they sold delicious pyrizky (traditional meat pies) and had that famous filling station figuring the once popular Soviet comedy The Queen of the Gas Pump, starring Nadezhda Rumiantseva. We bought some of the delicacies, and they were great, but the filling station had since changed. For worse, of course. The film crew van sped on its way and we proceeded at a more sedate speed to keep pace with the trucks. Then we espied Chornukhy.
THE LAND OF SKOVORODA
It is an ordinary district center in an ordinary Ukrainian province. Streets with names and monuments reflecting the extinct epoch. There were interested looks from local residents edging closer to watch the unusual visitors, the Poltava dialect with a soft “l” (standard in literary Ukrainian until 1933 - Ed.), and a sense of vast expanse and heady clear air (after polluted Kyiv). Everything was like in most other townships, except that the land which had once sired one of the most brilliant Ukrainians, Hryhory Skovoroda. Everybody knows this here, and some still argue about where exactly he was born, in Chornukhy or in a neighboring village... We were met warmly and sincerely. There was a crowd of school students, teachers, the library staff, local journalists, and officials. We told them we had brought books for the new library and the regional authorities told us Poltava oblast was placed second in some kind of rating. Olha Herasymyuk addressed the children, saying we could accomplish many things if we joined hands, making our life, the surrounding world better. She had an enthusiastically attentive audience, as everybody knew the star hostess. She was truly the number one celebrity that day and she deserved it, for reviving the library was her idea, and she had done a great deal. Then there were autographs, questions, lively discussions, and again autographs.
Finally the books started to be unloaded, the students forming two lines, passing books, stacks, and bundles of them. Meanwhile we were shown the new library. It was on the premises of a boarding school for senior students from outlying villages. We were told the school had been built fifteen years ago, and the floor in the corridors cried for replacement. The new library, meant for both adults and children, occupied six rooms, along with a storerooms, etc. Here repair was made by the staff. There was new wallpaper, and everything else was freshly painted. The library staff numbers ten: nine women and one man, the library manager [director] Mykola Bulda. All work part time, receiving 85 hryvnias ($17.00) a month each, last paid in September. We realized we lived in the same country but worlds apart.
All the wiring, fixtures, sockets, and switches were replaced to prevent another fire. We were told, however, that the old library with a stock of 50,000 books that had burned down that spring had also caught fire three years ago, after that all the wiring and things had been replaced. The fire brigade’s report read that it was short circuit. But the wiring was new. We went to the fire department and were told simply that nothing would have happened if they had a night watchman. They also said the new premises were good enough for storing books. There are fifteen firefighters on payroll and Chief Viktor Volyk admitted that they had not been paid since the parliamentary elections seven months ago. Nor did they receive any money with which to buy gasoline, yet the tanks of the fire trucks were full. How did they manage?
A trick of the local trade, a sort of know-how. This author would not have mentioned it but for local color. We asked them straight out how they made their living. The hefty guys were ill at ease, but gave us a straight answer. Their women took care of their needs. I recalled an important local official mumbling something about Poltava oblast being placed second in some ratings. Suppose it was placed 25th or 27th, then what? And there was still no night watchman at the library.
A SEPARATE SHELF
Despite all shortcomings, the library manager was happy: new premises, new books. There was lots of work to do, and they went about wholeheartedly. Now their life made sense. Before we arrived the library stock numbered 10,000 books collected across the district and donated by individuals and organizations responding to the campaign called Give a Book to Chornukhy as a Present. True, there weren’t enough bookshelves, but this could be taken care of later. The main thing was that they now have books. I might sound cynical, but I thought the new library was much better than the old one. Given the current status of the library sector in Ukraine, years would have passed before people in Chornukhy saw so many new books, among them unique works, if ever. Most importantly, all the books, still unregistered, were there. None were stolen (which is a common occurrence nowadays through this country). Moreover, there is hardly another public library in Ukraine with a complete collection of Lina Kostenko, every book affectionately signed and presented by the author. I brought the collection in my knapsack all the way from Kyiv and handed it personally to the library staff after the ceremony. Will they have a separate shelf for it?... Actually, the library is in operating order. In any case, the reading hall is ready.
Once again I remembered the fire, the second in a few years. There is still no funding, no watchman. I am not given to Freudian reservations, but I heard the word arson several times — not from village gossips but from people holding important regional posts. Otherwise they all dutifully stuck to the official version, obviously trying to put the best face on the matter. Of course, no one would have said anything publicly, there are not many paying jobs in the region, and I could also sense their anxiety. This is only additional evidence that we live in the same country but worlds apart, like dimensions crossing somewhere, forming a twilight zone filled with acrid smoke from burning libraries.
It gets dark early this time of year. We spoke to the library staff, were treated to delicious homemade salads, Poltava holubtsi (stuffed cabbage), baked potatoes, and roast meat. We were treated by people living on 85 hryvnias a month, demonstrating another national trait: hospitality. God bless them.
We felt different on the way home — not because it was dark and we could see nothing around us. We relived the experience, pondering things we never actually noticed, living in our comparatively affluent capital... Also, we were tired the way one feels after completing some task or another. The closer we approached Kyiv, the better were the road conditions. We passed Boryspil and before long saw what had once been the city of golden domes. I got off at Poshtova Ploshcha. I did not feel like taking the subway. Its clickety-clack somehow disagreed with the remains of the serene atmosphere in the land of Skovoroda. I went down the street to the Podil named for the glorious Cossack Hetman Sahaidachny, headed for Kontraktova Ploshcha. I walked past the statue of Skovoroda facing the Kiev-Mohyla Academy. It was our second meeting that day, and I bowed to him.
— P.S.: We would like to thank all those involved in and with the book-collecting campaign, all those carrying and transporting books, the school students unloading them... The Day will certainly list the names of those responding to the project in one of its nearest issues. Actually, the lists are at the library in Chornukhy as part of the history of its revival. Indeed, a lot can be accomplished by joining hands.
