My new apartment: I've seen it and it's big: about 500 square feet. Not America big, of course, but Ukraine big. This means three rooms: bedroom, living room and dining room (with kitchen and bathroom, of course) instead of the usual efficiencies that the other volunteers live in. Why did I get this big apartment? Well, because being a teacher trainer means that Peace Corps pays for my apartment. Other volunteers, their work sites pay for their apartment, and the sites pay what they can afford. Because of the deal worked out with the recertification institutes, Peace Corps pays for my apartment, and Peace Corp can afford a lot.
Still, it took some serendipity to get this nicer apartment. I was supposed to have a much smaller efficiency, and my coordinator was going to take me to see it. I happened to be in Kyiv that weekend for a meeting, and my regional manager made mention that he thought I was getting George and Gail's old three-room apartment. George and Gail were an elderly couple that were Peace Corps Volunteers in Zhytomyr before I got here. I said I hadn't heard about that, that I was getting a one-room apartment.
I later ran into Steve: "What's George and Gail's apartment like?" I asked him. Steve's eyes went wide. "Do whatever you can to get it. If it's price, I'd pay the difference out of my own pocket."
So I went back to my regional manager, said I'd love him forever if he could get me that apartment. Well, he made some phone calls and did, convincing my coordinator—who thought it was too big for me—that I needed it, and convincing Peace Corps to pay the money.
Everyone in Zhytomyr: Carrie, Steve, Mary and my host family had all seen the apartment while George and Gail were living there and were thrilled/jealous that I was getting it. And for a Ukrainian apartment, it is really nice. No bachelor, especially no teacher, could hope to live in a place this size. Frankly, it's not the "live at the level of those around you" Peace Corps philosophy (and yes, I feel slightly guilty about it) but I'm a little too selfish to pass it up. Plus, it's an affront to pass up something handed to you on a silver platter.
To make me feel less guilty, there's this: it hasn't been redecorated since probably 1950, my bed is actually two cushions on a plank of wood, and the water stops working about twice daily without rhyme or reason (George and Gail left behind big water
containers to store water for these times).
Also, it's freezing in the winter, has roaches in the summer and homeless people like to defecate in the stairwell (a Peace Corps supplied heater, Raid and an inability to smell are my solutions). That should tell you how much space is a commodity here: despite knowing all this (my host mother went on for about 20 minutes about the roaches) everyone pushed me to take it.
And the location is great, I can have dial up internet (although don't have it yet) and it has an old Soviet washing machine that still works (so no more hand washing clothes).
And here I was expecting a hut in Africa…