A Day in the Life of a UAid Direct volunteer
On May 16th , a simple mission turned into mess, but all are safe. So, it’s ok.
The mission: I was travel from Zaklad, Ukraine to the border, cross on foot into Poland, meetup long-term volunteer and friend, Mike, and then drive the UAid Direct van into Ukraine to prepare for the upcoming medical container delivery mission. Mike was to drive his car into Ukraine packed with aid for a different group.
Wendy, a long-term Phoenix volunteer, drove me 90 minutes to the border. We noticed the many stork nests with parents feeding their babies. A beautiful drive. The border crossing on foot into Poland went well – about 45 minutes. Mike picked me up and we went to the warehouse (formerly used by UAid Direct) to load up some nitrile gloves and first aid kits for another charity.
We picked up Marina, a Ukrainian who volunteers with an NGO that rescues animals and re-homes them in Germany, Denmark and the Netherlands. The crossing into Ukraine went well. This was my 22cd crossing into Ukraine.
A short distance into the drive in Ukraine, I saw Mike parked on the side of the road flagging me down. His car had a significant mechanical failure. He proposed that the van be rigged to tow his car to Zaklad. I had my choice to drive the van or the towed car. I didn’t think much of either choice, but I had no helpful alternative suggestions.
Mike rigged the tow. “Relax Rich, it will be ok”, he said. “Do not brake, but, if you need to brake just do it a little. Off we went with Marina in the passenger seat next to me. Marina spoke no English. But her body language did the talking, as she pressed her foot on her imaginary brake, as I tried to keep us from crashing into the van in front of us while not braking to hard as to constrain the van.
I couldn’t see what was ahead. I couldn’t anticipate sudden necessary stops or hills or anything else except the back of the van no more than three meters in front of me. It is a car from the UK, so the steering wheel is on the right-hand side. Marina was giving me advice in her native Russian. It was a natural reaction on her part. I understood not a word literally, but the tone and gestures made most directions surprisingly clear.
We went on for 15 km or so, but eventually I just couldn’t take it. My body tense from my foot poised over the brake. My back and arms tensing up. I knew what kind of roads and turns were ahead of us. It was causing extreme tension. I had to tap out and find another solution. We messaged Mike, after some confusion over how to do that because we didn’t speak the same language and I wasn’t in the position of handling my phone.
He pulled over to discuss the issue. We agreed to go about 5 km further until the next junction. We proceeded and stopped at the junction. Mike somehow found a mechanic who then came to the car to check it out. He advised that we needed to go to a garage. He led us back 10 km to a mechanic shop to get the car checked out. The diagnosis was that a critical bearing in the transmission had gone bad. I don’t really know details. The replacement cost would be $1500, more than the cost of the car. Or $800 for generic parts, or more than Mike has.
We moved the aid to the van and then left the car there. I knew I had let Mike down. He wanted the car at Zaklad. I later realized that towing of this type is commonplace here, almost a banality. And for folks who are used to getting things done no matter what, it must have seemed a bit weak on my part. But I am weak. And at the time I was averse to dying or even just smashing the car into the back of the van.
We all drove in the van to Lviv in order to get Marina to the train. Along the way we passed a terrible motorcycle accident scene with crying people and an unseen victim, perhaps evacuated already.
We were all hungry, so Mike pulled into a restaurant that served grilled meat a favorite of his, not normally busy. But today had there was a birthday party with over 100 people from four generations, fancy cars, deafening music, dancing, and … extremely slow service for the random customer who just wants some grilled meat.
Eventually we were served and we finished up. Not 100 meters along the main road we see in the distance an old woman face down flat on the sidewalk. Mike pulled over to offer assistance, but by that time we pulled alongside she was back on her feet. In Ukrainian, she said she was ok. She seemed ok.
Unfortunately, the van then almost immediately developed a cooling system problem. We pulled into a Wog gas station to get more fluid. Upon restarting the van, we could see there was a severe coolant leak in a hose connection. It was of a type that we could not fix.
We got a Bolt car for Marina to get the last 4 km to the train station and off she went. She and I started the day as strangers, without a shared language. We ended the day with a hug and a common experience. She is a long-term volunteer, and she is Ukrainian strong. This probably only phased her a little bit. Still, I can’t get the image of her pressing the imaginary brake and her hand poised on the real emergency brake.
Two Ukrainian Wog customers came to our aid to help diagnose the problem. One of them gave us his phone number and the location of a mechanic friend. He directed us to drive to a specific location about 6 km away. He called his mechanic friend who agreed meet us at his shop. On a Saturday evening. The instructions were to park on the main road and then the mechanic would jump in and direct us to his nearby shop. Along the way we stopped to add fluid. Mike turned off the engine at traffic lights to keep it cool, and he exhorted people vicariously to got a bit faster so that we had time to get through the green light.
We made it to the agreed point and the guy showed up immediately. He tried to hop in on the right side, but this is a UK car so that’s the driver’s side. Normal confusion. The shop was in a huge and complicated warren of sheds in a sunken area near a set of well-used railroad tracks raised on a berm behind the sheds.
This place was amazing, complicated, dilapidated and, as it turns out, just the thing. He directed which way to go, to slow down, to avoid the potholes and so forth. Not a word of English. It is just how it’s done. The guy, whose name I do not know, worked feverishly with his partner, probably a brother by the looks of things. The solution involved some combination of a patch, perhaps a screw from one of those trays of old screws most people have, glue, maybe an inner tube section. I don’t know. That’s what I saw being considered, but I stepped away to avoid getting in the way. I called my wife. We talk every day. It seemed like a good time.
The problem was declared fixed. The solution was tested. It held. How much money for the repair, Mike asked. The gesture was understood. His response was something like the gesture of someone smoking. A cigarette? A pack? Enough to keep him in smokes? We decided on 1000 Harivna, or about $50. The original guy from Wog had shown up at the shed, so we asked him after the fact whether that was ok, and he confirmed that it was.
Off we went. I told Mike he could stay in my room at the hotel, as it has three beds. This is the better of two hotels in the area. Don’t think fancy. Think three narrow single beds with basic mattresses. The heavy rain started just before the hotel. We arrived. All safe.
Just a day in the life of a short-term volunteer. A singular day for me. The long-term volunteers are used to such occurrences. But even for them, the challenges of maintaining these old vans and cars are frustrating and annoying. They carry on.
Follow along on our social media for daily updates.