Headed to the airport
A relatively easy flight from Nashville to JFK set the stage to meet Aaron, Susan, and Lynne before our flight to Warsaw. My only SNAFU was my boarding pass and the British Airways lounge gatekeeper who refused to acknowledge technology, insisting that I have a printed boarding pass to scan, instead of my phone/sms pass.
“Same scan” I pleaded, gazing like a baby kitten all heartfelt into her cold, uncompromising eyes.
“No” she replied. She pointed to the door. The universal sign for ‘get out before I call security.’
Here’s to starting off the trip strong!
Security into Poland was a breeze…no one even mentioned covid, vaccinations, or the ‘worldwide pandemic.’
We grabbed our bags and met Tomec, the van driver charged with taking us to the Polish/Ukrainian border.
What I’ve learned so far?
“W” is pronounced as a “V” in Polish, and the “Ł” letter is prounced as a “W.”
Now, we found ourselves in a 5 hour van ride to the base of operations for the PHA, or “Polish Humanitarian Action.”
On The Road And Into The forest
When we arrived at camp, the sun was low and barely breaking through the trees that lined the bottom of the horizon. A group of volunteers were there to greet us and run through the typical questions;
Who are you?
Where did you come from?
What brought you here?
But the most important part of this initial contact is finding some common ground with everyone. Each person individually. Probably the most important thing you can do at the start – at least in my experience, anyway.
The same goes with any social situation. Be it a podcast interview, a sales call, or when you walk into dark pool bar and put some money on the felt. Control the situation as best you can at the beginning. Define the energy – or it will define you.
Life in a Polish Border Camp
We sat by the fire speaking Spanish, French, Polish, Ukrainian, and English, laughing wide eyed and interested in each others back stories. I met Sebastian, Carlos, Eric, 3 girls from Barcelona, another girl from Hong Kong, 2 guys from Singapore, and a few of the Polish workers that didn’t seem to be volunteers but instead work for our organization PAH. They had the blue vests.
The camp resembled the typical American summercamp, but without all the activities and swim instruction. Old Polish log cabins and oddly-shaped open air structure surrounded by hand-built wood fences that have sagged and weathered with time. All of these dot a pine tree forrest far off the paved roads of the nearest Polish village.
My first shift was the night shift, 12pm to 8am, so I quickly grabbed a corner bunk of the cabin and unrolled the sleeping bag, looking forward to a few hours sleep before muster.
The accommodations were sparse but comfortable and clean. I have a floor mattress, a blanket, my sleeping bag, and a pillow that feels like its been filled with little bits of styrofoam insulation peanuts from the 1950s.
It was evident that this was the kind of place maintained primarily volunteers who cycle through frequently. Everything seems to have been done in different ways according to the person in charge at the time — a kind of mish-mash of good-natured projects.
At 11:20pm, we all muster by the fire to have our pre-work briefing and split into vehicles. We’re told that refugee traffic might be higher tonight as there have been reports of recent shelling in Lviv.
So be on our toes.
Coffee? Chai? Harbata?
My first night shift was 12am to 8am. And to top it all off, it wasn’t even my turn. I volunteered to volunteer.
“Might as well jump right in” I thought to myself.
After our pre-shift briefing from Basia, our Polish team lead, we split into 2 small cars and headed off into the forest. The limited headlights seemed outmatched by the thickness of dark.
The roads range from mounded dirt to recent smooth pavement and everything in between. After packed like a sardine in the middle seat for 25 minutes we reached the Polish/Ukraine checkpoint where a guard waved us through without even checking our papers. All of us dressed in our blue PAH vests, me in my headlamp (for which later I would get some light-hearted shit for. I mean, why the hell was I wearing that?) we all made our way to the ‘waiting area’ that follows post-processing and immigration.
Within 30 seconds, I managed to jump into a tour of the place lead by Stewart, an American EMT who had been here for the last few weeks. Myself and 2 new volunteers quickly learned the essentials. Where we kept the coffee and tea, the diapers, the OJ, candy, water, and napkins, sandwiches, and everything else you could think of.
Stuff was piled everywhere among a maze of small rooms directly behind the waiting area. At first, the operation struck me as a bit sloppy and disorganized, but I later found