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Our Life | Наше життя August | Серпень 2021 34 One hundred seventeen. That’s the number of overseas trips I made over the past 30 years, most of them to Ukraine. I consider myself a seasoned traveler. Hotel lobbies and airport lounges feel like home. Luggage gets lost and almost always gets found, and air turbulence barely registers. And I know enough basic phrases in several languages to get myself out of most sticky situations, if need be. However, my trip to Ukraine in mid-August 1991 present - ed me with a situation that no one could have anticipated, let alone prepared for. And it scared the heck out of me. I had agreed to lead a group of 30 young Ukrainian Amer- ican members of Plast on a three-week tour of Ukraine. Aged 15-18, they were a rambunctious bunch, and, as their “komendantka,” it was my job to balance their fun with their safety. Our last stop was Lviv, a highlight for many of the kids whose parents fled from this area during World War II. On August 19, I was listening to a Radio Liberty news broadcast on a small short-wave radio I routinely traveled with. At the time, I was working as a journalist for the Ukrainian Service of Radio Liberty and faithfully listened to their broadcasts. That afternoon, my ear caught the phrase “переворот у Москві” (coup in Moscow) and “танки на вулицях” (tanks in the street). I was stunned. Eventually, Ukrainian state media confirmed that a putsch, orchestrated by a group of disgruntled generals who opposed the disintegration of the Soviet Union, was indeed under way. Nightmarish scenar - ios churned through my head: What if the Soviet authori- ties closed the borders? What if tourists were rounded up? What if violence erupted on the streets? How do I keep the kids safe? I called the U.S. Embassy in Moscow to alert them to our situation and ask for their guidance ... just in case. To say that the next few days were tense is an understatement, but we tried to keep calm and enjoy Lviv. Some 60 hours later I breathed a sigh of relief as our plane rolled down the runway bound for New York; thankfully, the putsch was un - successful. Everyone agreed that, as scary as it was, we had lived through a historic experience. Even more historic was waking up the next morning back home, bleary eyed and jet lagged, to the news that Ukraine had proclaimed its inde - pendence. As I tried to process this, my family proudly hung a giant Ukrainian flag on our deck. It was August 24, 1991. Little did I realize that morning how dramatically Ukraine’s independence would change the course of my life. It pre- sented me with a new career: I became the U.S. Department of State’s first-ever diplomatic interpreter for Ukrainian. As Marta Zielyk , Branch 64, New York City Plast camp participants, Lviv, 1991 Marta in the Karpaty, 1991 From “Captive Nation” to the Oval Office
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