Living in the "exclusion zone": a tale from Novyi Myr (04/22/01)

CHORNOBYL: THE FIFTEENTH ANNIVERSARY

Living in the "exclusion zone": a tale from Novyi Myr

by Danylo Kulyniak

NOVYI MYR, Ukraine - Beyond the rivers and marshes, beyond the beaver dams, lost in the pre-Chornobyl forest, hides an ancient Polissian village with a rather pretentious name: Novyi Myr. (New World). Actually it was once known as Barany, but the campaigns of the 1930s of renaming locations left their mark and Barany became Novyi Myr.

After the Chornobyl disaster, the village's inhabitants were evacuated to points far removed as this land fell within the exclusion zone.

Exclusion - from what and from whom? These are painful questions that demand an answer. Novyi Myr would have become a ghost town, devoid of people and home to beavers, wild boars, wolves, bison and other fauna, if not for one resident, Volodymyr Liudvihovych Zhankovskyi.

Long past his 60th birthday, he has lived the better part of his life in Novyi Myr. He is, in his own words "the president's representative in the village of Novyi Myr" - the one who guards his village from all matter of mishaps, "until the people grow smarter and return to their native lands." He is certain this will happen, and when it does, it will be the happiest day of his life. But until that day arrives, Mr. Zhankovskyi lives here as the good spirit of these parts, the king of the forest.

He is master of this land and lives here thanks to everything that this unique and unbelievably beautiful land gives back to him. He resides in harmony with his natural surroundings and with his mares Kalyna and Zorya, two dogs, a cat, a tamed fox, and the 10-year-old pig Borys, which surely weighs nearly half a ton.

Oh, and let's not forget the storks in the linden trees and the beavers in the lake and river - it was the beavers that built a dam on the ditch-like slope beside the road leading into the village and thereby created the lake. The forest provides Mr. Zhankovskyi with berries and mushrooms; the waters with fish; the garden with passable potatoes and other vegetables.

And so, life goes on in this community, this place "where the devil says good night." Life is at its toughest here when the winter snows blanket everything. The nearest human neighbors live in Vilcha, located 15 kilometers from Novyi Myr. There you will find a few dozen employees of Chornobyl Lis, police, customs, a railway station - by local standards it is almost a capital. But even Vilcha is almost a ghost town today, since its former residents were resettled in the Kharkiv Oblast.

From time to time Mr. Zhankovskyi goes forth to the people, meaning he comes to Vilcha and from there by rail to Ovruch. There he sells his simple wares and products: birch and linden brooms, mushrooms and berries. There he buys all that he needs. There he downs a mug of beer and shoots the breeze with whomever he comes across. There he sees and is seen by others. There he buys a fresh newspaper, for he lives in Novyi Myr as if on an island, without radio and television (as there is no electricity).

Mr. Zhankovskyi's thirst for news is nearly unquenchable, and his love for books know no bounds: he has read all the books left behind in Novyi Myr after the evacuation and is now working his way through the textbooks he has found. He is an intellectual, no doubt, and no grizzled geezer either, as he exudes strength and energy. He loves company and is always ready to welcome guests.

After dusk settles, Mr. Zhankovskyi sings songs of his own creation about his life these days. He has even dedicated one song to his former fellow villagers. After the Easter of 2000 many of these people visited their ancestors' graves - now that was a true holiday and there were plenty of tears of joy all around as a result of the rendezvous, he recalls.

Among the visitors were Mr. Zhankovskyi's wife, daughters and grandchildren. The visitors implored him to leave with them for greener pastures, but parting was difficult. And how could Novyi Myr be left without its presidential representative?

Mr. Zhankovskyi expects that some of the former residents will return, and so he waits. His hearth and orchard are in order, the household is tidy.

Beyond the forests, rivers and marshes, life goes on 15 years after the Chornobyl disaster in the old and unique village of Novyi Myr, shrouded in mists and immersed in the scents of the forests and bogs of Polissia.

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