How I Lost My Wallet (or How 5 Anonymous Ukrainians Were Unbelievably Kind to Me)

About 3 weeks ago, I lost my wallet. It was a moderately traumatic experience and makes for an excellent story.

Having just returned from a teaching seminar in a nearby town, I ran from the bus station to catch the first of 2 city buses that I would take to get home. My wallet had a strap on it that allowed it to become a “wrist-let”, if you are familiar with these sorts of things. This is my last definite recollection of it: getting onto the bus, paying and double-checking that I had all of my stuff – wallet, backpack, tote bag. The bus ride was about 40 minutes to the train station and I dozed off a lot, listening to an audiobook. When the bus pulled into the train station parking lot (the end stop for the route), I gathered up my things and sprinted to catch my other bus, which was pulling out. It was rather cold and I didn’t want to wait another 15 minutes for the next one. I got onto the bus and realized my wallet wasn’t in my hand. I checked the tote bag. Not there either. Not in the back pocket of my backpack, which is where I sometimes stash it while traveling. The bus driver was yelling at me to pay, so I quickly got off at the first stop and hollered my apologies. Panic was starting to settle in, but I knew that it had to be somewhere.

I checked through my entire backpack and of course, didn’t find it. I called the people I had been with earlier that day to ask if maybe I had accidentally slipped it into the bag with my sleeping bag in it, although I knew I had it on the last bus. I hurried (as much as one can hurry in high-heeled boots when one can’t feel their toes and the ground is a sheet of ice) back to the bus station. I went back to where the bus had parked. The bus was gone. I got onto a bus that follows a similar route and inquired as to where one might go for a “lost and found”. The driver pointed me to a small kiosk, suggested that maybe I didn’t lose it, but someone had taken it, and wished me luck.

At the kiosk was an older woman. I told her what had happened and asked if anyone had dropped off a wallet, or if she could contact the bus driver and tell him the situation. She said that the bus driver had already gone home for the night and there was no way to contact him and she had no way of knowing when that particular bus would be back on the road again. (That by itself is a little unnerving. Rogue bus drivers all over Donetsk, going places with what seems to be rhyme and reason, but really it’s just a facade.) She also suggested that maybe someone had stolen it, and it wasn’t likely that anyone would turn in a wallet.

At this point, I had a couple of options. I could buck up and walk myself home calmly, knowing that everything would work itself out as it was just a wallet, I could easily cancel my credit cards and my passport was at home and Peace Corps would help me get a new pink card (our official identification) OR I could fly into a hysteric panic.

I sobbed. Not just quiet, angry tears out of frustration at making a dumb mistake that only newbsters make, but loud, full sobs. I cried because I’ve never lost anything valuable before, I really liked that wallet, and now I would have to walk 3 miles home in the bitter cold. In my head, I was aware of exactly what I needed to do, and that I really wouldn’t have any problem fixing the situation, but I was just so sad.

The first person to stop me was a well-dressed young man, who introduced himself, but whose name I can’t remember. (Please note how complimentary these strangers were. It was a ridiculous self-esteem booster in the midst of everything.)

“Miss, what happened? Why are you crying so much? What could have happened to make such a pretty girl be so sad?”

I told him that I had lost my wallet and he immediately went into crisis aversion mode. Asked me what bank I needed to call, did I know their phone number because he could look it up for me to call and cancel my card, and if my passport was in there the embassy will help me to get a new one. He complimented my Russian and my hair, saying that I just need to calm down and know that I am beautiful and it will be okay.

“There are terrible people in Ukraine and they have stolen your wallet, but you should never ever be so sad curly-haired-girl.”

I thanked him for his kind words, and he wished me everything wonderful in the entire world and everlasting joy.

I was about to cross the street when a taxi driver, who was leaning up against his car, shouted “Eh, Miss! Curly! What did you lose? I will help you look!” I stopped and looked at him and he walked up to me saying that he had noticed me looking on the ground, crying and walking back and forth across the parking lot. He took my elbow and was trying to lead me to the kiosk lady to ask about my wallet, when I was finally able to convey that I’d already asked her. He said he was very sorry that someone had done this to me, that no one should treat young pretty girls this way. He wished me luck and as I walked away, the first man came back and asked me if that man had been bothering me. I assured him that I was fine, really.

I set out for the long walk home and called the Peace Corps Safety and Security Officer. I got the phone number for the bank to cancel my card. They got a hold of the local head of police, informed her as to what had happened, and made an appointment for me to meet with her the next morning and fill out a police report. (This was after 8:30 at night. Impressively efficient. Well done, Peace Corps.)

As I was walking past the second bus stop along the route home, I decided that I just couldn’t walk home. It was too far and too cold and the wind was blowing and I was still just too sad about everything to even think straight. I decided that I would get on a trolley, tell the conductor what was going on and see if I could at least ride a few stops in the direction I needed. That was the plan. When I got on the trolley and the conductor came round to ask me for my far, I burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry and I know you might not believe me and that is okay because it is so stupid but I think that someone has stolen my wallet and I don’t know what to do because I live very far away and I have no money,” I sobbed.

The conductor, a man in his late 20s, I’m guessing, sat down in front of me and tried to soothe me. He patted my arm and told me to calm down. He collected the other passengers’ money and came back to sit near me. “Now, tell me what happened.” I told him the whole story and he patted my arm and told me that my Russian was very nice. He said that thieves will prey on pretty girls, but I mustn’t be sad because he hated to see my blue eyes cry. (I realize how ridiculous this is sounding. It is true. This is part of why I love Ukraine.) He asked if I knew where this trolley was going and if I knew how to get home, and then went to continue doing his job.

It gets even better. Another man, a fellow passenger, came and sat beside me. Taking my hand, he pressed his ticket (when you pay, you get a ticket) into my palm. “I paid to ride the whole way, but this is my stop. You go as far as you need. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t stay on this trolley. Everything will be okay, miss,” he said before getting off the trolleybus.

I got off at my stop, waving my thanks to the conductor and went home. I had no wallet and no money, but having been comforted by 4 complete strangers in a country where people are not generally kind to each other if they don’t know one another, I was relieved and content. Everything would be okay.

Lo and behold, it really turned out alright! I went to the police station and filled out the police report, with the help of the chief of police. She was very motherly, scolding me for not being smarter with my money, but assuring me that I had clearly learned my lesson and she didn’t think anything like this would happen to me again.

Two days after I lost my wallet, I got a phone call from an unknown number. I didn’t answer it because at least once a week, I get someone dialing a wrong number. The person is usually quite offended by my not being the person they wanted to call and my Russian is unable to provide them with the appropriate apologies over the fact that I have a phone number very similar to someone else’s. After another missed call, I finally answered.

“Hello, do you live in Donetsk?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Please, miss, do you live in Donetsk? Or can you tell me your name?” the caller questioned.

“You called me. If you called me you should know who I am,” I said in the sassiest Russian I could muster, and then I hung up.

They called back 5 more times and finally I answered again and a different person said “Don’t hang up! I found your wallet!” I profusely apologized for my rudeness and explained what unknown numbers usually brought. The woman told me that she had found my wallet at the train station on the ground. It was open and had no money in it, but lots of credit cards and various documents (my Ohio driver’s license is there, as is my student ID, as well as Peace Corps stuff). She had to catch a train to another oblast, where she lives, and had brought the wallet with her. In searching for a way to contact me, she had seen that my receipts were from many different cities and since I traveled so much, it would be necessary for me to have my wallet back quickly. She said that she would be willing to mail it to me, because she knows that without my documents, I am basically not even alive. (In this country, no documents = you do not exist. You are essentially a non-person.)

After a few more phone calls with her and with the Peace Corps office, we worked out a plan for me to get my wallet back and for her not to have to spend any money. There happened to be another volunteer in her town. The volunteer’s counterpart met with the Good Samaritan Ukrainian woman. The counterpart then passed off the wallet to the volunteer, who brought it to Kiev, where she was headed for a conference. My friend Mattison met the volunteer at the conference and collected the wallet. The wallet has made it all the way back to my oblast intact, minus the cash. (Although the woman said there’s still lots of change. I’m glad. I like to have exact change. Also, I have a 1-gryvnia coin in there, and those are pretty cool.) I’ll see Mattison at a meeting in a week and a half, and will once again, be united with my wallet.

For the time being, I have to go to the bank to take out money. A new bank card has been made and was subsequently lost in the confusion over me being registered in Kiev, but my bank account being in Donetsk. I have very little money and have subsided on cheap school food, invitations to dinner, and food gifts. Luckily, we get paid this week.

All in all, something that started out as a very sad moment turned out to be an excellent reminder of the kindness of strangers. I was so surprised and delighted by everyone’s actions towards me. Whether or not they realized it, those people helped me to see an unexpected positive side of Ukraine and filled me up with warmth. I hope to pass on those people’s good deeds.

To the 5 strangers I encountered in this ordeal: thank you, thank you, thank you.