We talked a little. She told me about her childhood and how everyone used to speak Veps, but now they have all forgotten the language. She gladly filled out one of my language attitude surveys, which will later become material for my honors thesis.
Just as she was about to leave, she asked if I had a tape recorder. I didn't bring one with me because the university IRB has only approved me to do written research, not recordings. But I discovered a loophole: I'm here not only as a researcher and representative of the University of Michigan, but also as a museum intern. As an intern, I can record anything I want for the museum. Later, if I happen to cite museum resources in my paper, so be it. (Sneaky, sneaky.)
Luckily, having realized this, I remembered that my camera can take video with decent sound quality, and I have a whole 8 GB of memory with me. So my Vepsyanka said to me, “Sit down. I will perform for you.”
When the internet situation is more stable, I will post the video. She gave such a magnificent performance. She is a member of a Veps choir and regularly does such performances. In the video, she introduces herself and tells a bit about her family history, where she was born and all that. Then she recites a short poem in Veps and gives a translation into Russian. Later, if I have a chance, I'll try to translate it to English.
It's important to note that she herself can no longer fluently speak Veps. She says she can understand it alright and memorize poems, but that's it.
After we parted, I went to have lunch at the home of an elderly Veps woman in the city. I was taken there by a unusual character, who simply appeared out of nowhere. His name is Veniamin or Venya, a strange name for a strange person. He is of Finnish stock, highly educated, very talkative, and entirely an enigma to me.
At lunch, the elderly Veps woman told me her entire life story: her youth in the Vepsian village of Linzhozero; how she got her first pair of shoes when she was thirteen; how she was given a passport with her ethnicity recorded as Russian instead of Veps; how the Soviet government forced the inhabitants of her village to resettle elsewhere and gave their homes away to Russians, who ruined them; how the neighbor's three children all died of starvation, but her family had their own cow, so they got by. When the cow died, they moved to Vytegra.
As she recounted her story, I tried to copy down as much as I could, but writing in Russian slows me down, but translating to English first would be even worse. Venya understood my trouble and took over writing, so I could simply listen and ask questions. The Veps woman in turn wanted to know all about me, why I came, how old my mother is, how long my brother-in-law has served in the Marines, and on and on. She even complimented my Russian. All in all, Venya and I sat with her for three hours, and I do believe I'm fully prepared to publish her biography if I wanted.
Venya (left), a Veps woman, and her husbandWe finally left, and Venya took it upon himself to show me the city of Vytegra. I tried to explain to him I had already seen most of it, but he would have none of that. He wanted to show me Venya's view of Vytegra, and I must admit, it was a totally different experience. We trekked through the forest, found mushrooms, visited the locks, waved at the passing ships, and took many, many pictures. Anytime there was a passerby, Venya enlisted him to take a picture of us.
What a long day! Venya's tour didn't end until 8:00 this evening. Tomorrow, I leave dear Vytegra early in the morning for Oshta, about 70 km (55 miles?) away to meet the Veps population there, and I won't return to Vytegra for almost a week.
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