Who says Ukrainian cannot do it for themselves

Oleksandr Loza's home cannot be passed unnoticed. The point is not the structure's size or grandeur, for neither can surprise anyone in Ukraine these days. Rather, it is something to do with the whole shebang: the house proper and yard are attractive, unusual, maybe even contradicting set miners' settlement standards. Also the machinery, which is an odd-looking tractor, tanks, strange metal vessels, small towers, and many other things whose true value is comprehended by only one person, Oleksandr Loza.

Not long ago he worked in the Brianka Mine which was closed as part of the coal industry adjustment program, leaving the miner at sea. Officially, like hundreds of other coal miners, he was left jobless, shipwrecked. This, however, was not nearly so devastating to him as to most of his counterparts. Rather than sit and wait for the state to help, he realized that his own and his family's destiny and well-being would from now on depend on his skill and efforts, and the skill he had. In fact, he had both skill and talent, as evidenced by his current household and all his contraptions. His plot of 1900 meters has everything a family needs: house, vegetable garden, swimming pool, chicken coop, garage, water and gas wells, windmill generator, and a multitude of other household contrivances. In short, a miniature independent state whose policy is aimed mainly at physical survival. Mr. President is 44 and has two children. His daughter studies at a foreign languages institute in Horlivka, meaning at least UAH 2,000 tuition a year. His son goes to school, but in a couple of years he will also enroll in a college or university, and tuition will have to be paid (Nobody believes in the constitutionally guaranteed right to free education on a competitive basis. See our item on corruption in higher education — Ed .).

Oleksandr started by building a miniature hydroelectric plant. There was a stream running nearby (really mine water). The current was strong and location so convenient that the idea suggested itself. At first his neighbors were sarcastic and said he had no idea what he was doing. The local boys, who brought him all kinds of scrap he asked for, were the only exception. They regarded him as an indisputable authority in all technical matters. Finally the generator was ready, much to everyone's surprise, but when it came time to start it the stream petered out; the coal pit was closed down. Anyone one in his place would be desperate, but not he.

He thought. His home was on top of a hill, exposed to the winds (they are very strong in the Donbas). So he built a windmill to generate electricity. It took all winter and in the spring he started it up.

Two years ago, drilling the first water well, he found a methane pocket, which is quite common to the coal- bearing locality, especially now that mines were closing and underground cavities filling with water, pushing methane upward. Oleksandr decided to put the gas pocket to good use, the more so that the concentration was quite adequate.

As a professional miner, he realized that the source of gas would not last long, so he laid a pipeline, connecting it directly to the oil well at one end and to his basement boiler at the other. To operate a gas stove, he invented a special device to accumulate the natural gas in a large storage tank. The first couple of years the house temperature would not be lower than +24 o C. Problems began this summer. Because of the air getting in, the ground water started to go down, sucking in air, and the methane concentration began to decline, damaging the supply to his home. But he was prepared for just such a contingency. His windmill had a nine meter diameter 36-blade propeller, generating up to four kilowatts a week, plenty for household needs. Yet our innovative adept at home improvement was still not satisfied. He wanted an even better output, say, six kilowatts, and he decided to modify the generator with an eye to traditional Ukrainian country windmills. He found the required design in a book published before the Second World War. For some reason he trusted old designs better, saying that modern ones ”look good only in print, but try to put any of them together, you'll end up with abracadabra.” He got the metal he needed and has already made the blades. Now he awaits winter to mount his new power plant. Why not now? No time; he has to work hard to earn his daughter's tuition money. He takes any jobs offered, building neighbors' homes and swimming pools, plowing their kitchen gardens with his tractor (his sixth, which he himself designed and made; the latest model is such that it will jump out of any swamp and can work any slope).

So this is how Oleksandr Loza lives in his own independent state with own water, gas, and electricity. He works and never complains; nobody is breathing down his neck.

”So you figure you're on solid ground?” I asked him before leaving.

”One can't count on this state for help, not now,” he replied. ”Our country is in such a state that it will be years before people start living better. Here in Brianka, with almost all of the mines closed, waiting for any changes for the better would take even longer. Under the circumstances you have to rely on your own resources. I've been doing just that. Conservatively estimating, I've saved 2000 hryvnias this year alone, about enough to pay for my daughter's tuition. Solid? You've seen everything there was to see. Judge for yourself.”