We all read the short fairy tale “The Little Hen Ryaba” in our childhood. It has become so clichéd that when we think of the word “fairy tale,” the first thing that probably comes to mind is “The Little Hen Ryaba,” competing only with the story of the gingerbread man. But what is this fairy tale actually about?
This fairy tale, of interest to both of us, has a profound underlying meaning. It is about how people, when faced with changing circumstances, cling to their previous values and try to make decisions in new conditions based on their past beliefs.
So, the question is, why did the old man try to break the golden egg? Because he knew that the value of the egg was inside it. As long as the egg was whole, it was useless. However, the egg turned out to be golden. The old man realized this when his wish to break the egg was fulfilled—his little mouse broke it by waving its tail. It turns out that the old man is a bit slow on the uptake. He started to reassess the egg as a golden object, but only after it was already broken.
We all look funny and ridiculous when we lag behind in our assessments of events compared to the events themselves. It’s not worth applying yourpastlife experience tonew.to the circumstances, otherwise you will always be lagging behind the situation, like that Grandfather. A wise and very meaningful tale has been reduced to banality and lost its educational value.
Do you think a situation like the one with the hen Ryaba is impossible in real life? It’s definitely possible. And to illustrate such possibilities, I’ll share my tale about the Muscovites. No, about the MAscoVites.
Pioneer camp “Laspi.” Changeover. During the changeover, several groups from Moscow arrive at the camp. It’s important to understand that for a resident of Sevastopol, “Laspi” is just a camp in the suburbs, a place suitable for kids that need to be “sent somewhere.” For those from Kyiv, it’s a camp in another country, but for Muscovites, it feels like “abroad.” Not quite real abroad, but still, the wealth gap is evident, and there are no children from poor families among the Muscovites. The selection is happening among the “mama’s boys,” unaccustomed to the barracks life of the pioneer camp at the Children’s Health Center. Therefore, the Muscovites brought their own counselors with them. After all, you never know. We, the “old” counselors, think the same and smirk as we watch the frantic activity of the newcomers, who behave very much like insects on a hot skillet. If parents truly cared about their children’s safety, they should entrust them to us—the “seasoned” counselors who know all the holes in the fences and every way to break the rules. Well, all the known ways. This is the first “hen Ryaba.”
The second “Ryaba the Hen” happened at snack time. Counselors don’t get snacks and second dinner during shift changes. It’s not allowed. However, over the time spent working at the camp, saliva and gastric juice have learned to be released on schedule. Taking this opportunity, I want to send my regards to Dr. Pavlov and his dogs with fistulas. However, there’s a smell of snacks coming from the cafeteria. Today they’re serving casserole and kissel. Mmm… Who are they cooking for? Muscovites, of course!
Meanwhile, we, the old camp counselors waiting for the next shift, resorted to foraging and, in the morning, gathered mussels to hand over to the female members of the team for processing.
I approach my female colleagues, who are cleaning the already boiled mussels in a bucket with a kettle, and I ask bluntly, “Girls, who’s prettier, me or Ruslan?” While the girls are blushing and searching for a diplomatic answer, let me explain that Ruslan is a typical Ukrainian handsome guy. He’s a brunette with curly hair, a little dimple in his chin, kind eyes, masculine features, and a slightly shy demeanor… oh, I seem to have gotten carried away. Anyway, the girls, still embarrassed, quietly and with downcast eyes, respond in unison, “Ruslan, of course!” So I say, “Then Ruslan can go to the kitchen to beg for the casserole!” Their response, also in unison, was instantaneous: “No, Roma, you should go for the casserole.”
I walk into the kitchen, approach the ladies with ladles, and say, “The pit has opened up, we need to fill it, otherwise we’ll all die.” The ladies respond that there aren’t many Muscovites (meaning less than 100 people) and everything has been accounted for. There’s nothing extra. I was about to turn around and leave, but then the Moscow camp leader comes in and, with a bit of a snort, declares, “My kids don’t want to eat this, where should we put it?” I practically shove the ladles aside, grab a tray, and say, “Yes, yes, here, please. Don’t worry!”
In five minutes, I managed to get my hands on some more casseroles and a kettle of kissel. The old camp counselors were on cloud nine with the unexpected abundance of food. Meanwhile, the counselors from Moscow, six hours later, were at a loss about how to feed their hungry kids, who, having rejected the meticulously calculated meal plan, couldn’t fall asleep on empty stomachs and complained about the lack of food. Where was “Ryaba the Hen”? Ryaba the Hen was in the miscalculations of food when you’re full and in the reality of hunger when you’re not. By the next day, both the counselors and the kids had learned to sneak bread and stash it under their pillows. What do the “veterans” do when the new arrivals refuse their afternoon snack? They gather up the leftovers, if possible, and distribute them a few hours later. This way, the kids are fed, and everyone’s nerves are intact.
However, “Ryaba the Hen” was not only pursued by the camp counselors. The children from Moscow were not far behind:
A couple of guys from Moscow in plaid flannel shirts, wearing T-shirts underneath. They have baseball caps turned backward on their heads and high-top sneakers with tongues sticking out. Instead of pants, they’re wearing some baggy shorts that come down to their knees, posing like rappers in front of a beach. It’s 28 degrees Celsius in the shade. They’re bound to get some great “southern” photos. Isn’t it like “Ryaba the Hen”? When values from the past are used in the current context?
A guy from Moscow puts on a mask, fins, sticks a tube in his mouth, adjusts everything, grabs an underwater gun, and wades into the water at a children’s beach, where the water is a) murky, b) knee-deep, and c) the only form of life in it is children. Another “Ryaba the Hen” moment—when inappropriate stereotypes from television try to be used as a guide for action.
Three guys from Moscow dragged a “balalaika” to the beach, a kind of music center that’s only called portable because it has a handle; otherwise, it’s just a bit smaller than a refrigerator. They enthusiastically listen to “tyts-tyts,” which turns out to be a radio broadcast. Ten minutes later, as expected, the batteries die. Dialogue:
— It’s because of you that the batteries died!
-No! Because of you!
-No, it’s because of you!
“Guys, don’t argue! I’ll bring new ones!”
He leaves and returns in 10 minutes with the same balalaika, but with different batteries inside. They continue to listen to the music. This event is already reminiscent of “Ryaba the Hen,” but a whole colorful turkey awaits us in the next paragraph.
What were the parents of these children, the children themselves, and their camp counselors thinking when they sent them off with electrical appliances? Even if we assume there’s a reckless parent who allows their child to use a kettle without adult supervision, how can we imagine the builders being so careless as to leave even one socket in the children’s cabins inside wooden buildings? This is on top of the fact that having two balalaikas for a dormitory of ten people is already excessive, and they could have easily coordinated who brings what to avoid duplication.
The last story about inappropriate stereotypes is about a schoolboy from Moscow in the senior group who was passionate about bodybuilding. In our conversation, he enthusiastically shared his hobby and told me that he brought two 16-kilogram kettlebells with him to the camp. To continue his workouts here. Yep. By plane. From Moscow. Kettlebells. Go for it, Shura!
All these events took place on the very first day of the Muscovites’ stay in a new place. After a couple of days, they were no longer like the Grandfather from the fairy tale and didn’t cling to their values. They became normal pioneers with typical views on life in the camp. They checked their balalaikas into storage, along with their combat shirts and weights. Even for the disco, it was mostly the girls who dressed up, while the guys continued to show up in shorts and t-shirts, as changing for “showing off” in the camp was considered uncool.
Oh right. I completely forgot, they also stopped “Akating” 🙂
When making decisions, put yourself in the position you will be in, not the one you are in right now. Otherwise, you will always carry a pillow in your suitcase that you will never use, while leaving behind an umbrella just because it isn’t raining today when you’re packing your bags.