How I Became a Nuclear Refugee

Or how my parents met in India and then fled from Chernobyl

Image modified by the author. Based on a photo by Karsten Wuerth on Unsplash.

Do you see the bearded dude up there driving the van? That’s my dad. And the little kid in the back, suckling on a pacifier and poking his head out of a window? That’s me. The nuclear explosion in the back? That’s Chernobyl.

Although not shown, my mom and baby brother are also in the van, clinging to their seats like koalas holding onto a tree in a forest fire. The event depicted happened sometime in the 1980s and led to me growing up on a Mediterranean island.

This is the story of how we all ended up in this situation.

My mom

Mitch is my mom’s oldest brother and was the first to arrive in India. He traveled all the way from Germany to India, doing the trip in a Volkswagen hippie van, just like the one my father later owned. On the way, he crossed such countries as Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, which I’m told were all quite liberal back then, with women in cities wearing miniskirts and all.

Once in India, Mitch found himself a guru — whom I’ll call Guru Wildeyes — and joined his ashram. Being the seventies, Mitch spent his time there, I presume, mostly meditating and being naked.