Izhevsk
Russian Family
My Apartment in Izhevsk
December 1, 2003
My apartment is ugly and the elevator is slightly frightening so I take the stairs
to the sixth floor. As you enter the building there is a big sunken rectangle cut
out of the concrete floor for no apparent reason. The outside door is unlocked and
leads straight to the stairwell, which is painted blue and white on its solid concrete
walls and floor, but only about half of the lights work in the hall so it’s very
dark.
The door to my host family’s apartment is metal; it’s really indescribable. The
apartment itself is very nice, wood floors, wall-papered, nice furniture, etc.
I had a better opportunity to talk to my host family this evening. Katya is very
nice and speaks English well, but she and I have nothing in common. Her sister and
grandmother are quiet; they speak no English, so I speak to them in Russian, but
I feel like they are looking at me with skepticism. The grandmother speaks to me
very seldom, while Anya, Katya’s sister is very nice and talkative, but hasn’t seemed
eager to initiate a conversation.
December 2, 2003
I took the short walk from the bus stop to my apartment; trekked up my six flights
of stairs and knocked on the door I call home. I removed my shoes immediately upon
entering the apartment.
Grandmother welcomed me home as always (I don’t have a key, or I should say 3 keys)
and only now after three days, has she began to really talk to me. I didn’t think
she liked me until this morning when she yelled at me for not wearing a hat; she
may not like me, but she cares about me and that’s a pretty good start. It is cold
out; I really do need to buy a hat.
Before dinner, I washed my hands in the bathtub. The only sink in the house is in
the kitchen and that’s “only for dishes not for hands.” It’s the bathtub where I
also shave and brush my teeth.
December 3, 2003
I got home to a crying Katya. She said that her sister and she have been fighting
a lot lately; Anya is 18 and today I was informed she is pregnant; Katya hates her
boyfriend. Katya’s afraid Anya got pregnant on purpose in order to guilt her boyfriend
into marriage. Katya said its common here, especially with the fierce competition
to marry a man in this city that is oddly predominantly women. If they marry, he
will most likely move in here, something Katya is not thrilled with. It’s common
for young couples to live with their parents/grandparents until they have enough
money to move out.
December 7, 2003
Today is an exception since there is no traffic or people, my bus got to Cyusnaya
Street (Union Street) in no time. The bus slowed as its doors opened, I jumped out
and before ever coming to a full stop the bus drove off.
There is little in this area other than apartment buildings and a small lot with
cars, which is fenced in and protected by barbed wire. No one really has cars, they’re
too expensive and few people even have a license. This whole area is residential,
I feel like I’m in the ghetto with dozens of apartments sprouting up everywhere,
all rectangular blocks and ugly.
There are no garbage cans anywhere because they would be stolen for scrap metal.
My apartment, like the rest, is solid concrete and that hallow indention at the
building’s entrance was once home to a metal grate (you do learn something everyday),
but scrap metal goes for a lot of money and so they’ve all been stolen along with
the garbage cans throughout the city.
As I enter the first floor doors into my apartment building the window has a sticker
of the hammer and sickle on it. I walk up six flights of stairs to apartment number
127. The numbering of the rooms is strange, there are four entrances and each has
stairs up, but apartments are in between so each set of stairs only leads to four
apartments on each floor, although there are sixteen in total on each floor. Since
we live in the first stair column we are the 100’s, whereas apartments in the second
stair column are in the 200’s, etc.; it’s Russian to me.
The door to apartment number 127 is like something you’d find in a lock down, decorated
with one dead lock plus a smaller lock. The door is metal and only closes when it’s
locked, which it is at all times. The second door has another couple locks and really
epitomizes the paranoia of the people here. After passing through this obstacle,
I entered the apartment and removed my shoes.
On my left is the shower and toilet, in two separate rooms; there is so little room
in the toilet room, as I try to stand up my head hits the door. The shower, which
also doubles as a sink is normal sized, but the room has no cabinets, only two shelves.
My room, the second (and last) on the right is nice, although very “girly;” I have
a full bed and terribly ugly flower sheets. The wallpaper is simple on the bottom,
a mesh of greens, blues, white, and a touch of pink. Then there’s a border with
flowers and the top is matching flowers. I have two nightstands, a dresser, desk,
and chair. Half the dresser, more like a portable closet (the apartment doesn’t
have build-in closets) is half mine and half Katya’s, half of one of the night stands
is mine, but I don’t use it. The desk is for her and the chair is for her giant
teddy bear. The floor is wood and I have a door out to the patio, which is only
used for “drying” clothes this time of year; however they only seem to freeze solid
out there.
The apartment really only has the essentials, the kitchen is very small and crowded.
There is only one cabinet, plus counter-space for on the fridge, table, and next
to the sink. The cabinet, fridge, and freezer have some food in them, but not much.
In addition, the fridge smells terrible and so eating is hard. They only own four
or five big plates, small plates, and bowls, plus four mugs and four or five glass
cups. They have a drying rack on the counter that doubles as a cabinet for the dishes.
Also in the kitchen is a clothes washer, which is very tiny. On the stove there’s
always a kettle and on the table a different kettle with tea.
The water here is much polluted and so the food, kitchen and shower smell horrendous;
I definitely smell worse after I shower than I do before. The smell makes me sick
to my stomach and all the food is made with this water. The small table in the kitchen
is home to a bowl of honey, which is always out and has a very different texture,
like a combination of honey and sugar.
The apartment has one phone and two clocks; the phone is Panasonic and it’s written
in English. The digital clocks are read from 1:01 to 24:59 (they skip the “0” hour)
although the time is always said on the 12-hour clock. The TV gets less than ten
channels and they are numbered 1,2,3,4, etc. Near the TV there is a parrot hidden
in the corner, no one pays attention to him, but me, he’s blue and I don't know
his name.
I noticed that there are only two garbage cans in the apartment and both are very
small, I think they just don’t have any garbage, they rarely have anything to throw
away; they have so few material possessions.
Before going to bed I again noticed the sandpaper they call toilet paper, then headed
to the next room to wash my hands, shave, and brush my teeth in the shower. The
light switches are more like one and a half inch by one and a half inch squares
that otherwise work like a switch or a teeter tooter. Well, lights out, I’m off
to bed.
December 9, 2003
The more time I spend with my host sister the more I realize she is a girly-girl,
but most girls in Russia are. Dennis, one of her classmates told me all Russian
girls are very “feminine” and that’s when I realized why they seem so unattractive
to me. Katya needed one and a half hours to get ready to go to class today, everything
has to be perfect before going out: her hat, scarf, coat, and hair, it’s ridiculous.
December 12, 2003
I got up too early and started the day with a warm shower; the hot water hasn’t
worked the last two days, but is up and running again. After showering I decided
to wash my clothes, but soon was yelled at for failing to observe Russian custom.
My host family refuses to allow me to wash my clothes or cook my own food, or clean
my dishes, or help out in any way. I can’t figure out if it’s because I’m their
guest or just because it’s again the man/woman thing and the woman does the housework.
It bothers me, but I’m in their country and so I deal with it, this knowledge is
their gift to me, and as a guest I do need to follow local custom even if I disagree
with it. The single most exciting part of doing my laundry today was doing something,
that’s all.
The apartment boasts few entertainment options, this area is nothing but a residential
district so nothing but apartments for as far as the eye can see; the district is
not well sought after and is of the cheapest in the city. All the apartments are
old, there are no conveniences close by, and the air pollution here is among the
worst in the city because we’re east of the industrialized center and hence downwind.
Personally, I haven’t noticed any more pollution here than in the Leninsky Raion
(district), but none-the-less they are among the cheapest apartments in the city.
Technically, my district is called Uetinovskii Raion, but everyone calls it the
"old airport district" because the airport was here before it was moved about ten
kilometers out of town when these apartments were built.
The first attempt to pass time was to stare aimlessly out my window: I can see a
few apartment buildings with court yards in between them. To my left is Cayusnaya
Ulitsa (Union Street) and across the street some large complex that looks like a
prison, but I’m told it’s a factory. Beyond the factory there are only open fields
and forests dotting the hilly landscape. There are no suburbs here like in most
US cities. It’s more like the Canadian cities of Calgary and Edmonton where the
city limits end and there’s nothing but a few sporadic villages scattered about.
Aimlessly staring got old so I tried watching TV and listening to the radio, both
of which were interesting at first, there seems to be a lot of music videos, movies
(many American movies) and the news is from Moscow, I don’t think they have local
news, at least from what I’ve seen, or perhaps my family only watches the Moscow
news.
There seems to be a lot of junk on the radio, like techno and electronic music,
I just don’t understand why you listen to electronic music in the home too, do people
stay in their houses all day dancing? Another station plays a lot of English music,
but there’s no English station, it’s just injected randomly among Russian music,
about a quarter of the English songs on the radio I’ve never heard of. My students
ask me about “popular” American music and artists I’ve never heard of, but they
are very popular here, it’s strange. Some of the other popular artists (who I’ve
actually heard of) include Enrique, Three Doors Down, and Linkin Park among others.
I had stared out the window, watched TV, listened to the radio, and finally Katya
finished organizing my laundry. She is nice and wants to learn English, but I can’t
figure her out. She’s so concerned about her image, clothes, makeup, and physical
appearance I feel like I’m in a completely superficial shallow place. Sometimes
I think Katya is like a lot of girls here and is only looking for a guy with money
and power, while at other times I think she’s down to earth and has motivation to
make something of herself, but her opportunities to do that seem minimal and I think
that wears on her.
Anya is 18 and pregnant; what gets me is she’s happy about it. She wants to settle
down and find a guy so she doesn’t have to work anymore and can just sit at home
all day. She doesn’t seem to have many friends and the father of her child has never
been over, but Katya doesn’t like him and hopes they never marry. He’s apparently
going nowhere, not like that’s unusual and so he’s not well liked, sadly most guys
aren't.
My babushka is interesting to say the least. Since I got here two weeks ago she’s
only left the house once. Typically she’s up before me and does nothing. All she
does is knit on her couch, stand in her room, watch TV, cook, or stare out the window...
mostly the latter. She always wears the same afghan and just moves around the house.
I don’t think she likes me and she always seems to be waiting for the phone to ring
or for someone to come to the door so she has something to do. Personally, I believe
the only thing keeping her alive is her two granddaughters.
Moving on, Katya volunteered more about herself today, something she has shied away
from since I arrived. Her mom is in Greece with a new husband and sends money often.
Her mom went there on vacation and liked it so much she never came back. She got
a job as a daycare monitor, got paid much more than here, married and got citizenship.
She has not returned since; that was three years ago. She’s seen Katya only once,
when Katya went to Greece; Anya has not seen her mom since, but their mom does call
about two or three times a week and sends money often.
Katya’s father is a local alcoholic (Babushka volunteered this information, Katya
has never mentioned him) and hasn’t been here in years from my understanding. He
called when the girls were out a couple days ago, Babushka answered and yelled a
lot, then screamed at me about how much she hates him, as she continuously flicked
her jaw bone with a finger (the symbol synonymous with accusing one of being an
alcoholic). He called asking for money and she said no because he’s always drunk.
I don’t know if he lives in Izhevsk, but that’s the impression I got. Sadly this
is a typical situation; a few of my other friends have already lost fathers to alcoholism,
although that word is taboo.
December 13, 2003
As Seth and I had nothing to do today we discussed Russian generational gaps and
how their paranoia is symbolized in our apartments. He needs to unlock numerous
locks on four different doors before entering his apartment whereas I only have
two “barriers.” The older generation is completely paranoid of everything. People
are also paranoid of their cars and refuse to leave them on the streets for too
long. They always lock them and there are few parking lots because everyone parks
on the sidewalks so they can see their car. Then for nights they park them in barbed
wire cells protected by guards.
December 16, 2003
It was a slow day, so slow in fact, I watched Anya watch “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire”
on TV: same set, same music, same everything except the host and people are from
Russia.
I soon stepped outside to go to the museum, just to get out of that apartment. This
apartment is such an odd place, not a community, but concrete walls concealing the
fear and paranoia of the people it withholds, or the people it protects from the
world, almost like a self contained prison. Everyone in this society is a member
of this prison and they all lock themselves up shutting everyone else out.
I stared at the apartment’s exterior; it’s simple, nothing but small rocks, plain
ordinary rock color, then two vertical stripes of the same rock, but painted red.
There are nothing but apartment buildings all around this area, for blocks and blocks.
Each is nearly identical: nine floors tall and wide enough to cover about 12 or
16 apartments per floor.
December 18, 2003
Under Soviet times there was only one family in the Soviet Union; the ideal family
and everyone had it. It was two kids, but then perestroika created confusion and
an uncertain future so no one wanted to have kids. Now as things are starting to
settle down the number of children is changing and people are having how many they
want and can afford, but still these couples are reproducing and so no one knows
what the future holds. Typically, among my students, who generally range between
16 and 25, they are all either an only child or one of two.
December 19, 2003
The shower smelled so bad today I couldn’t bring myself to pour that water over
my body; my body odor smells better than the water here on some days.
December 22, 2003
Yesterday my babushka gutted fish and cleaned them in the shower! It was nasty,
but that’s normal. Yesterday was also winter solstice; I believe the sun shone for
6 hours 45 minutes.
December 26, 2003
Anya had morning sickness this morning since she’s pregnant so she found her way
to the shower where she threw up for five to ten minutes. Anya’s boyfriend, a real
jerk in my opinion who I finally met, spent the night a couple days ago. What gets
me is that they spent the night together even though she’s 18 and her grandmother
is across the hall, but it's not like they have any thing to hide' she's
already pregnant.
December 29, 2003
I returned home to a crying Anya and Katya, who sporadically sprinkled a scream
between tears, I don’t know what happened, but their mom had called just before
I arrived and there was a very upset Katya, then she got upset and handed the phone
off at which point Anya got even more upset, started screaming and hung up, now
she’s frantically crying and Katya is trying to consol her by saying this is all
normal; I feel it's none of my business so am in my room, waiting for everything
to blow over so I can make a phone call and go to sleep.
To show his support, Anya’s boyfriend just left. I’m very fortunate and don’t realize
it sometimes, I guess I’ve never truly understood all that I have and am only now
coming to terms with it. Like Alisa’s family this atypical family is just average
in this land of confusion. Listening to the girls cry and scream makes me think
about Russia and life. It’s kind of bittersweet here; I like a lot here, but miss
good food and friends. If I could bring a few things here, I could stay for a long
time, I understand Johnny’s attraction, however when time comes I’ll be ready to
go home.
January 5, 2004
Yesterday after a few hours, I dropped Katya (from class) off at her home and went
to Café 7 with my host sister Katya; the cafe was smoky. I bought two pastries for
15 rubles each; the one was excellent.
On our way home Katya apologized for never spending time with me, but we are very
different people so there's no reason for her to apologize. I packed.
This morning I woke up at 7:30, exchanged money (I found a place that took my not
completely perfect bills), bought a plant, water, and a matroshka (wooden nesting
doll) I really liked for my grandparents. I returned to my apartment, gave the plant
to babushka who loved it, thanked her, gave Katya a call, called a cab and finished
packing the stuff I bought.
Just as I was about to leave, I received the biggest shock of all my time in Russia…
my babushka began to cry. To think all this time I thought she hated me and was
ready to push me out, only to find her crying. It makes you think about this older
generation I have avoided the past month and a half. Maybe they’re not bad, just
misunderstood. I guess that’s most of the world… misunderstood.
I just thought she would slam that door and celebrate upon my departure, but instead
she broke down and offered me lunch. I wish I had gotten to know her better, but
she never exposed herself to emotion and so our relationship was unknown to me.
I feel bad for her, not only did I regret her, but something prevented her from
smiling or showing any sort of kindness to me; I don’t think that’s her fault, I
think it’s the fault of the government and culture she grew up in. She was stripped
of so much happiness, and yet she is unaware of it; all the while I lived in her
apartment secretly condemning her attitude and actions.
I got my cab 10 minutes later and so I left the crying woman I had only just met,
but never truly knew. A Russian once told me when I arrived that Americans are like
peaches and Russians are like coconuts. Americans are friendly and easy to get to
know on the outside, but rarely let anyone in too deep; we never open ourselves
up and talk about our deepest darkest secrets, we have a tough core. Russians are
just the opposite, they have a tough outer shell, but once they accept you they
expose all of their secrets and emotions. I guess babushka had a thicker shell than
most and I only began to crack it when it was time for me to leave...
My Bus Stop Next to My Apartment