Stir Crazy in Kazakhstan

I was here, locked in a strange flat, God knows where, with nothing to do, no-one to speak to, no clean clothes and no toothbrush. This was not a nightmare. Unfortunately it was reality. I entertained myself by practising my yoga, practising my Russian and writing in my diary. Before I retired to bed – early, very early – I took a shower, only to find as much water spilled out from the tap and onto the floor as came through the hose. Fortunately the towels and bedding were all new as Vadim had only just moved in, though he was not here now. I awoke the next morning around 8.30 a.m. to hear dogs barking, cocks crowing and chickens squawking. I was still locked in, with nothing to do, no one to speak to, no clean clothes and no toothbrush. In order to help time pass I did everything v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. I made tea slowly, drank it slowly, dressed slowly. I found a small free sample of face cream in my bag and applied it – slowly. I really wished I had a toothbrush. To amuse myself I started to write a detailed description of the flat: The bathroom has no sink, the plumbing is exposed and there is a bucket next to the toilet for the loo paper. Brown wallpaper with burn marks covers the walls and a folded-up curtain covers the floor. The focal point is a box of matches and a lighter. ‘Why matches and a lighter in the bathroom?’ I asked myself. By now, after several weeks in Pavlodar, in the northeast of Kazakhstan, nothing should have surprised me. The simple puzzle of a box of matches and a lighter in a bathroom should not have fazed me at all. At least it was something tangible on which to focus rather than on the quite desperate situation of being locked in this flat. I was becoming more and more claustrophobic, lonely, desperately lonely, depressed and beside myself with frustration. These were feelings with which I had become all too familiar and which would stay with me until I finally returned home. Several friends and family members frequently asked why I did not return home before the year-end. My response was simply that I can be stubborn, to which many people would testify, but also that I took a certain pride in wanting to complete the year’s contract I had agreed with the agency. The answer to the other frequently asked question (Why did you go in the first place?) was not so easy. ‘You’re going where?’ my boss exclaimed, making no attempt to disguise the incredulity in his voice. ‘Kazakhstan,’ I repeated quietly. ‘And tell me again, what is it you’re going to do?’ Now there was some annoyance alongside the incredulity. ‘I’ve been accepted as a volunteer to work in a drug treatment centre there,’ I said. The enormity of my decision was beginning to dawn on me. What on earth was I thinking, giving up my good job as therapist and manager in a well-respected addiction treatment centre, selling my car, storing all my worldly belongings in a garage and renting out my house; all at the ripe old age of fifty-seven? What exactly was driving me to give up a comfortable lifestyle and leave my four children, three grandchildren, mother, sister and friends? Was it a somewhat delayed midlife crisis? Possibly. At this stage I had been divorced for more than ten years, had then been in a volatile yet beautiful relationship which had come to an extremely painful end, had survived breast cancer and felt my children were quietly getting on with their lives without my constant intervention. ‘Nothing is forever’ is a phrase which comes to mind. I could no longer take for granted my relationships, nor my health. If life was going to jump up and give me a kick up the backside then I needed to take notice and respond. I had always wanted to travel more, ever since my husband and I had spent two years in Sierra Leone, many years before. However, my husband, being a very responsible and sensible man, had decided we needed to settle in England and provide a safe and secure home for our children. So that is what we did. But these children were now in their late twenties and thirties and building their own version of how life should be. Maybe now was the right time for me to indulge my dream of travelling and exploring more of the world. Had I not had a big shove in that direction? Little did I realise just how much of a challenge it would be.