The more precisely you plan, the more likely you are to be hit by chance…

Tanja

On the day of our arrival, I explore the town to buy some wine for my birthday party. In the first Landing there is only limited food and beer. The friendly saleswoman sends me on my way. The second store is closed. A boy shows me the third store. He leads me past high wooden fences with piles of garbage to the left and right. Then at an eerie old stone house barrack. I briefly think to myself: “I wonder where the little one is taking me?” I can already see the store in front of me. “Can you find your own way back?” he asks. “Thank you,” I say goodbye. Having successfully stowed my shopping in my rucksack, I walk past the old eerie stone house barracks again. Three women and a man sit on the ladder like chickens and wave me over. I take a few steps towards them and answer their questions. They want 100 roubles, says the drought. The man flicks his index finger against his throat, the sign for drinking, and says: “Vodka!” My answer is “Thank you, goodbye”, and I leave the laughing company behind me.

The next day, it quickly becomes clear that store one and two are not enough for me. The first grocery store only has a very limited selection, the second is closed again. So I walk to the high wooden fences, where garbage is piled up to the left and right. At the old, eerie stone house barracks, I notice that the village store three is closed for the day. This was the only one in which I had seen tomatoes, cucumbers and cheese yesterday. “What a shame,” I think to myself. Three young women come towards me. Many an experience in my life so far has taught me that it’s not always people’s outward appearance that counts. Some of them may look scary or devious, but they are friendly and often very helpful. Something holds me back for a split second, but then I ask the three of them where I can get tomatoes. Only from close up do I see that the awakened one of the three women is wearing blue make-up and has not been beaten. She very kindly sends me on to other stores and asks me questions about where I come from and where we are traveling to. Visiting the other magazines (grocery stores) is just too much effort for me and I walk back towards our accommodation.

I get fresh bread in store one. As soon as I leave the little wooden hut, I hear: “Ksss! Kssst!” An elderly woman on her bicycle points to a beautiful house opposite. “That’s where you get tomatoes.” I wonder how she knows I’m looking for tomatoes? An old mother sits in front of the door in a dirty coat. She doesn’t understand my question about tomatoes, but is clearly delighted with my visit. Shortly afterwards, she runs up to an equally old passer-by, squealing loudly, to start a long, repetitive conversation with her. When I see the two screeching, toothless Siberian women talking to each other in front of me, I give up my desire for tomatoes. Shortly afterwards, the daughter of the house steps outside, makes a circular hand gesture at her mother’s temple (the international sign to make the other person understand that the person is a little crazy) and the planned fresh salad works out after all.

Almost at our accommodation, it calls out: “Madam! Madam!” The three young women from earlier come running after me. “Did you find any tomatoes?” they ask. “Yes, thank you,” I reply. The three of them have an air about them that I can’t interpret. “It’s not just the alcohol that’s reflected in their faces and eyes,” I think to myself. The villagers’ shoes are broken and they are wearing worn-out, torn clothes. The bright one exchanges a few pleasantries to get to the point. Her friend has beautifully knitted socks for sale. The journey is getting cold on the bike and I’m in Siberia. I could have them for just 100 roubles (2.27 euros). I let him show me the socks. I check my gut feeling to see what it means to get my wallet out. Feeling sends to brain: “That’s okay. You can do it”. I praise her for her lovely work and buy the socks. “They’ll always remind me of this place in Siberia,” I say.

“Today I’m going shopping first thing in the morning,” I explain to Denis. “I think I meet fewer drunks,” he replies, knowing me and looking up from his paperwork. As I leave our accommodation, a whole school class of boys and girls rushes out of the house opposite. Everyone is in festive attire. The boys with long black pants and white shirts. The girls wear beautiful braids with tulle ribbons, white blouses and skirts. Some also wear black jeans with modern belts. Three of the girls try high-heeled shoes, although two of them do quite well. The third one is supported by her friends who are wearing flat shoes. I estimate her age at 10 or 12 years. My path leads me past the little mother with the gaps in her teeth and the smudged coat. She shrieks a joyful greeting to me. Store one unfortunately doesn’t have what you want today. A little later, goats run wildly after me. I wonder. Yesterday they seemed so sociable and quite tame. Today, on the other hand, I think they want to grab me by the horns. Shortly afterwards, I recognize the big white dog behind them, who enjoys chasing the animals.

Grocery store two is closed. As soon as I reach the high wooden fences where the garbage piles up on the left and right, I hear a loud choking noise. As I turn the corner, I see a man dressed in black vomiting horribly. I try to sneak past inconspicuously. Almost at the old, eerie stone barracks, the man who has just thrown up actually speaks to me. I hurry on as if the whole thing had nothing to do with me. But then I hear a loud and decisive “Germans!” Caught out, I have to stop. His vomit runs out of the corner of his mouth. His hands are smeared and his eyes are watering. I politely answer his questions. When his little knowledge of German is used up, I can go back to “understanding nothing”. Thank heaven, he lets me continue on my way. After grabbing a snack at grocery store three, I figure out how to get past the old creepy stone house shack without running into the man who just threw up.

Another drunk staggers towards me, but leaves me alone. People on bicycles look at me curiously. Finally I reach the small store number four. I can also buy a little here. On the way back, two women head purposefully towards me. The first question is. “Do you have a husband?” The second is: “What’s his name?”, which is probably to check question one. Now the two of them set up in front of me. I don’t even have to consult my instincts when a man asks for 50 roubles (1.13 euros). The inner signal lamp is red and all the alarm bells are ringing. One of them looks very old, although I estimate her to be in her early 20s. Grinning unpleasantly at me, she exposes her broken incisor. A cigarette in one hand, a jar of cognac-colored liquid in the other. Logically, it is not cognac. It can’t be gasoline either. Again, it’s not just alcohol that shows in their faces, eyes and posture. The spokeswoman is now demanding the 50 roubles again. I realize that under no circumstances should I show her where my money is and tell her that I don’t have any money for her. “Why? You’ve just come from the shops. I’m sure you have money with you.” I walk on and say goodbye with my usual phrase: “Thank you, goodbye”. “Thank you only comes when you have given me the money,” the spokeswoman demands more harshly. When she starts to push me off the path, I continue straight ahead. Like an ocean liner. Certainly not giving her any money and not wanting to get any further involved in this budding conflict. I suppose it’s the people on the street who save me and prevent the situation from escalating. If we had been unobserved, I don’t know how this story would have continued. On the way home, I see the shrill old woman with no teeth in her smudged coat as almost an island of salvation. “And how was it?” Denis asks me as I enter our room. “The closer you plan, the more likely you are to be hit by chance. Today was the worst shopping day. I’ll go as far as store one or two!” From this point on, we decide that Denis will accompany me shopping.

Denis

Tuberculosis, a serious threat to the village population

We visit the nearby sanatorium where children suffering from tuberculosis are treated. The head physician Tatjana leads us into the infants’ lounge. They shout “ßdrastwuitsche” (hello) enthusiastically in chorus. “ßdrastwuitsche”, Tanja and I reply with emotion. We hear that in many villages in Siberia up to 80% of the population suffers from tuberculosis. That the epidemic was long thought to have been defeated and that today the tried and tested antibiotics no longer help. Experts even believe that the disease, which originated in European labor camps during the industrial revolution, could soon return to Western Europe. “Responsible for the epidemic-like spread in the former Soviet Union are the poor hygienic conditions, the poor and one-sided nutrition and the enormous alcohol consumption of the parents. The epidemic rages wherever people live crammed together in miserable living conditions. It is mainly a disease of the poor,” explains the chief physician. “Many of the children are here for between three and six months. After that, they are allowed to return to their parents. It is likely that they will become infected again there or that the pathogen has become encapsulated in the body as a result of the treatment, only to break out again. “If the tuberculosis then breaks out again, it is possible that the same medication will no longer help. Not even the people who contract it.”

We hear that tuberculosis is the biggest killer among infectious diseases worldwide. The World HealthOrganization (WHO) has published figures showing that consumption causes two to three million deaths a year, more than malaria and AIDS combined. “We definitely need more financial resources here,” says the head doctor and we can see from her face what a hard job she has with her two colleagues and team of nurses to nurse the 85 sick children in her sanatorium back to health. According to World Bank statistics, it costs an average of 50 euros to save the life of a tuberculosis patient.

We say goodbye again. It’s already quite cold outside at 3 degrees. The wind blows around the simple wooden huts of the children’s sanatorium. We hand the head doctor 50 euros. “Buy the children something they can enjoy”, we say, so that at least a little something has been done. Then I accompany Tanja to store number one to buy some groceries. A man throws fist-sized stones at a herd of goats that has invaded his garden to feast on the vegetables. As we walk right past the fence, we have to be careful not to get hit by any of the stones. Suddenly, the apparently desperate man takes a wooden stick, corners one of the goats and beats it mercilessly. After the first blow, she falls to her knees and screams for her life. The second blow literally knocks her off her feet and after the third and fourth blow she falls silent. “The things people do when they’re fighting for survival,” I say. We leave this terrible place behind us as quickly as possible and hurry to our sports hotel.

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