Childhood in Novomirskiy, Russia. Fear of Deep Water.

Year 1999. My parents simply didn't dare to emigrate to New Zealand. Other people, another language, and then also so far away from their own parents. Instead, they left our house to the grandparents for sale and moved to the south of Russia – to a small village called Novomirskiy, just thirty kilometers from Grandpa Yura and Grandma Lina.

Our apartment consisted of a single, thirty-square-meter room, which served as a kitchen, living room, and bedroom at the same time. To separate the kitchen from the living and bedroom, we used the boxes of our new furniture that we bought after the move.

The apartment was without a water connection, so my parents had to fetch water from a well. The toilet consisted of an outhouse in the yard. Since there was no built-in heating, on cold days we used a small electric heater that we placed in the middle of the living room.

I started school while my parents worked as English teachers at a school around the corner. My mom also taught German in lower classes. After school, I spent most of my time on the school playground with my new friends and also attended a karate course there.

Although Novomirskiy was not a dream place, it felt more like home to me than Uzbekistan. Here, everyone spoke Russian, which gave me a sense of connection. Despite the lower standard of living compared to Uzbekistan, I felt happier in Novomirskiy! It was probably my friends who influenced my happiness, not whether I used a heated toilet or an outhouse to do my business.

During the holidays, Grandpa Yura came with his sparkling clean Volga and took us all to Kharkovskiy, to the newly built house of my grandparents. The journey took us through Kugei and Poltava, where Grandpa sold some large sacks of sunflower seeds or other seeds for a few hundred rubles on the way. After the short stops in the villages, we continued to Grandma Lina, who was already waiting for us with a richly set table.

My grandparents lived together with my great-grandmother, Anna Solomonova, Yura's stepmother. She could hardly move because she had a large wound along her calf. Therefore, she spent most of the time sitting or lying quietly on her bed. Sometimes Grandpa scolded her when she scratched the wound, which was already difficult to heal. One morning, she didn't wake up anymore. She was buried in the nearby cemetery. Uncle Sasha also attended the funeral, as he lived just two houses away with his wife, Aunt Olja, and their daughter, Ksyusha.

My cousin was not Uncle Sasha's biological daughter. She was a year older than me, and whenever I visited the grandparents, we played together. At Aunt Olja's house, there was a VCR with tapes like "The Lion King," "Mulan," or "Pocahontas." Some of the tapes were from Uncle Sasha. He owned many horror movies, mostly of a bloody nature, like "Freddy Krueger," "Jason," "Scream," and various zombie and werewolf movies. Ksyusha and I watched them all.

During the three-month summer vacation, I went almost daily with Ksyusha, Uncle Sasha, and Grandpa Yura by carriage to a nearby pond surrounded by reeds, where we swam or fished with Grandpa and then cooked Ucha, a Russian fish soup, right by the pond.

Deep Waters

I couldn't swim, so I always relied on wearing a floatation ring whenever I was in the water. The ring was so large that I would fall straight through the hole if I raised my hands. Normally, I supported myself on the ring with my armpits to ensure I didn't slip through the hole. But on this day...

I was in the water with Ksyusha and Dima. Ksyusha called out to our Opa Yura, who was standing on the shore eating a boiled potato: "Opa Yura, throw us the ball!"

The ball landed not far from Ksyusha in the water. She retrieved it and threw it into the air before hitting it towards Dima. Dima caught the ball and played it back to me in the same way. The ball flew high into the air, and I reached out my arms to catch it. Unconsciously, I leaned on the floatation ring to jump higher. Just as my fingertips barely touched the ball, I was pulled down by gravity. I began to sink deeper and couldn't get any air. Water entered my nose and mouth as I continued to sink. The sun seemed dimmer, and the light faded as I descended. Panic filled my body, and I thought this might be the end of my life. Suddenly, I felt someone grab me from behind and push me to the surface. When I finally emerged, I gasped for air and coughed painfully. It was my uncle who had saved me. He held me close as we returned to the shore. This traumatic experience triggered a profound fear of deep water in me, which persisted into adulthood.

Sea of Azov

After a successful wheat harvest in the autumn, Opa Yura sold his beloved Volga and bought a red Lada instead. But even this spacious car was too small to take us to the highlight of the summer holidays – the Sea of Azov, a hundred kilometers away. Opa sat behind the wheel, Dima in the passenger seat, Uncle Sasha with Aunt Olja and Ksyusha in the back seat. And I was in the trunk, where I watched the cars behind us through a window. Although it wasn't allowed to transport people in the trunk, the only time we were actually stopped by the police, we managed to bribe our way out with a hundred-ruble note (for a nice evening with shashlik).

At the end of the summer holidays with my grandparents, my parents, Masha, and I moved again, this time to Azov. My youth in Azov will enrich me with the most adventurous memories. Starting second grade. So, can you find me?

Future Learning from My Childhood in Novomirskiy: How happy I feel has nothing to do with whether I have a heated toilet or an outhouse at home. What makes me happy are social relationships and experiences.

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