Nothing Else Matters

Previously appeared in Backpacker Magazine

March 2003

Due to the Chernobyl nuclear disaster, nearly two million Belarusians live in radioactive contaminated areas. Dermot Corrigan explains why he went there, and how he found beauty, laughter and a determination to get on with life.

There is a story told in Belarus about three soldiers captured by the enemy during a war. The French, English and Belarusian soldiers are all sentenced to death and hanged. After a week the enemy returns to cut down the bodies and finds the English and French long dead, but the Belarusian is still hanging in there. The enemy asks him how come he is still alive.

“It was tough at first, but you soon get used to it,” said the Belarusian.

The Chernobyl Children’s Appeal helps people in Belarus who’ve been badly affected by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster. My parents are involved in the Irish arm, and through them I got in touch with Luba, a helpful Belarusian lady, who organised the invitation I needed to get my visa. She also arranged for me to stay with a family in her hometown of Mozyr, a southern city about 120km from Chernobyl.

My host family met me at the station and we drove to their apartment. Outside, their apartment building looked like a typical decaying Communist block with cracks, weeds, graffiti and a bad smell on the stairs. But behind their heavily fortified door everything was grand. There was a microwave and big screen TV.

The parents Nikolai and Elena didn’t speak much English, but their beautiful 19-year old daughter did. Irina was my guide for the next few days. Ah Irina, you Belarusian Britney. Such deep brown eyes. We went swimming at a deserted lake in the country. She taught me to play cards and billiards Belarusian style. She showed me photos of her when she was little, and more flattering ones of her all grown up.

We talked for hours. We both liked David Beckham. She was always asking me did I want anything more, catering to my nearly every whim. But her national boxing champion boyfriend, Andrei, was generally somewhere near to make sure she didn’t succumb to any malign Western influences. Which was unfortunate.

I also spent a lot of time with Pavel and his precocious 12-year old brother Anton. They both supported Man Utd and they were staying downstairs. Anton’s English was better than mine [present perfect?] and Pavel told me a lot about Belarus. He wasn’t a fan of current president Lukashenko, who pretty much rules the country on his own, and he doesn’t seem to be doing a great job. He shuns the West and reckons radiation from Chernobyl isn’t a problem anymore. He’s wrong.

The radiation hasn’t gone away. All the local crops are contaminated, but the people have to eat. They don’t know what harm it’s doing, but they know it’s not good. Pavel says everyone wants to get out, but there’s nowhere to go. Even to move to Minsk is impossible for most people. They just can’t afford it. The average monthly wage is €45 and stagnant.

On my third day I got to meet and thank Luba. They were unloading an aid truck from Ireland and I went down to help out. The container was filled with clothes, blankets, medical books and equipment, toys, paper, and lots of other badly needed stuff. A customs official was there to keep an eye on the proceedings, but he didn't interfere. Didn't help us with the boxes either, but he didn't interfere.

One night Nikolai and Elena were giving a dinner party for some friends and I was invited. There was plenty of good food and vodka, and every few minutes there was another toast. After we’d all had a few Nikolai proposed we drink to me finding a wife in Belarus. I reddened and Irina legged it for the TV, leaving me without an interpreter. But I stayed. It was good vodka. I couldn’t follow the conversation too well, but when they laughed, I laughed. I was drunk and it was funny.

Mozyr is flat, sprawling and ugly. The streets are wide and dusty. There are no traffic jams. At one junction the lights are broken; one is always green, the other always red. But the drivers get by. There aren’t many shops, but a few huge open-air markets. As well as irradiated food, knock off Adidas T-shirts and Malaysian clock radios, there are stalls dedicated to selling plastic bags advertising Western companies.

My guide, Alesya, was kinder to Lukashenko than Pavel, pointing out how many problems he was up against. I wasn't so sure about her arguments. She talked about the problems facing girls from Mozyr. They are afraid to get pregnant, not knowing what they will give birth to.

She agreed that everyone wants to get out. Some girls go to the Middle East to work as ‘hostesses’ or ‘escorts’. Unless you are well off or well connected, it can seem there is nowhere else to go. She pointed out the homes for the dying that some call hospitals. I didn’t know where to look.

The next day I had to get thetrain. I don’t think I saw much of your average Belarusian’s life. Nikolai’s TV was bigger than mine. Luba had made sure I saw the best of the country. When I said I’d like to see an orphanage or hospital I was carefully outmanoeuvred.

Still from talking to Alesya and Pavel, and just from looking around the city, I realise that for most people things are pretty shitty. While we were unloading the aid truck Pavel pointed at a box of second hand blankets and said: “This is how we live.”

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