Minsk to Mist

It felt as if that 5-hours’ flight lasted an eternity. From the sunny and hot Tashkent in the middle of June, where I hung out with my lovely Uzbek co-workers and was force-fed the most amazing plov and samsas I have ever tried, I was being transported to the country that raised me, where a lot has changed since my last visit 1.5 years ago, but one constant remained – my mum still lives there.

In contrast to the Uzbek capital, Minsk met me with cold gloomy 12^o C attitude. ‘Yeah, great start…’, I thought to myself.

When the plane had finally landed, it was the time to face the first reason I don’t exactly look forward to travelling to my native country and why I stopped calling it homeland – the grumpy cats at the passport control.

– You have not been in the country for over a year. May I ask what was the reason for that?

– I live and work in the UK.

– Can I see your UK residence permit? (No, they don’t use ‘please’ very often…)

– Well, you can, but I have already notified the embassy in London of me having that permit. Shall I just show the confirmation I got from them? (You have to notify the government if you are a Belarusian with a foreign residence permit).

– No, I still need to see it.

After a deep sigh, I fished my UK residence permit (expired, BTW, as we foreign residents in the UK are now on e-visas) out of my handbag and handed it over to the officer.

– OK, so when did you move there?

– In 2019.

– Why? (oh really?!)

– I got a job offer there and decided to move.

– OK. So, I can see you have an American visa in your passport. Why?

FFS, to visit Nauru! What kind of question is that? What do people use American visas for?! But I have lived in my native country long enough to know that the implied question was ‘why are you visiting the States, and while we are at it, can I spot any signs that the American government is funding you to start a revolution in Belarus?’

– I have customers in the States, and a part of my job is to visit them every now and then. (Which is true, and while we are at it, no, I don’t have any plans or funds to start revolutions in any countries, not really my cup of tea…)

– OK, so why are you coming back home now then? (well, actually, I only have a Belarusian passport, and I am legally allowed to visit the country of my nationality at any time! In fact, I am even allowed to move back! Not that I have any intention to do so…)

– I am here to visit my mother.

– OK, give me a minute.

The flight to Minsk might have felt like an eternity, but the passport control officer giving someone a call felt even longer than that. I had a vague idea as to whom he was calling, and I can imagine it wasn’t the chief passport control officer or whatever they name it. It was a different kind of officer who, allegedly, sits on the second floor and comes downstairs to ‘meet and greet’ the travellers that cause suspicion. If you live in a Western country and have a lot of visas to visit other Western country, you most certainly fall into the category of ‘suspicious’.

The officer on the other side of the line did not pick up. My counterpart hung up and re-dialled. I could not bear this anymore.

– Excuse me, officer, is there a problem with my passport?

– I just need to check something.

Another eternity later, I had a chance to practice my lip-reading skills as he asked whilst on the phone ‘Are we letting her in?’ Apparently, the answer was affirmative, as the officer returned my passport and my residence permit to me and wished me a nice day.

‘Nice day, my ass!’ I thought to myself as I made my way to the baggage reclaim.

A brief taxi drive later, I was in the middle of my native city, which, for the first time ever, did not cause any excitement in me. Might have been the weather, might have been a totally ruined mood from the passport control thing, or maybe it has just been way too long. ‘It’s only for a bit over a week’, I tried to comfort myself as I walked along oh-so-familiar streets to get some groceries for supper.

It would have been nothing, as I’ve been calling London my home for a long time now. Except for the fact that, just a month prior to that, the prime minister of the country I live in included me, among others, into the definition of ‘an island of strangers’. And promised to tighten up the immigration laws, potentially in such a way that I, despite having lived here for years, might have to wait another 9 years (instead of 4) to apply for an indefinite leave to remain and then a British passport.

Don’t get me wrong – any nation should control its immigration, and I do agree that a UK nationality should be a privilege. If anything, I do support that B1 knowledge of English is too little, and the ‘life in the UK’ test as it stands nowadays hardly proves that a person has really made an effort to become a part of the British society. My problem is when goalposts are being moved for the people who are already here, have been contributing to the British economy (working, paying taxes, etc.). And not in terms of what really matters for the integration, such as the command of English or knowing the British ways. Just in the number of years that we have to be confined to the same employer (or undergo a difficult and expensive procedure of finding another one) and pay for visa extensions and an NHS surcharge.

I do love this country. And like I said in my inaugural post, I didn’t come here to get more money. I came here because I WANT to be a part of the British society and live according to its norms. (Well, maybe with an exception of the dish soap thing…) That’s why I work, pay taxes, speak the language, made friends in London, have a born-and-bred British partner, do volunteering etc. Yet, according to Mr Farage, all I’m doing is trying to get an ILR with the only goal of receiving benefits. (A quick note here – my average salary in Belarus was way higher than any benefits one can receive in the UK, with the living expenses being much lower…)

Yet, I’m just a stranger in my new home country. And, when I go to my native country, I’m some sort of a suspicious gal back there. That weird feeling when you are an outsider no matter where you go and how hard you try.

Either way, I will just keep calm and carry on. Doing my job, paying the taxes, nurturing my new friendships and doing something good for the society. Because knowing that there are people in my life who actually care and don’t see me as a stranger really helps.

And yes, I will refrain from eating swans, thank you.