How did you leave Tatarstan?

It all started with the fact that I wanted to earn a master's degree in Arabic somewhere. At that time there was no such master's program in Kazan, and I wasn't going to Moscow or St. Petersburg.

Then, by September, I hadn't gotten in anywhere and was thinking about what to do, so I volunteered at the Muslim Film Festival as a translator.

There was one woman who supervised all the Arabic translators. She taught at Kazan Federal University I think, or somewhere; well, that's not the point. We had a good conversation. She said that she has an acquaintance who studied in Indonesia for a master's degree: "Try to contact him; maybe something will work out."

I contacted him, and he was like: "Send me you documents; I'll send them to someone I know." He sent all my documents, just a diploma with translation and my passport, to Indonesia.

And then the University of Malang wrote to me directly in a week, like, come on, we have a program for you. The program was free, tuition was free, there's a small study allowance, plus accommodation and transfer.

I was in shock; like, there were no exams? I didn't need to do anything? That just doesn't happen. And I hadn't told anyone yet, my parents, my friends, I hadn't told anyone at all. I had just sent the paperwork. I thought, either it would all work out or it wouldn't. We'll see; wait a year. And everything worked out!

Few people know Indonesia. Well, they know where Bali is, but few people perceive Indonesia as a country. She just knew that I was leaving. That's just how my family is ... how can I put it?

My dad worked in Komi at the time. Is Komi in Syktyvkar?

Yes, Syktyvkar.

He worked there, so he would be away for months. We just called him and said "Hi, Ilsiia is leaving for Indonesia" [laughing]. In short, they were shocked. And, probably, because they were in shock, they agreed, like, "okay, cool, you got accepted, so give it a try"

At that time I had no idea what Indonesia was. Like, I kind of knew it was an Asian country, probably with some Arab culture, because they had those kinds of educational programs.

I arrived in Moscow in October, and I had to take care of some visa issues. There was a boy from Siberia with me too.

I didn't believe him, but there really is only rice and chicken to eat there [laughing].

Once my visa issue was settled, we flew to Indonesia. Me and the boy from Siberia. We flew to Jakarta, and our destination was the city of Malang; it's on the same island, Java, but a two-hour flight east of the capital.

Nobody had met us in Jakarta. This boy, he had already been in Indonesia for one program, and he spoke Indonesian, well, not bad. He was told that everything would be ok; they'd meet us. We were supposed to spend the night in Jakarta and fly to Malang in the morning, but no one met us, so he found a taxi and we went to the Ministry of Religious Affairs, who had given us this scholarship. We went there at night.

You arrive in Jakarta, get off the plane, and it's so humid, so stuffy, so hot, around +30°C at night. And I'm like, "geez, where am I? What am I doing here?"

We arrived at the ministry and, again, no one was waiting for us. But he sorted things out, and they gave us each a room: there's a hotel there under the ministry. We were put up, but then we're like, we want to eat too.

So, we went through the streets of Jakarta at night looking for street food. They have shops on wheels, well, like in Asia, every kind of rice, soup and these ... what are they called? Black things, like worms, but they're not worms. It's a plant, like a slug. It was pretty shocking for me. I was like "eww, geez, what is this?"

Then I saw huge cockroaches running around. They're everywhere in Jakarta. That was the biggest disappointment. They're like moose. They're so big, like the palm of your hand, and they're everywhere. And you know what else they do? They fly, damnit!

Only super expensive 4- or 5-star hotels have hot water. Naturally, I didn't have any in my room. You come home sweating after a night walk in hot Jakarta, you want to wash, you turn on the tap—there's only one—and the water is ice-cold. And you're like, "geez, why?"

I still don't like Jakarta. It's hot there, unbearably humid, bustling, and even worse traffic jams than in Moscow.

The next day, Muallif, an employee from the Department of External Relations at the State University of Malang came to pick us up. We flew off with him.

I liked Malang right away, because at the airport, when they drop you off, you look around and you see the mountains. Malang is cooler, +25–27°C, and it's more compact.

The Indonesian mentality is completely different, absolutely incomprehensible, at least, to me personally. In my three years there were things that I couldn't comprehend at all. Because 90% of them are Muslims, they have this ... patience, resignation, a kind of slowness. When you need to do something more quickly, they say "be patient, don't rush." And it really pisses me off.

They also have an interesting attitude towards foreigners. Can I say, to Whites?

Well, let's say to Europeans. A special attitude. In general, the very old generation, the Indonesians who survived Dutch colonization, they don't like them. And the young generation, they use the word bule. It's used for foreigners, white foreigners.

You walk down the street, they see that you're a foreigner, they poke at you, come up and take pictures. You're a curiosity to them, and because you're white, you're a beautiful person, by their standards.

Did that happen only in Malang, or in Jakarta too?

Not in Jakarta, which is multinational; there are a lot of visitors, and many foreigners work in large corporations. It's a kind of business center. Malang is a small city. The only foreigners there are, well, students. So sometimes it happens.

And the concept of what a business is ... this is, of course, really funny—those street vendors? They have wheeled benches, where they fry rice. For them, that's also a business. So, you meet someone there, an Indonesian, and he's like "I'm a businessman." And you're like, "oh, what business are you in?" And, it turns out, he just fries rice at night.

They have a real ecological problem. They produce a lot of plastic; they use plastic bags for everything.

Tell us about their attitude to Islam. What is it?

Well, like I said, most of them are Muslims. There are a lot of covered girls, but there are also uncovered girls, but they're almost all Muslims. Well, in general, you could say it's ... liberal, I guess? In relation to women, they drive cars, ride motorcycles. At my university, for example, in the last year, a woman became the dean of the faculty. To be honest, I couldn't quite imagine a woman being a dean of a faculty or even a rector in Russia. And that's for religious educational institutions, not secular universities.

They also have a concept—we'll, we have a concept to describe their relation to Islam—syncretic Islam. They blended it with their ancient customs and religions. They had Hinduism from the very beginning, so there are some mixed traditions and rituals.

One night there was some sort of ... mass hysteria. I asked, "What's going on? What's that noise?" Because everyone was running into one girl's room. I was like, "is there a party going on without me?" They told me that she was possessed by some kind of spirit, some kind of demon. And they began reading verses from the Koran.

I decided not to go. It sounded creepy; it was at night. They all ran there, and then they told me

They believe in it. They believe that these spirits exist. Even my friends, well, they're, of course, normal people, but not totally. That's probably why they only show horror films in movie theaters. A lot of horror films are filmed in Indonesia, a lot of them, with all these exorcisms, spirits.

What a country!

Let me tell you something good about. The people there may be weird, but they're very kind. Responsive. They won't just leave you behind. If you're walking alone, you don't know where you're going, you don't know the language, they'll try to help you.

More than anything, of course, I liked the nature. The volcanoes—we went several times to see them. The ocean—you could just get on a bike and in two or three hours you're on the coast. Moreover, it's a wild beach; there's no one there. Well, not counting the local fishermen who live in their huts there, but they don't swim for the most part.

You can sleep on a bench and eat bananas that you buy nearby. And it's super cheap. The waterfalls are awesome.

There were earthquakes, twice. It was funny. The first time I had no idea what was going on. I was lying in the dorm at night and, you know, it feels like the room is moving. I'm thinking, "now what's happening to me?" And then I hear girls screaming: "A-a-a!"

The boy from Siberia wrote to me (we lived in the same dorm): "Do you feel it? It's an earthquake. Sit back and wait it out." It lasted about five minutes and that's it; it stopped. But it was stressful. Nothing collapsed. And, you know, I was so happy then that I didn't live by the ocean. Everyone had asked me before whether I was near the ocean or not, and I thought it sucked that it was so far away, but that's actually good, because there were tsunamis. There had been tragedies on other islands, but we didn't have that.

Earthquakes occur so often that you stop noticing. They stop being scary. You get used to it, you can tell that the epicenter is far away.

How long did it take to find friends there?

It took me … four, almost five months. I was depressed for four months. There was no one. I didn't know the language, didn't talk with anyone. Then slowly in the fifth month I started making friends. I had already learned the language by then.

I cooked borsch and qistibi [roasted flatbreads filled with potato or millet] for them. They liked it. The borsch turned out great.

How did you return to Russia? Why?

I always wanted to come back, you know. As soon as possible. I finished my master's program and got my diploma, and that was it, graduation; I finally came home. In winter, moreover. My friends there were like, "what a pity, maybe you could stay?" And the university said: "why don't you do your doctoral studies here?" And I was, like, no, no, no way, never again!

I was tired of Indonesia, to be honest. It was a cool experience, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Because, you know, you're still a stranger in Asia. It is very difficult to get along there; it's very difficult to understand the people.

You know, you're sitting with friends, you understand Indonesian, and they make a joke, say something humorous, but you don't understand the joke. And that's okay, but it's annoying.

The food. Yeah, mostly all variations of rice and noodles. One day I asked a friend if there was anything besides rice and noodles. He thought for a long, long time and was like, "nope."

Did you miss Tatarstan?

Of course! Especially the first four months; I had withdrawal. I still remember how everyone was active then, well, in Tatarstan. Or maybe it just seemed that way to me. Juna and Oskar were constantly playing concerts, and I had always gone. I still subscribe to their pages.

Most of all I missed ... probably talking with loved ones. The concept of home, in general, when you can communicate in your native language and everyone understands you, you don't have to explain three hundred times what you need, where you need to go. When you're just in your own environment. I missed the food.

What are you doing in Tatarstan now?

I studied to teach Arabic, but now I work in the field of education with Islamic heritage. My job is to study and preserve it, study Arabic texts that reference Tatar theologians, for example. I mainly translate from Arabic into Russian.

That is, I work in my specialty, using all the knowledge that I gained in the places where I studied, Kazan, Morocco, Leipzig, and Indonesia. Arabic is my working tool.

In my master's program in Malang, all my subjects were in Arabic. Usually, when you get in there, you first spend a year studying Bahasa [the Indonesian language]. I didn't have to do that; my program was all in Arabic. But I still went to the lessons.

And learned their language?

Well, it wasn't like my goal to learn it, but I had to, because you can't get anywhere without it. You can pick it up very quickly; it's a very easy language, because there are no tenses, no concords, no declensions.

My master's degree lasted three years, and my last semester was spent writing my dissertation. In Arabic.

I want to live in Tatarstan, in Kazan, because I'm from Kazan. My family and parents are here. It feels like it's my duty because they invested in my education, and those three years that I was there, they supported me in every possible way. I have to answer for this. I have to be with them now. Well, I don't have to, but I really want to. I just want to be there.

Plus, of course, the language; there are no barriers to communication. It's nice when people understand you, when you speak and no longer worry that they won't understand you.

I showed it to my Indonesian friend, like see? You don't have anything like that.

What aspect of Indonesian culture could be applied in Tatarstan?

I think about that a lot. We could adopt their patience; there's a kind of worldly wisdom in this. It's not customary for them to raise their voice, talk rudely to someone.

I'm at home here. I definitely want to stay in Tatarstan this year. If I get the chance to leave to study either in Russia or abroad, I'll think it over, but really, I want to live in Russia. I don't see myself in any city but Kazan.