54° N 84° E

My name is Nastya, and I am 24. A year and half ago I was faced with a choice: move to a remote corner of the country or beyond its borders. At that time, many of my friends were leaving Moscow, where I was born and raised. The city had lost its appeal for me. They say that Moscow is not Russia. Which means I decided to leave for Russia. And so, in September 2022, I found myself in a music classroom in a rural school in the train-stop town of Yevsino, in Novosibirsk Oblast’s Istkitim District. I ended up there thanks to a program run by the nonprofit foundation New Teacher. The foundation seeks to support and develop education in towns and villages outside Russia’s major cities, including by finding and training new teachers and dispatching them to remote schools.

For a year, I brought a film camera with me to school. The result is a photography project about Yevsino and my love for this place and its people.

“Humpty Dumpty Sat on a Pipe…”

As you approach Yevsino, the first thing you see are the above-ground pipes. They form a belt around the town’s perimeter, a ubiquitous string of metal tubes.

The pipes are part of the habitat here. They are part of the landscape and the locals have found various uses for them. They provide a place to sit, chat, fiddle on their phones, drink beer, make out, have parties, and celebrate birthdays.

The pipes run alongside the town’s apartment buildings, separating them from a field beyond which the Chuya Highway rushes by. This road leads from Novosibirsk to the Mongolian border.

The field squeezed between the highway traffic and the pipes is one of the few places in Yevsino where people can feel as if they’re in nature.

Coal. Electrodes.

Yevsino is located on a huge coal plateau. The coal mined here is anthracite – the best and most ancient type of coal on the planet. As a fuel, anthracite is well-suited for the production of electrodes.[1]

I first heard the word “electrode” this past September. I owe this new knowledge to the electrode plant that is located between Yevsino and the neighboring town of Linevo, built specifically for the plant’s workers.

The plant and coal mines draw people to Yevsino from other towns and villages. Both offer employment opportunities with good wages.

About 6,000 people live in Yevsino.

The School

More than 700 children attend our school. Up through tenth grade the students are in three classes of 25 each, but after ninth grade, as a rule, there are only enough students for one. Here, going to school doesn’t seem to be popular or cool.

The school is a massive building, bright and spacious – almost always full of sunlight. The sun shines every day in Siberia.

Who cares if the factory is belching smoke from the coal tar? In Yevsino, life is in full swing: people fall in love, get married, and give birth to children, who then grow up and attend the school where their parents probably met once upon a time.

The Children

One of the missions of the Teachers for Russia program that brought me to this town is to bring knowledge to places that people are fleeing. The paradox is that people are coming to Yevsino.

When I found out that I would be teaching music and that I would be working mainly in an elementary school, I was very upset. I had seen myself more as a teacher at a college or university, and not at Siberyachok, a regular kindergarten. But, over time, the little ones won my heart.

When the school day concludes, the local music school takes over several of the classrooms, including mine. It’s a great neighbor to have. Endless, out-of-sync repetitions of the same melodies fill the hallways. Once you hear those sounds, there’s no mistaking what country you’re in.

The third quarter of second grade features a unit on Russian folk instruments. And there was an old balalaika with one string in my classroom. It was perched high on a hard-to-reach shelf, which made it all the more tempting. I finally had a pretext to retrieve it.

The reverent care with which the children passed around and handled the balalaika warmed my heart. Sometimes the children will sneakily use their rulers to make “artistic carvings” on their desks (rather well, actually), but in this instance they showed great respect.

A teacher’s job is hard, but if it is what you are meant to do, it takes total hold of you, even if some days feel like a lifetime of unexpected situations, comings and goings.

I take photographs of the children during lessons and breaks. Later, they come running to look at the photos that I print and hang in my office. I especially love to take portraits when the sun is shining on their faces.

Wednesday. The Bus.

Our school has a large yellow school bus that picks up the children in the morning and takes them home after school. Many live too far to easily walk, so, considering Siberia’s winter temperatures, the bus is their only way to get to school.

I ride along on three different routes every day and always look forward to Wednesday. I love chatting with first-grader Vika, who introduces me to the world of the game Roblax and to the complexities of first-grade life. And also fourth-grader Timofey, who sews amazing bags for himself and wants to become a hairdresser. When the children get off at their stop, I always wish them a tasty dinner and urge them to finish their homework early.

On the return trip, I sit up front with the driver, who runs a farm in a neighboring village and loves bees. He is a dear friend.

The bus ride is an amazing time, since the children open up an entirely different side of themselves. They are happy to tell you about their lives and their problems, while in school there is neither energy, nor time for that. The bus is like a mobile secret-revelation chamber.

Snow.

One of Yevsino’s main employers is the Novosibirsk poultry processing plant. Many of our children’s parents work there. For New Year’s, the plant gave hats to its workers’ children, and a good half of the students showed up to school in them. If you grasp the tips of the drooping ears in your fist and squeeze them, the upper parts of the ears pop up. And if you squeeze even harder, the entire length of the drooping ears light up.

In December, I decorated my office with strands of tinsel, and it caused a true sensation. The children hid in it, counted the strands, poked it to get electric shocks, hugged it, and stroked it.

What is there to do in Yevsino?

Of course, the metal pipes aren’t the only place to spend time outside. First of all, there is the park that was recently set up in Yevsino. It has a fountain at its center, gazebos along its paths (a favorite evening hangout for high school students), and benches for the younger set.

Alongside the park is the post office – a place of pilgrimage. Its wheelchair ramp, just like the pipes, is also well-used by kids.

The crown jewel of the town’s “Golden Ring” is the train station and a small square with the marker stone for Yevsino and benches around its perimeter. There are never people here during the day, yet somehow in the morning signs of human activity are evident.

Tuesday and Thursday. Soccer.

Our school has a soccer league. Personally, I am not a big soccer fan, but I still try to stop by and watch the kids kick the ball about at least once a week. The members of this league tend to be the ones who give me the hardest time in class.

Two girls also play – Maya and Angelina. They are amazing! They are excellent students but also responsible and absolutely fearless. Recently Maya proudly declared “I have seven trainings a week, without fail!” And Angelina always has scrapes on her legs – she’s a master of tackles.

The soccer league is led by Tolya Peremitin. He grew up in Yevsino and, just like my boys, spent his childhood kicking a ball around Yevsino’s courtyards. In fact, he did it so well that he was noticed and made it to the major leagues. Tolya not only became an Honored Master of Sport in beach soccer but also a world champion. This year, Tolya returned home and began working at the school. And he is now an undisputed authority for those who otherwise don’t seem to respect authority.

Spring.

Despite the long, snowy winter, spring comes, even to Yevsino. It arrives at the end of the third and longest quarter, by which time people are at the end of their rope and feel as if the school year will never end. But spring break does indeed come, the snow melts, the days get longer, and a single large puddle engulfs Yevsino.

Year End.

I taught the children music, but they taught me life. This year in a Siberian school was filled with sunlight. Despite the smokestacks’ black discharge, the coal dust, and the smell from the poultry plant… despite it all, this was a year filled with love and the joy of first discovery.

My photographs are about the carefree happiness brought on by little things – about the fact that I managed to make a perfect spitball shooter or that I could finally take my bicycle off the balcony.

My photographs are about a life that sparkles with the rays of sunlight reflecting in the windows of five-story panelki.[2] And when I involuntarily squint, I see only light.