“Hi. We’re students from MSU working on a project about student housing. Can we ask you some questions?”
She eyes us with suspicion. “What kind of questions?”
“Just about living conditions. Nothing personal. We’re trying to bring attention to this.”
She nods slowly, looking us over one more time. “There’s a common area down the hall on the girls' side,” she says, starting to walk. “By the way, my name is Olga.”
“I’m Zoya,” I say, introducing myself back as we follow her.
She leads us toward a door at the end of the corridor. Inside, two more girls are hunched over plastic buckets, scrubbing clothes with bars of soap and cold water. They stop what they're doing and look up at us.
“Who are you?” the one with short dark hair and hard eyes asks, looking up from her bucket.
“I’m Zoya, a student at MSU, just like you,” I say, trying to sound friendly. “I came here to ask a few questions for a project. We’re just trying to understand what it’s like living here.”
She doesn't look impressed. She crosses her arms and stares at me. “What’s the point? Your little essay won’t help us. You’ll just take our pictures so everyone can gawk at us and laugh.”
The other girl stops scrubbing her clothes and nods. “We already have it hard enough. We don’t need people taking pictures to use our poverty for a joke.”
“Sasha, don’t talk like that,” Olga says softly, stepping in between us. “They’re actually trying to help.”
Larisa steps forward, looking at the girls. “We’re not here to take pictures of you. Just the building. Maybe showing people how this looks can actually get you some help.”
Sasha just scoffs and turns back to her bucket. “Yeah, whatever. I’m not doing this.”
The third girl stays quiet for a long beat, just watching us. Then she speaks up. “You’re really not going to take pictures of us?”
“No,” I say firmly, looking her in the eye. “I promise. Just the rooms and the building.”
She nods slowly, relaxing her shoulders a bit. “Okay. I’ll talk to you.”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Polina,” she says.
I pull out my notepad and pen. “Thank you, Polina. To start, what made you choose to live here?”
Olga finds an overturned crate and sits down on it. “There wasn’t really a choice. The university dorms have a two-year waiting list. A private apartment costs at least 15,000 rubles a month. This place is only 3,000. It’s the only thing we can afford.”
“How many people are in your room?” I ask, looking around the cramped space.
“Six of us,” Olga says. “We have three bunk beds crammed in there.”
Larisa stands next to me, quickly writing that down in her own notes.
“What about the bathroom and kitchen?” I ask, glancing toward the door.
Polina shakes her head. “There’s only one bathroom per floor. We share it among thirty people. And there's no hot water.”
“And the kitchen?” Larisa asks.
“It’s just a hot plate in the hallway,” Polina says. “We all have to take turns.”
Yulia leans in closer to them, her voice barely a whisper. “Do you feel safe here?”
Sasha lets out a dark, dry laugh. “Safe? The locks on the doors don’t work, and the windows don't even close all the way. Last month, someone broke in and stole everything we had.”
I look up from my notes, surprised. “Did you report the theft?”