The Woman With The Backpack


12 December 2020

Ludmila, a Russian woman, contacted me to make an appointment with the legal counsellor of a social service she had previously consulted in connection with her residence status. I had accompanied her there and had also mediated for her at the psychologist’s office.

She tells the social assistant that she lives in Anderlecht and is married to a Belgian man, but that their relationship has deteriorated because of her husband’s difficult character and his alcohol abuse. Three weeks ago, her husband suffered an epileptic seizure and was hospitalised. There he was discharged early because he no longer wanted to stay and according to Ludmila he argued with all the care workers.

In Ludmila’s file the social worker reads that, a few years ago, she received
psychological counselling because of the difficulties with her partner. These were the sessions at which I was also present as an intercultural mediator. “Maybe you stopped the counselling too soon?” I ask. She answers: “It became clear to me that the social worker couldn’t do anything anyway, and my husband didn’t want to come to the appointment with me”

The social worker explains: ” At that time you indicated that you had not yet made a decision about your situation and that’s why the psychologist could not help you any further”. “That is also true,” sighs Ludmila, “but now I have made that decision: I want a divorce, I want to get away from that man and go back to my country. But we bough a flat together; we still have seven years of credit to pay off”

The social worker promises to contact Ludmila again as soon as possible and tells her she will help her file for divorce. A counsellor will follow up the case. When we are back in the waiting room, Ludmila asks us to sit there for a moment, because she is thirsty and feels dizzy. “You know,” she says, “I have already bought a plane ticket. I can’t go on with that man and the only thing stopping me is the payment for the flat. My husband does everything he can to keep me tied to him, like with that credit. He abuses me psychologically: he humiliates me, says he will call the police to tell them that I am not taking good care of him.

At home he moves about with a walker and now he has put a knife inside it. He frightens me; I want to flee. I now see Ludmila with different eyes: she is wearing sturdy walking shoes, war stockings, a long skirt, a hooded coat, and her black backpack.

Suddenly it dawns on me that she had come so early to the appointment because she did not want to be at home with her husband. She remains on the move all day; after our appointment she will go to her grandchildren’s school, take them to her daughter’s and then stay there a while…
In the spring of 2020, I learn that Ludmila managed to return to Russia just before the measures to stop the spread of the COVID-19 pandemic came into force. She was thus able to avoid having to stay at home with her husband, with all the safety risks that such a situation would have entailed.

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