Natalia Kalegova spoke about helping Belarusian refugees, her family, her attitude towards Tsikhanouskaya. And explained who "beavers" and "hares" are
A businesswoman from Minsk has been rescuing Belarusians for the sixth year. The house of a Gypsy baron, which she and her husband planned to convert into a hotel, became a shelter for refugees.
Natalia Kalegova near the Castle. Photo here and further: "Nasha Niva"
In Vilnius, there is a house that has long been simply called the Castle in Belarusian circles. With sharp roofs, high windows, a round fountain in front of the entrance, and large flags on the facade: Lithuanian, Belarusian, and Ukrainian. Below – a large inscription Dapamoga.
Natalia Kalegova drives up to the Castle in her car. In a light trench coat, with a short haircut, quick and precise in her movements, she immediately enters the yard as if returning to a place that constantly operates on her internal engine.
She doesn't even have time to properly enter the house before she starts seeing everything: who is standing where, who is carrying what, who needs whom.
Inside, the Castle does not at all resemble a sterile social institution. In the foyer – orange walls, leather sofas, a lamp in the mirrored ceiling, tiled floor, boxes, belongings, photographs, flags, trifles that accumulate only in a lively home. Previously, it was the house of a Gypsy baron, so the interior partially retained the corresponding local color.
Kalegova walks through the rooms: greeting everyone she meets by name, smiling, asking something, entrusting something.
On the first floor – the kitchen. Three women are preparing dinner there.
— I'm dreaming here about how to get shoes for Lyosha, — says mentor Olga. — It's hard for him to walk in what he has.
— You need to write in the mentors' chat now, — Natalia immediately interjects. — "People, shoes needed."
Nearby is Oksana. Natalia explains: she is the mother of a former political prisoner, one of the Castle's caretakers, responsible "for our bellies." The kitchen smells of food, coffee, and a certain domestic care.
— And do you know who "beavers" and "bunnies" are? — they suddenly ask me.
— No.
— Oh, well, you'll find out soon, — the girls smile mysteriously.
Natalia constantly switches from task to task, but completely controls everything happening around her. We go up to the second floor.
— How many people do you have here now?
— It varies. Now 15. But sometimes it's up to 30, which is already uncomfortable. Optimal is 20.
We enter the meeting room. Performances, living room gatherings, and psychological sessions take place here. Sometimes, Kalegova says, people also live here.
The large hall looks strange and solemn: blue walls, a high ceiling painting, round decor on the floor — and in the middle of all this, a huge camouflage net stretched out, for Ukraine. As if war has entered the former palace and remained here as daily manual labor.
Suddenly, a man's voice is heard:
— Natasha! Hello!
The man we meet in the corridor is Nikolai Kuleshov, a former customs officer and political prisoner. Just as we arrived, he is on his way to a psychotherapist. Psychological help at the Castle is as much a part of daily life as the kitchen or a bed.
— We won't go to the third floor, the guys live there, — Natalia says.
In one of the rooms – a place for activities. Massages are done here, a girl who does manicures comes. On the walls – drawings. Among them, a portrait of Kalegova herself.
— Was this your portrait drawn?
— Yes. I don't like that. The cult of personality is not my thing. But I accept it with gratitude as the creativity of our former wards.
In the painting, Natalia is still a brunette. She holds a bunny in her hands, behind her are beavers, storks, a fox. These are not just animals. A "stork," for example, is a guy who flew across the border on a paraglider. A "beaver" is a person who crosses the border by swimming across a river. A "bunny" runs through the forests. The guy who drew all this is now at war.
Nearby – an icon of Saint Panteleimon. It was gifted by one of the refugees who later flew to America.
We enter a room with a large round table. Natalia shows a guest book with photos of guests and meetings that take place in the Castle. Viktor Babariko was here, Pavel Severynets, guests leave their signatures in this book. Natalia doesn't have her own office – she says this almost in passing. And it seems true: her office is the entire Castle.
"Either accept the rules, or leave"
Natalia Kalegova moved to Lithuania back in 2000. She is originally from Minsk, by education a chemist. She graduated from the chemistry department of BSU, studied in postgraduate school, worked at the Institute of Experimental Botany of the Academy of Sciences. It seemed her life would be connected with science. But the 1990s began:
— I never thought I would be involved in business. I remember a friend once suggested: "Come on, let's trade flowers." And I replied: "No, that's not me. I'm a scientific person."
Life decided otherwise. The family already had a child, and the scientific salary was not enough. One day, an acquaintance called and said that an entire wagon of fabric was going to waste in Lithuania. Natalia already had relatives there: her sister had married a Lithuanian in 1984 and moved to Vilnius. That's how she ended up in business.
— After the collapse of the Soviet Union, all connections fell apart. Somewhere warehouses were overflowing with goods, and elsewhere there was a catastrophic shortage. And your task was simply to find out who needed whom. I was such an intermediary who knew everything. I remember my theoretical physics professor once came to me, when I was already in business, and said: "Do you know the main value of a university education? We don't care what problem to solve." And it really is so. You immediately see the whole scheme entirely. The brain works differently.
She remembers her first serious earnings down to the smallest detail:
— It was the early nineties. We went to the savings bank to get money, and they brought us an entire diplomat's briefcase of banknotes. My partner and I at the time left the bank, walked to the Dinamo stadium, sat on a bench, and just kept silent. We sat with that briefcase and thought: "And what do we do with all this now?" At that moment, I felt for the first time: life can be different.
Later there were fabric supplies, work with "Milavitsa", production projects, a sawmill. One of the first successful projects was a business with "Horizon" televisions. Natalia purchased incomplete televisions, which were sent to Smolensk, where they were manually brought to a finished state. After that, the televisions were sold, and by the mid-1990s, this was a very profitable direction.
— For a few more years, I worked part-time, trying to combine business with science. But gradually it became clear that business required more and more time. I was twenty-four, I already had to take care of my son alone. And by the age of twenty-eight, my business was quite firmly established. Then I already clearly understood that I had made the right choice.
The business developed successfully, but, according to Natalia, the mid-1990s became a turning point.
She recalls one family story. In 1994, her cousin, a successful businessman, almost threw a man down the stairs who came to a meeting of entrepreneurs and began to shout that "businessmen are ticks on the body of the state." The conflict was stopped then, and a few months later, relatives called her cousin: "Remember that man? It's a pity you wanted to throw him down the stairs. Now he is our president." Soon he urgently left Belarus. Today he is no longer alive, but, according to Natalia, he believed to the last: Belarus can still change.
— Before Lukashenka, everything developed very quickly. And then everything changed. I saw how people with whom we started business together disappeared one by one. Someone ended up in prison, someone left, someone submitted to Lukashenka, and someone disappeared without a trace. I understood: either accept these rules, or leave.
She chose the latter. Her then-future husband persuaded her to move to Lithuania. The move was not easy:
— I loved Minsk very much. For me, leaving was like shedding my own skin.
In Vilnius, Natalia first got into genealogy, spending hours in archives, researching her family history. Then she sold her apartment in Minsk and, together with her husband, an architectural designer, opened a network of apartments for people coming to Lithuania. These very apartments, twenty years later, would unexpectedly become the first shelter for Belarusians fleeing repression.
Until 2020, Natalia Kalegova almost did not participate in Belarusian public life:
— When I first left, I was very emotional. I told friends: "How can you live under Lukashenka?" And they replied: "You are abroad now. It's easy for you to reason. But we have to live here." After that conversation, I simply shut my mouth. I decided that I had no right to teach people if I myself had left.
For almost two decades, Natalia Kalegova lived her own life: family, business, friends, Lithuania. But everything changed in the summer of 2020.
How "Dapamoga" Began
When the presidential campaign began in Belarus, Natalia admits that at first she did not expect anything unusual:
— When Siarhei Tsikhanouski was imprisoned, I thought: well, another candidate has been jailed. I even told my husband: "Nothing changes in Belarus, everything is according to the old scheme."
But then she saw the queues for Viktor Babariko's pickets and how Belarusians helped each other:
— It didn't matter to me who these people were supporting. The main thing for me was different — they came out at all. And I suddenly saw that sincere, real Minsk, which I once loved so much.
On August 9, she went to vote at the Belarusian embassy in Vilnius. The queue stretched for almost ten hours, but everything was so slow that only 120 people managed to vote. About a thousand people could not vote, some of them had specially come from Klaipeda.
— We carried water and pizza to people, supported each other, conducted our own survey of who voted for whom. And when the next day I opened the news and saw "80% for Lukashenka," my first thought was: "What kind of nonsense is this?" It was such an obvious lie that it was simply impossible to believe.
After the first killings of protesters, Belarusians began to come to the Vilnius embassy with flowers and candles. When the police asked them to disperse, Natalia herself went to talk to the law enforcement officers:
— I said: if a plane crashes somewhere, people also bring flowers to embassies. This is not politics, this is human compassion.
As a result, Lithuanian police advised obtaining a permit from the city hall. Thus, "Varta Svyatla" (Guard of Light) appeared, which continues to this day: Belarusians light lamps next to portraits of victims of the Lukashenka regime and Belarusian soldiers who died in Ukraine near the Belarusian embassy in Vilnius.
But this was just the beginning:
— At the end of August 2020, we were called by Belarusians who wanted to come to Lithuania. They said: "We are offered to seek asylum, but we don't want to. We think it's temporary. We just need to wait it out in Lithuania."
At that time, Lithuanian law already allowed humanitarian entry, but the mechanism for its application did not yet exist. Chance helped. After one of the rallies, journalists introduced Natalia to the leadership of the Migration Department. Soon, those same Belarusians called her: they were finally allowed into the country. Later, it turned out that the head of the border outpost himself found them through Facebook:
— He remembered the people he had been forced to refuse, found them, and wrote: "Come, I will let you through." For me, this is a very characteristic story about Lithuanians.
Soon, at the initiative of the Chief of Police, Renatas Požėla, representatives of the border service, the Migration Department, customs, and other state institutions gathered at one table. Together they developed a mechanism according to which the humanitarian corridor began to operate.
By the end of 2020, through "Dapamoga" alone, according to Kalegova, about 320 Belarusians passed through this route:
— Back then, people still didn't want to ask for political asylum. Almost everyone hoped that in a few weeks or months they would be able to return home. It seemed to me that my role in this would be limited to rallies and such support. And then one day the phone rang. My assistant Natalia said: "Natalia Ivanovna, we have Belarusian refugees here." I didn't even immediately understand what to answer. I only remember my first reaction: "And what am I supposed to do with this now?" And she asked: "Please help them…"
There were three adults and two children. They crossed the border and ended up in some house 90 km from Vilnius, where there was no electricity or water. At first, Natalia thought of simply renting them her apartments at a minimal cost:
— I went to pick them up myself, took them, settled them in Vilnius. I asked how much money they had left. They answered: two hundred euros for the whole family. And then I said: "Okay, just live here for now."
A few days later, her phone wouldn't stop ringing. Women whose sons were released from Akrestsin Street detention center passed her number to each other, called, and pleaded: "Natalia, save my child." Thus began what would later become the "Dapamoga" organization.
"I am ready to kneel before them"
Although the mass exodus from Belarus no longer looks like it did in 2020, people continue to seek help. Natalia repeats several times: there are no random people in this system:
— Now the verification is very serious. People know each other, can vouch for each other. If an unknown person contacts me, I always clarify who gave them my contact.
Of course, she does not disclose the details of this work:
— There are things that are better left unsaid. This is already a matter of people's safety.
But she speaks of Lithuanian border guards with great gratitude. The day before our meeting, they rescued a Belarusian who had gone into a diabetic coma. Similar stories happened before:
— There was a person who fell through the ice. Border guards and medics rescued him. When people tell me after this that Lithuanians don't like Belarusians, I simply cannot agree. I am ready to kneel before them.
One Room That Became The Castle
Initially, the refugees lived in apartments that Natalia and her husband had once opened for tourists. Very quickly, a team began to gather around her:
— One day, girls from my commercial company called me: "Natalia Ivanovna, why aren't you taking us?" I replied: "Because I have nothing to pay you with. And everything here is done for free." And they just said: "Well, we'll work for free too."
Many of them remain close even today:
— There were three Natalіas. We jokingly called ourselves "the three owls," because at night we practically never left our phones. Some of them are now working on other projects, but still continue to help "Dapamoga." We are still together.
Volunteers and mentors began to gather around the organization. Natalia is confident: without this team, "Dapamoga" simply would not exist.
— I wouldn't have done anything myself. "Dapamoga" is not Natalia Kalegova. It's a team, volunteers, and mentors. Perhaps I just managed to bring everyone together. And they did everything else. They came up with the Welcome Pack — the first set of essential items and products that a person receives immediately upon arrival. They met people at the border, helped them settle in, supported them in the first days. Everything relies on such people.
Natalia says that "Dapamoga" has one rule that has never changed: if a person asks for help, they will receive it.
In 2021, her husband bought an old house in Vilnius, which once belonged to a Gypsy baron and was being sold after his death. Initially, there were completely different plans for this house:
— My husband bought this house hoping that I would take care of it, turn it into a hotel. It was our joint business, joint money. He thought that this house would distract me from Belarusian affairs, that I would switch to renovations, clients, a new project. But I asked: "Give me at least one room. People need somewhere to sleep."
Thus began the history of the Castle. The house was in a dilapidated state; it had been empty for a long time after the death of its former owner:
— When we bought it, trees were growing right through the asphalt. We didn't do any major renovations, we just gradually restored what was necessary. One room, then another, a third. Somewhere we repainted the walls, somewhere people brought furniture. The house was literally restored by collective effort, it was made by Belarusians themselves.
Natalia smiles when she recalls how everything happened:
— At first, one guy lived here. We jokingly called him a ghost. He later went to Ukraine. Then a second person appeared. Then a third. I didn't wake up thinking: "I will create a humanitarian organization." It's just that every day another person came. Someone needed a roof over their head. Someone needed to find a lawyer. Someone — medicine. I couldn't tell a person: "Wait, I'll think about whether I want to do this now." How can I say that when they are already standing in front of me?
For a few seconds, she falls silent.
— And at some point, you realize that you can no longer go back.
— Why?
— Because you already know them by name.
On February 24, 2022, Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine. And the house, which was supposed to become a hotel, finally changed its purpose.
— My husband is a citizen of Lithuania. And Lithuanians then all stood strongly for Ukraine. He said: "Well, I understand that we won't be making a hotel here for a long time now. Okay, do charity work."
Meanwhile, Belarusian volunteers came to Natalia:
— They said: "Natalia Ivanovna, we will help Ukrainians." I replied: "I have neither the strength nor the money." They asked: "Can we do it ourselves?" I said: "The whole house is yours." People who had only recently received help themselves began to help others. They already knew how the humanitarian corridor works, how to organize logistics, how to meet a person, where to find a car, how to accommodate people. I just watched and thought: now this is no longer my story. This is the story of Belarusians.
Camouflage net for Ukraine
"We all lacked empathy"
Alongside hundreds of stories of help, there was another side. In January 2021, a public campaign against Natalia Kalegova began, accusing her of profiting from Belarusians. She is convinced: it was a targeted attack. She attributes the main role in it to the former head of Bysol, Andrei Stryzhak.
— Articles came out claiming I was a Belarusian swindler, that I allegedly took money from people, even though I said I was helping for free. This affected both the family business and my personal life then. My husband and I lost about 320 thousand euros because of this story.
Over time, she was able to restore normal relations with some representatives of Bysol.
— It doesn't hurt me anymore. I'm just stating it as a fact. No questions — we sit at a round table, we talk. If people want to continue helping, why shouldn't we do it together?
She talks about the lost money calmly. More painful, she says, was something else:
— We were just beginning to build trust in Lithuania. And it turned out that not only I was slandered. Lithuanians don't know who Natalia Kalegova is. They just think: if Belarusians fight among themselves like this, why should we help them? There was a wave of distrust. But that same year, another moment occurred. On my birthday, Belarusians from the diaspora collected 600 euros. Today, this seems like a small amount. But back then, this money allowed us to help people for several more months. For me, it was a sign: "We believe in you."
And five years later, for Natalia's anniversary in the spring of 2026, Belarusians collected about 12 thousand euros as a gift for a retreat for former female political prisoners in the Canary Islands.
— I learned to separate the deed from the person. If a person makes a mistake — that doesn't mean they're bad. But, frankly, we all really lacked empathy then. We could have just sat down at a table and talked.
She pauses for a moment:
— I really don't want Belarusians to continue destroying each other. We still have to live together.
"The Castle can already live without me"
In five years, "Dapamoga" ceased to be Natalia Kalegova's project. She speaks about this, it seems, with even greater joy than about everything else. Recently, she had to leave Lithuania for almost a month and a half:
— And you know what? The Castle continued to live. People were accepted, help was working, everything was organized. For me, this is probably one of the most important results of these years. The system already works without me, and that's good.
Today, the Castle is no longer just a house where you can spend the night. It helps with documents, finding work and housing, and adapting to life in Lithuania. Each new person is assigned a mentor — a Belarusian who has already walked this path and can help the "newcomers" take their first steps.
— I don't really like the word "shelter." It narrows the meaning too much. We are more of a help center and a community, — says Natalia.
According to her, about 2400 people have already passed through "Dapamoga."
— The first month, a person lives for free. If they want to stay after that, they start partially contributing to communal expenses.
— But this is not a hostel where you can live indefinitely at low cost. If you no longer have to think about where to sleep tonight and how to pay for rent, help others. Come to our events or weave camouflage nets for Ukraine, help new refugees, support the community however you can. Because once someone did it for you.
However, she adds, in the first days after arrival, no one demands anything from a person:
— Sometimes people arrive after prison, after interrogations, after a long journey. They simply have no strength. First, you need to let the person sleep, eat, and understand that they are safe. People are different. Some get involved immediately. Some move out and never reappear. I don't like dividing people into good and bad. Everyone has their own path.
"We don't live on grants"
In all these years, "Dapamoga" has not received a single grant:
— We tried to apply several times, but we didn't get anything. They say we still have a bad reputation after the hate campaign of 2021.
The Castle continues to exist thanks to the Kalegova family's own funds, donations, and the help of Belarusians themselves:
— I definitely wouldn't want us to be funded for salaries. It's one thing if they help you pay for utilities. It's quite another when an organization starts to live entirely on grants. Lithuanians I work with don't live off funds. They have jobs, their own ways to earn money, and charity for them is truly charity, not a way to earn. This approach is close to me.
However, she admits that a few years ago there were moments when she didn't know how to pay the bills:
— In 2022, we accumulated a debt for utility services — about sixteen thousand euros. Gas and electricity prices sharply increased then. We simply couldn't keep up with these expenses. But we managed to cope. Sometimes people think that the house where "Dapamoga" operates was given to us by the state. No, it's our family's property. My husband bought this house at market value. He even jokes that along with the house, he also lost his wife — she completely immersed herself in Belarusian affairs.
Natalia speaks of her husband with particular warmth:
— He sometimes calls himself a misanthrope. But he endures all this. Recently, he stopped by the Castle on business. They fed him solyanka there, he lingered, talked with people for a long time. I just smiled afterwards: "Well, is it drawing you in?"
Natalia sometimes thinks how little would be needed for the Castle to feel more secure:
— We don't need to pay rent, which reduces costs. And if every person we helped transferred us at least ten euros a month, we could do much more. But life isn't set up that way. Instead, there are people who come back after a few years and say: "You once helped me. Now it's my turn to help others." And that, probably, is the most valuable thing.
"Before, prison united them. Now they have the Canaries"
Natalia Kalegova calls a retreat in the Canary Islands for former female political prisoners a special and very important initiative for herself. In the spring of 2026, the first group spent several weeks there. A psychologist worked with the women, there were yoga classes, hikes, excursions, and simply time by the ocean.
Isn't it too expensive? Natalia replies that the choice of location was much more pragmatic than it might seem:
— When you say "Canaries," it sounds pompous. But for Europeans, the Canaries are one of the most affordable vacation options. We spent about 20 thousand euros: that's for 15-20 people, tickets, accommodation, food, excursions, car rentals. A villa for that many people cost about five thousand. I can't imagine how such a month-long retreat for so many people could be organized in Lithuania for that money.
Part of the costs were reduced thanks to volunteers: the psychologist worked for free, the yoga instructor also didn't charge, and Natalia's son, who works as a chef, helped with cooking.
Natalia knows the Canary Islands well — she and her husband have been going there since 2012. Therefore, she was well aware of the local logistics, prices, where to rent accommodation and cars. And she comments on rumors that the group allegedly lived in her own villa with irony:
— Unfortunately, we don't have our own villa there. As someone said, that I rented out my villa — well, I would be very happy if I actually had one.
But the main thing for Natalia was not the economics of the project. She wanted to physically remove the women from an environment where everything continued to remind them of prison, repression, and emigration:
— The most important thing I needed was for the girls to detach from this story, for us to rewrite it. And we succeeded. Before the retreat, they essentially had one strong common negative experience — prison. And suddenly, they had another common story — the Canaries. Swimming next to whales in the open ocean, hiking, a trip to Teide, dancing on the beach. A different language around, different nature, the endless ocean. All of this heals. I'm talking about them now and realize that I've grown to love them very much.
Around the retreat, a small network of Belarusian solidarity gradually emerged: Belarusians were found on the islands who provided free photo sessions for the participants, helped with procedures, and simply joined their lives. And it is precisely this, and not the resort vacation itself, that Natalia considers the main result of the initiative.
"My relationship with Belarusians is very similar to a marriage"
From the outside, it might seem that Natalia Kalegova's life consists of an endless series of problems: people coming to the Castle, constant search for money, conflicts, responsibility for others. Why, after all this, does she continue to do it? She doesn't even ponder the answer.
— This is service. Once you are, in a good sense, poisoned by charity, you can no longer live otherwise. It's all about love.
Kalegova says she has never been very religious in the conventional sense of the word. But she has always been a person of faith:
— I believe that there are no random people in life. If a person came to you, it means it was meant to be. And after that, it's difficult to pretend you didn't notice them.
She smiles:
— My husband sometimes gets angry. My family too. But they already know: you can't change me.
Despite years in charity, Natalia still calls herself a business person:
— I know how to earn money. But after everything that has happened, simply returning and only doing business is no longer interesting to me. I am 60 years old, the older you get, the more you realize that you can't take anything material with you.
Then she suddenly remembers her son:
— He also left business and became a chef. And I think: he also serves people — he feeds them. Because service is doing your work with love.
I ask if there are moments when she wants to give it all up. She smiles.
— There is fatigue. But there is no desire to stop. My relationship with Belarusians is very similar to a marriage. First, there is great love. Then comes daily life, fatigue, irritation. You see not only the good, but also what you don't like. And at some point, you have to ask yourself: why are you still together? And if it's love, not calculation, you will stay with that person. It's the same for me with Belarusians.
She admits that sometimes her husband suggests selling part of their property, changing something in their life:
— I always answer: everything can be sold. Except the Castle.
— Why?
— As long as Belarus needs it, I simply cannot. At the same time, I want Belarusians to learn not to wait for someone else to solve their problems. If we want a free Belarus, we need to learn to take responsibility ourselves.
"I have normal relations with the Office, despite everything"
Dapamoga has accumulated quite a few questions for Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya's Office. The main one is why the structures of democratic forces for a long time almost did not deal with the everyday problems of Belarusians in Lithuania.
— When asked: "How do you help Belarusians in Lithuania?", they answered: "We don't have the resources for that. There is 'Dapamoga'."
According to Natalia, the Office did not sufficiently advocate for the interests of Belarusians before the Lithuanian authorities. She recalls a conversation with Franak Viacorka when Belarusians had problems with migration issues. He said that the Office communicates with migration services and Lithuanian politicians, but Natalia considered such work insufficient.
A separate remark by Kalegova is connected with the events of 2021 and the scandal around "Dapamoga". In her opinion, at that time Tsikhanouskaya, Viacorka, and other influential representatives of democratic structures could have tried to bring the conflicting parties together at one table.
— It happens in the diaspora: some quarrel begins between good people. And when we sit at a round table, many issues are resolved. That scandal had a very bad impact on all Belarusians. Everything could have been done differently.
— I have normal relations with the Office, despite everything. Sviatlana visited the "Castle" once. And after she came, we lost a certain amount of donations. People probably decided that she was now supporting us. Talks began that Sviatlana almost gave me twenty thousand. But the Office never helped us financially.
Despite all the accumulated questions, Natalia does not want to join the critics' attacks on Tsikhanouskaya. She emphasizes: criticizing specific actions and decisions is possible and necessary, but for her, there is a line between criticism and collective bullying.
— For example, it doesn't bother me that Sviatlana travels the world. I'm not interested in her money — I don't finance her. Now, only the lazy don't write that, supposedly, Sviatlana stole money, or something else. There's always something to criticize, but it should be healthy criticism for the benefit. And when everyone starts ganging up on one person — I don't like that. I'd rather want to help in such a situation.
"Another shelter, perhaps, is not needed. It's better to create a real pension fund"
Natalia Kalegova has developed a special relationship with BT propagandist Ksenia Lebedzeva. Natalia jokes that she has become her peculiar "fan": she follows her activities and regularly mentions her in her materials.
— She constantly makes films about me, follows me everywhere she can. But I'm even curious to watch her, because sometimes she provides useful information. You watch and think: "Here, you need to be more careful."
Natalia once again fell into Lebedzeva's attention after the death of Belarusian journalist and blogger Vladimir User. He died on December 6, 2025, in Bialystok. User's last months were difficult: he had serious health problems, and shortly before his death, he was detained in Poland on suspicion of espionage. Due to his health condition, the court did not take him into custody, and after the hospital, he lived at the Caritas center.
— I knew him very little. He came to us for food a few times. And I felt very sorry for him, — Natalia recalls.
After User's death, Kalegova expressed her condolences. At that moment, she was in Tenerife, already preparing for the retreat for former female political prisoners: visiting villas and planning the logistics of the upcoming trip.
Lebedzeva used this contrast. In the propaganda story, Natalia was shown against a backdrop of palm trees, contrasting her situation with the fate of the deceased User. In the materials of state television, this turned into the phrase "To some, the Canaries, to others the morgue."
— Thanks again to Ksenia Lebedzeva — she noticed the palm trees. Yes, I was in Tenerife then. We make these trips with our own money. It would be strange if I didn't have money. What, if I have money, I must necessarily give it all away to zero and not go anywhere myself? I have a husband, we have our own money. I love the Canaries and go there twice a year.
But behind User's story, Natalia sees a more serious problem. In her opinion, the Belarusian community has learned to provide emergency help to those fleeing repression, but has not yet created a system of long-term support for people who have already found themselves in emigration and cannot cope independently due to age, illness, or difficult financial circumstances:
— Those people who pulled him out should have taken care of him. I am for what Babariko talked about — for a mutual aid fund, for somehow solving pension issues. No one in our community is dealing with this. Another shelter, perhaps, is not needed. It would be better to create a real pension fund.
"My grandmother actually ran her own Telegram channel"
Natalia Kalegova says she never understood jokes about the "patient Belarusian" who will endure everything and get used to everything. She was raised by completely different stories.
Even as a child, she would listen for hours to her grandmother, who told stories about partisan Minsk, the underground, people saved during the occupation, and her own family, who survived repression.
— I always knew my family's history. That's why I could never agree when people said that Belarusians are people who just "endured and got used to." No. For me, Belarusians have always been very brave. Not aggressive — yes. But brave.
During the occupation, her grandmother secretly listened to the radio, although it was punishable by execution, copied news by hand, and passed it on to others.
— I joke now that my grandmother actually ran her own Telegram channel. She didn't think about heroism and just did what she believed was right.
When one of her friends came saying that the Germans had taken her daughter, her grandmother found a familiar passport officer and helped save the girl. According to family memories, in this way, she managed to save more than one Jewish family from the Minsk ghetto.
Repressions were also not kept silent in the house. Natalia's great-grandfather was arrested in 1928 after a few critical words about Soviet power. Relatives long thought he had been exiled to Kazakhstan. Only many years later, when the family gained access to his archival file, it turned out: he died in prison just three days after his arrest.
— We had no anger. I was simply told the truth from childhood and allowed to draw my own conclusions.
That is why, Kalegova admits, photographs of beaten Belarusians in 2020 unexpectedly reminded her of the story of her own great-grandfather.
She carried this family principle through school as well. An excellent student who could have been a gold medalist, she once openly accused the principal of misusing money earned by schoolchildren on a collective farm. She did not receive a medal after that.
— Oh well. At least I did it honestly. For me, people have always been more important than any system. Probably, that also comes from my grandmother.
"My Belarus is twelve acres of land"
Towards the end of the conversation, Natalia Kalegova suddenly recalls something very personal — twelve acres of land near Zaslaŭje. This is her family estate, which is currently under arrest.
— I never wanted to sell it. There are cedars planted by my father. There are walnuts. It's not just land. You know, everyone has their own Belarus. For some, it's a whole country. But for me, Belarus is those twelve acres. My whole life is there. My memory.
I ask if she believes she will ever return there. She doesn't even hesitate:
— Of course.
Then she smiles.
— I've already arranged with Lavon Volski, Dzianis Dudzinski, Katsya Vadanosava. When Belarus becomes free, we will hold a big concert there. On the shortest night of the year. I even know what it will all look like. I only don't know one thing — what year it will happen.
For now, such a concert in Belarus remains more of a dream destined to happen one day. For now, the "Dapamoga" team is preparing to celebrate the organization's birthday, which will take place on September 5 at the Castle, and has opened a symbolic collection for those who wish to support the organization's activities.
We leave the Castle in the evening. Just before saying goodbye, Kalegova once again repeats a thought that, it seems, best explains everything that has been happening in this house for the past six years:
— If a person came to you in trouble, you can no longer pretend you don't see them.