"I can't free political prisoners, but I can improve one person's life." A Belarusian woman tells how she became a foster mother

Volha told Belsat why she decided to take such a step, what happened next, and why she now encourages other Belarusians to consider guardianship and adoption.

"I can do something good for at least one person"

Volha (name changed for safety reasons) first encountered orphanhood at a young age. When she ended up in a children's hospital for her studies, she saw children who had been removed from their families and were awaiting examination in isolation wards without a loved one.

She particularly remembered how such children reacted to examinations. While children who were with their parents cried and protested, those without families often quieted down and smiled even during unpleasant procedures.

"They rejoiced at any drop of attention, even when they were scared or uncomfortable. They were ready to endure it for any attention. And then the doctors would leave, and they would be alone again," Volha recalled.

That's when she first thought she would like to help such a child, but she was a twenty-year-old student without the necessary resources.

Years later, the feeling of helplessness returned for a different reason. After the 2020 elections, Volha participated in protests. Mass detentions and violence, and later Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, gave her the feeling that she was witnessing great evil but could not stop it.

"For several months I was in such a state of helplessness and desire to do something, anything. And, probably, the decision to take a child became a way for me to move to action," Volha said.

"I can't free political prisoners, I can't take anyone from behind the fence. But there is another fence, from behind which I can take someone and bring them home. I can do something good for at least one person," she explains.

"I wasn't specifically looking for a child with a disability"

Volha was looking for an older child to be able to combine work and parenting. Browsing through profiles of children waiting for a family, she saw seven-year-old Andrey (name changed for safety reasons). The boy was born sighted but lost his sight after a severe illness.

"I wasn't looking specifically for a child with a disability. I simply liked a particular boy, and he turned out to be visually impaired," Volha said.

Before meeting Andrey in person, Volha had almost made up her mind. She bought furniture and prepared a place for him at home, although she did not yet have a referral for the acquaintance and did not know all the details about his health. When the meeting finally took place, her doubts vanished.

From her first appeal to the education department to the day she brought the boy home, about five months passed. "Faster than a pregnancy," she jokes.

Volha had to submit income information, a certificate of no criminal record, undergo a psychological evaluation, and an assessment of her living conditions. Officials also had questions because she was single and wanted to take a child with a disability. A particularly memorable story involved the housing inspection report. Since the document did not have a separate phrase stating that a child with a disability could live there, the employee, according to Volha, rewrote it 14 times.

"There are different people in the system. There are those who think: as long as nothing goes wrong. And there are people who are ready to do a lot of paperwork just so this child can be home," Volha said.

"The mother didn't abandon him. She couldn't cope."

Volha's friends mostly supported her decision; her father reacted calmly, though surprised. It was much harder with her mother. She feared her daughter would "ruin her life" and even tried to speak with guardianship authorities to prevent Volha from getting the child. For several months, mother and daughter barely spoke.

Later, their relationship improved. Volha's mother apologized and started talking to Andrey; now the boy calls her grandma.

Andrey himself started calling Volha "Mom" after about a year.

She compares the adaptation of a foster child to emigration: a person enters a new world, doesn't know its rules, and must gradually "grow into" the new life.

From the beginning, Volha didn't want Andrey's new life to mean a complete break with everything that came before. After the boy moved in with her, she gave him the opportunity to contact his birth mother, grandmother, and sisters. While they lived in Belarus and it was possible, Andrey met with them, and now he maintains contact from a distance.

Volha says that for a foster child, it's important not only to gain a new family but also not to lose their history.

"A tree must have roots. We transplant a tree into new soil, but we don't need to strip all the soil from its roots. You cannot deny a person's past, their identity, and who they were born from," Volha explained.

Back to the shelter

A few years later, political persecution affected their family. A criminal case was initiated against Volha for participating in protests; she was detained. Andrey was again sent to a shelter for two weeks.

Volha understood: if she received a criminal record, she could lose her right to be a guardian. According to her, two weeks in the shelter became a repeated trauma for Andrey. The boy was not taken to school, other children bullied him, and educators, Volha claims, did not pay proper attention to it.

"It was re-traumatization. He was already traumatized by losing his first family, by illnesses, by resuscitations. After the shelter, his condition worsened. Now it's more stable, but it was a very difficult time for both of us," Volha said.

After this, Volha and Andrey left Belarus.

The move meant a new school and a new language that Andrey had to learn, also through Braille. At first, it was very difficult, but now, Volha says, their life has stabilized. She does not name their country of residence for safety reasons. She only notes that there, Andrey has access to a much wider range of technical rehabilitation aids: a laptop, speech synthesizer software, a Braille display.

In the future, Volha would like her son to be able to study in a regular school. "A visually impaired child, like a child with another form of disability, should have a choice: to study in special conditions or in a mainstream school," she believes. Volha ideally sees a special school not necessarily as an isolated place of learning, but as a resource center: where a child can meet other people with visual impairments, and specialists can help teachers in regular schools.

Why children still remain in the system

According to Volha, for many years Belarus has declared a course towards deinstitutionalization: the number of orphanages was reduced, and family-type children's homes were developed. She says there was a period when shelters significantly emptied, as children were successfully placed in families.

However, Volha believes the system is now faltering. Among the reasons is a shortage of people willing to work as foster parents in family-type children's homes. Such work practically doesn't end in the evening or on weekends, and the line between professional and personal life almost disappears.

It's hardest to find families for teenagers and children with disabilities. The older a child is, the more their own experiences, habits, and perceptions of life they already have. Children with disabilities often require additional rehabilitation, time, financial, and emotional resources.

"I'm not saying everyone should do this. But many people have the opportunity. If I succeeded, then someone else can succeed too," Volha says.

If a family cannot be found, a child with a disability may end up in a children's residential care home, and after reaching adulthood, in an adult residential care home. She emphasizes that many such children could live much more independently if they had been placed in a family in time and received the necessary support.

For Volha, this is one of the main reasons to speak publicly about adoption and guardianship. She sees the problem not only in the child being deprived of parents but also in the institution potentially becoming the first link in a whole chain of closed institutions.

"Even a very good orphanage is traumatizing"

Volha does not blame the staff of children's institutions. On the contrary, she says she met many people who did more for children than was required of them. She sees the problem in the system itself.

"Even a very good children's home is traumatizing. Simply because there is no family and there is this lack of freedom," she said.

In a family, there are also schedules and rules, but a child can at least partially influence their own life: ask permission to go play, choose an activity, have their own things and time. In an institution, Volha says, such opportunities are much fewer.

Volha still sometimes checks the database of children looking for a family and sees those who lived with Andrey there. Years pass, they become teenagers, and then almost adults, but they remain in the system. She especially remembers a girl with a disability whom she first saw as a small child, and a few years later — almost an adult. "You see a person with completely extinguished eyes, who no longer hopes for anything. Then one residential care home, another residential care home — and that's their whole life," Volha said.

That's why Volha urges Belarusians to at least consider guardianship or adoption. She emphasizes: this is not everyone's duty, and a person has the right to understand if they currently lack the necessary resources. For those who are still considering such an opportunity, Volha advises gathering information, undergoing training, seeking out other foster parents, and professional help.

"There's a saying: 'It takes a village to raise a child.' Here, a whole village is truly needed. You should never be alone as a family," she said.

Adaptation, Volha warns, can last months and even years. A child who has gone through the orphan system comes into a new family already with their own experiences, fears, and ways of defending themselves. Therefore, support is needed not only for the child but also for the adults.

Volha herself does not consider herself a person with exceptional abilities. "I am single, without a husband, I don't have very high incomes, not very strong health, and not a very strong nervous system. But I managed. So, someone else can too," she says.

For Volha, this is not a story about heroism or an attempt to save everyone. "It won't stop the war or overthrow the system. But we can simply improve one person's life," she concludes.

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