"Home is no more." How Belarusian IT specialists return to their homeland after living abroad

Photo: LookByMedia

"I lived in one Belarus, left another, and returned to a third"

Veranika*, QA tester:

— I moved to Poland in 2022 with my company. At first, there was euphoria. Oh my god, I can get on a plane anytime – and be in Rome, in Berlin, wherever, and for ridiculous money. My goodness, here the police on the street smile at you and are ready to help, you shouldn't be afraid of them... And so many other feelings!

Then the euphoria passed, the "rose-tinted glasses" changed to "blue," and disappointment and depression set in: legalization was pure sadomasochism, the apartment I had rented quite successfully had to be changed for another – a worse one, because the landlord raised the price.

Plus loneliness: many acquaintances – colleagues, girls from dance classes (I went to a Ukrainian studio), an acquaintance hairdresser – but no real friends. We only greeted our neighbors – and that was it. All day long in my shell.

Then I seemed to get used to it, accepted Poland with all its pros and cons (for me, this includes closed shops on Sundays, for example).

And then my employer just fired our team.

And so I found myself confined within the four walls of a rented apartment – and at home, I had my own, for which I didn't have to pay so much money. And friends. And mom (and she insisted: "Come back!"). And so many good things. So, when I received an offer, and then a job offer from a company in Belarus, I didn't think long, even though I lost a bit of money (but considering that I didn't need to rent housing, I came out ahead in the net).

When I returned, the "carousel" went for another round: first euphoria – everyone missed me, hadn't seen each other in a long time, meetings-conversations...

And then the horror of reverse adaptation. Friends and relatives have their own lives and routines. Because of the cold, I hardly go out – again in my shell. And when I do go out, I don't see my Minsk, it's a different city.

My psychologist, with whom I work (she is Ukrainian, she helped me a lot when I was adapting to Poland), says that this is normal – re-entry shock. Any person experiences stress when returning to their homeland: both they have changed during their absence, and the people they knew, and the country.

However, it seems to me that my psychologist doesn't quite understand: I don't just have discomfort because my expectations don't match reality.

I lived in one Belarus, left another, and returned to a third. There is no "home". I am not my own among strangers, and a stranger among my own. I feel like a plant that was transplanted into a more spacious pot, but it was doing badly there (though why would it?!) – and then returned to its native pot, but it still withers and loses leaves.

The psychologist says that I will get used to it: adaptation to Poland took some time, so I need to adapt to Belarus too.

But thoughts often visit me: what if I rushed? Well, what if I should have allowed a little more time to look for work (my "cushion" allowed it, though I don't hide that I was very scared it would run out – and I wouldn't find anything) and waited for options from Polish recruiters. I hope this will pass quickly.

"Maybe I should have waited, but I lived in Belarus and decided to leave again"

Aksana*, IT specialist's wife:

— We left in 2021: first to Lithuania, but only for a very short time, from there – to Poland, and then to Germany.

I liked it in Lithuania, I love Vilnius, but living there with four people and children was expensive. In Poland – cheaper, so my husband found a job in Warsaw and we moved.

We got used to it, it seemed, not very difficult: the language is understandable, if it's difficult – you can explain yourself somehow in Belarusian. The children liked school – they quickly found Russian-speaking friends, blended in.

Then layoffs started at my husband's work, he decided not to wait until it was his turn – he found a job in Germany. Another move.

And that's when it hit me there: half a year of depression, then I went to courses – I got from zero to C1 in two years. I didn't like the language (it lacks melodiousness). The teacher at the courses saw that I was struggling and advised me to volunteer, said that way I would integrate faster and start speaking, introduced me to the right people. And yes, she was right – I started to integrate, the depression receded.

The children also adapted somehow, learned the language (we immediately hired a tutor for them, plus school teachers helped a lot), they made friends, including Germans. But at first, the older daughter sometimes woke up at night and cried: "I want to go home to Belarus!" (and this broke my heart).

Against this background, my husband and I somehow drifted apart. I even started thinking about divorce. But what would I do? In Belarus, I had a profession, but here, in Germany, I am a volunteer and an IT specialist's wife. I thought, maybe if I go back, everything will be different. I tried this summer – and realized that no, I can't live in Belarus anymore.

Everything is not as it used to be. Minsk is strange, people (even good acquaintances) are strange. It was nice to meet friends, but our connection with them is no longer the same, long separation and distance did their job. Reality, in general, turned out to be not what I imagined.

It's like finding old picture books in the attic that you loved as a child, and realizing that the colors are not so bright anymore, the faces are not so wonderful – and all this was just your fantasies.

So, already in August, I returned. Even if my husband and I part ways, I will try to find a job in Germany. And yes, I understand that this was reverse adaptation, maybe I should have waited. But I was half a step away from falling into depression again – and that's scary for me.

"You won't believe it, but in Minsk, a soft 'Belarusianization' seems to be subtly continuing"

I returned to Belarus in 2025 after four years abroad – simply because one stage of my life had come to an end, and the prospects for another abroad were not visible at all.

I had no particular expectations in this regard – I had been to Minsk several times on visits and knew that the city center was gloomy, full of flags and video cameras.

Perhaps this lack of expectations from the city and willingness to go into internal migration was the reason that my individual reality turned out to be better than I imagined.

Firstly, friends remained in Minsk who technically brought me into their circle of communication and activities.

Secondly, some interesting activities in the city are objectively alive. There are language clubs, sports communities, simply certain points of attraction in the city like churches with wonderful organ and folk music concerts (and they are sold out).

Thirdly, you won't believe it, but in Minsk, a soft "Belarusianization" seems to be subtly continuing. Well, or so it seems to me, because I acutely catch any manifestations of Belarusianness.

"Dana Mall," for example, built a "Christmas Fair" this year – an enchanting installation with a vertep (nativity scene) and benches, whose characters spouted proverbs in the language. People thronged around these fairy-tale houses for two months. Mostly, of course, they looked and took photos, but they also listened. And some parents with children tried to repeat after the merchants.

A Russian-speaking friend came to visit – she wanted to hear the language. I explained that besides "hold onto the handrails" in transport, there was no chance. But reality immediately disproved me: a random acquaintance turned out to be Belarusian-speaking, in church I managed to listen to a service in Belarusian, and then "Dana Mall" pleased me.

It's very tempting to share such cultural discoveries, and just beautiful photos of Minsk, with those who miss the city abroad. You share them, and then you pull yourself back: is it really a joy for the recipient, or are you stepping on a painful corn?

What else caught my eye? On the sad side: yards and entrances seemed dirtier, on warm (and not only) days, the wind brought some manure stench into the city, shops changed their signs, and the new names seemed oriented towards the poor buyer.

Also, outdoor advertising everywhere cultivates casinos and military history, but everything is clear here. In winter, it is slightly smoothed out by New Year's decorations: the Christmas trees this year were very beautiful.

The roads in my area became newer and wider, new benches and installations were placed in recreation areas, but public transport seemed to run worse.

On the streets and in shops, there was a noticeable increase in migrants – Asians and Africans (a test for those returnees who suffered from xenophobia abroad).

Belarusians? It seems to me they are the same. They rarely smile, in transport they sit engrossed in their phones, in the clinic they politely lift their legs for the cleaner with a mop, they still hold doors open in the metro. If you address them – they are responsive. Shop assistants – pure soulfulness. In the bedding department, a saleswoman shares a secret with you like a close relative – how to get a non-standard set cheaper, given the prices for fabric. Elderly women in the fitness club discuss trips to their children in Poland, treat you to tea, and invite you over.

In general, Minsk is Minsk with an adjustment for 2026. Mundane, diverse, alive. Yes, it is not the Minsk of 2019, when cultural life was bustling and it was generally joyful and enthusiastic, but there is still space for life in it.

It seems that the polar perceptions of migrants – that their city is as wonderful as they remembered it a few years ago, or, on the contrary, deserted and gray – are primarily projections of their internal experiences. And reality itself is somewhere in the middle.

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