Last week the European Parliament adopted resolution for the session of the UN Human Rights Council. There are some points about Central Asia, and some about Kazakhstan itself: 1. Human rights situation in that country has deteriorated further since the brutal police repression of peaceful demonstrators and oil workers, their families and supporters in Zhanaozen on 16 December 2011, 2. EP calls on the HRC to implement without delay the call made by the High Commissioner for Human Rights, Navi Pillay, for an independent international investigation into the killing of oil workers in Kazakhstan; 3. EP calls on Kazakhstan, as a member of the HRC, to guarantee human rights, repeal Article 164 of its penal code on 'inciting social discord', 4. EP calls on to stop the repression of, and lift the administrative obstacles placed in the way of, independent media, 5. EP calls on release political prisoners - including Vadim Kuramshin, a lawyer for human rights defenders, Roza Tuletaeva, a union activist, and Vladimir Kozlow, an opposition politician; 6. EP calls on to drop all requests for the extradition of opposition politicians.

Yesterday morning I was busy doing housework. I decided that I should get shutters and cover the window facing the neighbour's house. This way I won't disturb them and they won't disturb me. No sooner said than done. I went to the market and entered the first booth. The man (the owner) offered me some tea, invited me to sit down in a chair and began to offer goods. At some point, he reflected for a while, and then asked: "Are you a TV presenter?" "No", I replied. He said: "I 've seen you somewhere..." "I don't know, it's possible that you have…". I selected what I needed from what he was offering. Then he exclaimed, "I know who you are! You are Aliya! I've finally figured it out! How is Vladimir Kozlov doing? hasn't he been translated to Almaty yet? What are they doing (to him), bastards!" And he kept on speaking in this manner. I was a little shocked, of course. It's quite surprising, after all, to suddenly hear something like this on the market. But the man surprised me even more - "All that you have chosen, I am giving you free of charge. Whatever else you need, just take it. These are my greetings to Vladimir Ivanovich. Tell him that we support him and we believe in him!" I was stunned into silence, I was striving to say something, but I only mumbled some unintelligible words, which were rather insufficient, as the total cost of the goods I had chosen was quite high.  I would like to express my gratitude to all the people who support my husband. This is priceless. Again, thank you all. No court sentences can break Volodya or the faith people have in him!

Finally I got to Almaty. It was a long journey home - a train from Petropavlovsk to Astana, then a plane from Astana to Almaty. I want to tell you my impressions gained from my meeting with Vladimir. 

The morning of the 8th of August... I fly over to Kokshetau. From Kokshetau it takes me over 4 hours to get to Petropavlovsk. Road works in progress, plenty of intersections, at times, our speed is no more than 20 kilometres per hour. Finally, after over four hours we get to Petropavlovsk. I run to the market right away to buy some groceries. Knowing I would have little time while in Petropavlovsk, I brought most of the supplies with me from Almaty. The whole evening and half of the night was spent preparing - marinating chicken, cooking aubergine caviar, slicing vegetables, and so on. The common kitchen in the long-visit facilities may be big but not big enough for 18 women at a time; there are queues for the stove    and to wash the dishes. So I decided to prepare as much as possible before the visit. On the 9^th, in the morning, I had finished preparing, I kneaded the yeast dough and at 8 in the morning I started on my way to the colony to register my visitor application.

Four hours pass from the moment I present the documents to the moment when finally we, the relatives, are taken to the colony. Four hours of waiting... About midday they started leading us in threes through the passage. And again, one metal door after another. After 40 minutes we find ourselves inside the colony, surrounded by high fences, coils of barbed wire, dogs and soldiers of their internal army.

One more hour passes whilst body search of all the relatives are carried out as well as inspections of the groceries they have brought. Finally, we are given room numbers. I expected to hear - Kozlov, room number 2... But no... They say room 8. Room number 8 turned out to be big enough, about twice as big as room 2. We all - wives, mothers, sisters - ran to the kitchen to quickly warm some food, put the kettle on for tea... We waited for our loved ones. The waiting was the most frustrating thing ... I had prepared everything and still Volodya and the others hadn't arrived. So after 2-3 trips to the corridor I went into the room. And - like a traitor - my back started aching, I felt tugging in my stomach. I thought of lying down for five minutes and then going once again to see, finally see Volodya... But that's not what happened... I wake up and there he is…standing in front of me, smiling. It turned out I fell asleep!!! I was a little embarrassed. Volodya laughed a bit about it, joked about the state of me, like before, when we were free...; he called me potbelly. Actually throughout the entire three days all he called me was potbelly.

My back hurt from time to time and because Volodya's back is also giving him pain, we took turns to massage one another. How little one needs to feel happy!!!

This time I decided I would feed and water Volodya almost 24 hours a day as I don't like his emaciated figure one bit. I immediately informed him that we would be cooking together - roast chicken, roast piroshki and belyashi, fry chops accompanied by julienne and Bolognese and so on. 

Volodya was the only man to help out in the kitchen. Other women's loved ones spent all three days in the common room with the TV on, while they were almost permanently stuck in the kitchen. He made sure the chops were not burnt; he washed the dishes, while I ran to the window to breathe some fresh air. The kitchen was hot and stuffy and I often found myself needing some air. Many of the women looked on with unadulterated envy. I tried to steer Volodya towards the common room but he was unrelenting - "I came here to spend this time, every minute of it, with my wife, to help her, not to watch TV.".

Time is the most dreadful "enemy" during these visits. It flies by and makes you feel that very soon they will be led away again... Time acts in cruel ways. Like Volodya said - your sentence is announced in years but you serve it in seconds; time stands still for you, stopped dead… 

Having prepared the food we ran to the room again to talk and just sit together, embracing, thinking. I understood that we both try to conceal the dread and the suffering from  each other. Two or three times I turned away for just a minute and quietly, soundlessly cried to myself... Unfortunately, I didn't always manage to hold back my tears. 

We started talking about Volodya's remaining time in the colony. The Ministry of the Interior broke the law, sending him into the North Caucasus ( СКО ?). Now, given my circumstances and the fact that in the Republic of Kazakhstan (PK?) there are no more relatives who could visit Volodya, the picture looked really bleak. It could be my last encounter with him. Volodya decided that he would use any means possible in order to get a transfer to a colony in the Almaty district. I tried to reassure him, saying I would come visit him again, no matter what. A difficult conversation ensued.

Volodya: "I can't let you gamble - not with the child, not with your own health".

I:  "No, I am coming anyway. I will leave a week sooner, I will get here slowly but surely."

Volodya: "It's dangerous in your condition, and will be even more so three months from now."

I:  "I will try to come anyway. Please do not go for extreme protests or anything like that."

Volodya: "Can you imagine how I would feel, God forbid, something happened to you both!? I won't be able to go on, knowing that something happened because of me, that you were coming to see me. I couldn't continue to exist if this happened... No..."

I - ….. (feeling I am about to start crying)

I decided to write to the Ministry too, applying for his transfer to a colony in the Almaty district. Anyway, representatives of the diplomatic corps and a member of the European Parliament in the Republic of Kazakhstan, Aurelia Bush, are convinced that the transfer is necessary "for humane reasons" as they call it and they are sure that the state cannot deny such a request. In their countries their authorities are understanding about such things. They care about women and children.

On the 10th of August I heard screaming in my sleep. It felt like many people were screaming - rah-rah-rah. I woke up immediately, Volodya was already up as he's used to waking early. I asked what it was. I could clearly hear it as our windows gave onto the square and the tiny vent window was open. Volodya said it was their parade!!! And they parade like that five times a day. They have to march to the beat, Red Square style, right in front of the administration building. Each of the 8 units circle in a 'lap of honour'. And if the management doesn't like something, the unit repeats their march dozens of times and whenever they reach the place where management stands they must chant "Sa-la-mat-syzba!!!" I am taken aback. And this parade takes place five times a day! I have read the Penal Enforcement Code of Kazakhstan and it says nothing about parades or marches. They are not soldiers!!! On top of that, if someone from the management doesn't like something during the parade or one of the detainees has done  one little thing wrong, they punish the whole unit. They make them stand in small cages for hours or come up with other types of punishment.  The notion of collective accountability in an environment where each man fends for himself is completely illogical.

Volodya told me that they had so called 'Olympics' organised not long ago. Volodya: "Like some kind of celebrations. We erected decorations on the drill square, raised the flag, sung the national anthem. People from outside came to see us - from the Sports Department, from  Penal Enforcement, karate kids, football kids (!!!), local TV (TB?). All the speakers sang praises to the President for his commitment to developing  sports culture; they all pointed out it was his personal achievement, and that resulting from his personal involvement, sport is developing in the country. And I was thinking to myself, stuck here - what the hell are all you people employed in that capacity doing if everything needs personal involvement of the President? We stood there for one and a half hours and went back to our units. But now I know exactly how monkeys feel in the zoo when they are eyeballed from this side and that. And I can guess what they must be thinking, too..."  

We spent the 10th of August sitting at a small table and making chebureki, meat pastry ))) Volodya talked all the time - he ate like at he used to at home, all felt like home, all reminded him of home. Home was where you felt good. It was nice and sad at the same time. I passed him all the photos and greetings that people sent me from all over Kazakhstan, Dagestan, Poland, Russia and the USA. He also read greetings from Freedom House.  

I told Volodya that many people are not receiving replies from him. He was surprised and saddened by this news and said that it was his principle to reply immediately to everyone who wrote to him. This it was possible to conclude that someone is deliberately interfering with this process. Maybe this 'someone' wants people to think he is not replying so that they cease to write him. In the colony they know that people's support is very important and I suppose someone has decided to regulate this process. Volodya asked me to pass on his thanks to everyone who writes to him. He is prepared to pass his letters to everyone who writes him through me or through any city's (any sender's) post office.    

It was strange that they checked on us on an almost hourly basis. I remember that the last time there were fewer checks. 

We had a "'symptomatic scene' playing out outside our window. The inmates were carrying out some repairs, they were welding something to an iron gate. They welded on and on, it took them forever... But  an officer came who saw that they had done this all wrong. In his speech he (the officer) formed phrases with normal words and often added obscenities. I learnt many new words. In the end, the inmates started to detach the element they had spent half the day welding on... They had no gloves and no masks, no tools - it was 'do it yourself with whatever you can get'. Again from the Penal Code - employees and detainees should not use abusive language... Why do we enact laws if the police, prosecutors and judges are above the law?! Who do we do this for?  

Our baby decided to cheer us up and gave Volodya so much joy - he started acting boisterously, his movements really palpable. It was curious, he moved beneath my hands but when Volodya pressed his hand to my tummy, he froze immediately. He literally felt a presence unknown to him... This was during the day; towards the evening the baby got used to Volodya, kicking away happily under his hands.  

Time went by imperceptibly. Morning of the 12th of August. High spirits gone, you tense every minute, waiting for them to come and take him away. Sadness overcomes us. The air is charged with nervousness. Everyone was looking at their loved ones like it was the last meeting. Some will have another visit, others will wait for years and others will receive no further visitors. We sat together, embracing in silence for a long time. We didn't even hear when the words came: "Inmates, prepare to leave". And only when among the silence of the corridor we heard "Kozlov Vladimir Ivanovitch - leave!!!" we ran out in to the corridor. All the inmates were gathered there already, waiting just for Volodya. And he went... He went and waved for a long while. At times like this you get to realise that it is not the physical pain that is the worst, it is the pain in your heart. Moral suffering is a hundred times more acute than physical torment. And someone there at the top, on someone's whim is inflicting this pain... every minute of it. I get to realise that my suffering, some of my inconvenience out there in the free world is nothing compared to what Volodya is feeling in there; what he is going through. A feeling of dread and loneliness came over me. It became clear to me how much I had missed him, our time together, how acutely I missed all this.

We, women, have it easier - we cry a little, we calm down. But I saw the eyes of those who stayed behind in the colony... If only men could cry..."