First day of Moscow researching. No one answered my calls, so I show up to clinic. This clinic is located in some backyard building, on the fourth floor. There is an American clinic on the first floor, for this you have to climb the stairs, the emergency exit stairs. The clinic is for migrants, run by migrants. It is a conglomeration of various medical offices: dentist, gynecologist, urologist, there is a barber, and a few other small 'organizations' aimed at working with migrants. Because of this, people just sort of show up and mingle and do their business and visit doctor, and hang out. There is a reception, this is where you stop by to get your medical history, and pay. The director sits in the same office as the technical administrator, his wife, also the HR and accountant of the clinic, sits next door, in an office behind the pharmacy. There are pictures of Kyrgyz life in the wall. There is a cafhere here both staff and patients and whoever else eat. The clinic is mainly Kyrgyz, but other migrants come here as well, there is no discrimination and prices are much better than local clinics, so various people come here for medical care.
I sit in a room next to some agency helping acquire work permits for migrants. Through my open door., I see a constant line of men wondering in and out. Music is blasting all day long. My life is now filled with Kyrgyz rap, intermittently sprinkled with gangnam style.
There is no concept of consent or recruitment or confidentiality. Women who come by to fill out the survey keep asking why I don't want them to put their last name on the surveys. They are confused why I keep reciting the same spiel of who I am and what I am doing this for. Random people are showing up wanting to fill out the survey. I'm sorry I can't give this to you because you work here, I don't care that sometimes you get your lab tests done here, no you cannot have it, you're a doctor here, the survey is for patients. Surveys themselves raise questions. Some of them are language barrier questions, since the survey is in Russian--those I can usually just answer by rewording the question or giving examples. And apparently, me explaining the question means you are no longer required to answer it on the piece of paper. Some are harder to explain: "oral sex? It's when a man..(shocked look in return)...nevermind, if you don't know what it is you probably don't do it..." "what does it mean, how many lifetime partners!? (offended look) there was no one ever, i mean, just my husband." "well, that usually means one, then..." and please don't look at me like I'm crazy.
Back to the hotel, i people watch while fighting the craptastic internetting. Sme dude decides to be friends. Where are you from? The states. You're ot from Russia!? Nope. Where in the states? Chicago. Oh wow, I love Chicago! Me too. Yu look 18! im a little older than 18...Then, he launches into a soliloquy about how hot Russian women are. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to agree ot be offended. Up to the room, the security guard checks my key before letting me to the elevator. This is done to prevent unsolicited sex workers soliciting unsolicited customers. There are people hanging out by the elevator: apparently it's broken, all four of them. I ask the guard if there are emergency stairs. No. What if there is a fire? He does not seem to think I'm funny. The thing is, he keeps checking peopple's keys and letting them through, knowing that they're not going anywhere, not mentioning anything. Have you informed anyone that the elevator is broken? You (thats me) can talk to the front desk. I stop by the front desk, and the lady immediately promises to call for ehlp, and in the meantime, I can't just go ahead and take the other elevator. The other elevator!? Oh, apparently, there is a whole other set of elevators. Great.
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