We had freedom of speech to protest, but what use was that if it didn’t help? As far as I was concerned they could take back their freedom as long as they fed the elderly. Besides, the media interpreted the new freedom incorrectly. The newspapers wrote what they wanted without any type of nuance. Criminal suspects were named and shamed, even before anything could be proved. All the news was accompanied with colourful commentary, mostly aimed at the communists. While previously the party would dismiss all facts as rumours, the media now presented all rumours as fact.
The new future had arrived, but after less than a year many people were fed up. They were without a doubt the most surprising years in the history of (East) Europe. It was just a shame that the surprises kept on coming, when we assumed they would disappear after the Wall had come down. There was freedom of travel, but people didn’t have any money. You could finally live and work where you wanted to, but there was no work to be found. The party had turned into a living volcano that hadn’t stopped smoking. The opposition dearly wanted to govern, but they didn’t know how. It had become clear to all Bulgarians that freedom wouldn’t still the hunger. Because state subsidies stopped, the prices of some products rose more than 100 percent. A pair of shoes could cost you a month’s salary. Luxury consumer goods had become a moving target: each time you have saved the required amount, the prices rose. Where was the prosperity they promised? The great illusions were replaced with even greater disillusionment.
The hunger for freedom of speech decreased under the threat of real hunger. A visit to my grandmother’s sister opened my eyes for the problems at the bottom of society. It was strange talking about a bottom, when not long ago we had all been equal. Yet I couldn’t find any other word to describe the poverty I saw.
The flat that Aunt Veneta lived in was dismal. The plasterwork had holes and cracks. The stairwell was dark, almost scary. The elevator didn’t work, because the residents could no longer afford the maintenance fees. I rang the doorbell. Aunt opened the door with a big smile and led me to the living room. The wallpaper had seen better days and was partly coming loose. She still had an old-fashioned black and white television, which only worked when it wanted to. The furniture looked like it had taken a wrong turn on the way to the dump. The truth was that Aunt has never thrown anything away. Not that she was so attached to the saggy couch and the chairs with ripped upholstery, but because she didn’t have any money to buy new ones. Her husband had died young and her daughter had contracted an incurable disease. Aunt had stopped working to care for her daughter and tried to make do on a widow’s pension. When she told me how much she had to spend per month I was shocked. I sometimes blew that in one shopping spree.
‘How can you live on so little money?’ I asked truly surprised.
Aunt shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t buy anything I don’t need. And I also don’t buy the things I do need. It’s no fun counting every penny. On the other hand, money worries are the only thing that distinguishes us from animals.’
I excused myself and quickly bought some things for lunch before Aunt could protest. I ordered everything in the neighbourhood store that looked somewhat appetizing and the two saleswomen quickly filled a few large plastic bags. I paid, but then realized I could hardly carry them. Luckily, I saw a few gypsy children on the pavement. I beckoned them to come and help. They begged anyway, this way they could earn their money. Together we carried the heavy bags to the third floor and I sent them off with a tip that seemed to please them.
Aunt ate as if she hadn’t seen food in months. It was a touching scene. At the same time, I was embarrassed that I hadn’t known that she had lived in such misery since the revolution. Only now did I realise why so many old people claimed to have been better off during communism. The prices of most of the essential groceries had not changed in years and the comfortable predictability of life meant you were never confronted with big problems, never mind with hunger.
After lunch Aunt walked towards the only remaining cupboard in the living room and took out a box of chocolates. I recognized the packaging. I had sent her that box for Christmas a few years ago, and the contents were well over their best before date by now.
‘I was often tempted to open your gift and eat everything, but I managed to save it for dear guests,’ Aunt said with pride in her voice.
Out of politeness I took an ancient chocolate, that had turned white. My Aunt ate the rest of the box, while she kept on apologizing for her greediness. I encouraged her with a smile. I had bought the box specially for her and if I wanted I could buy chocolates on a daily basis. Of course, I couldn’t say that out loud, because she couldn’t imagine such a luxury.
It was a beautiful sight seeing someone enjoy a box of chocolates so much. I wish I could enjoy something as simple so intensely. That was my problem. My life had always gone without a hitch, I had always gotten everything I wanted and that had taken away my ability to enjoy the simple things. Of course, I had great life goals, but at that point in time I was almost certain that few things would give me more pleasure that watching Aunt devouring the chocolates.
We were no longer surprised by the passionate debates in parliament, which were televised live and we started to trust the politicians on their word less and less. Instead the young generation discovered a new faith: God, who had always been there, but had been made invisible in the background by the communists.
Religion wasn’t forbidden during communism, but if you were seen in a church, that could have a negative impact on your career. If you were building paradise on earth, then you didn’t need a God in heaven. The party had after all its own gods: Marx, Lenin and of course our own party leader Zjivkov.
My parents weren’t introduced to religion, but one of my aunts would take me to the church every now and then to light a candle. I didn’t understand many of the rituals. The singing was beautiful, but the priests’ mumbling was completely incomprehensible. Sometimes they used to much incense that I had to agree with the communists: ‘religion is the opium of the people.’
At Easter, we bent over to walk under Jesus’ coffin, which had been placed on two tables. I’m not sure that this symbolic activity meant, but I was excited each time. Just like the candle that you lit in the church and took home while it was still burning. If the candle went out on your way home, that was a bad omen. It was quite a feat to protect the candle from the wind and that made the ritual especially exciting.
After the fall of the Wall, all kinds of Western religion and sects got a foot on the ground. I had found myself an explanation why all of Bulgaria had thrown itself to God. As long as everything was going well, we didn’t need him, but in these uncertain times the Prophet was suddenly very welcome.
To me, such faith had a taste of hypocrisy. People who are happy, don’t often believe in God, but if their life has a dramatic change, then they start to read the Bible. If they are healthy, they don’t need the Lord, but if they are ill, old and rickety, then they bless themselves in church.
It was actually not that strange that the non-religious Bulgarian people had suddenly stormed the churches en masse. Over the last few the years the communists had created a kind of religious mood, a feeling of obedience and admiration, which slotted perfectly into the ambience of the church. And this way all non-believing Bulgarians were converted from one day to the next.
Religion had become so cool that if I got lost in the city, I daren’t ask my way any longer. In no time a number of people would show me the right way. To the Redeemer, to be clear. I could not explain that I hadn’t lost my way in life, but just my way on the map. After we had said goodbye to dictatorship, none of the maps made sense. All the street names that sounded communist in some way had been changed. Sometimes three times in a row, because some new names had stigma attached to them.