Time to read: 14 minutes(s)

Two years ago, a one-million-ruble well, reconstructed in the "Petrine style" of the 18th century, was ceremoniously opened in the Karelian village of Matrosy. It soon stopped working, and residents of the surrounding houses are jealous of visitors from other areas. The village's other wells either freeze or produce coffee-colored water. So residents are forced to use yellow tap water or melt snow. A NeMoskva correspondent visited Matrosy to find out why, in Karelia—a land of pristine rivers and lakes—people still live without access to drinking water.

A wooden pavilion with a tiered roof and a faucet that dispenses water at the touch of a button was erected on the site of an old well on the outskirts of the village, amid snow-dusted pines. The "Petrine era" style was chosen for the restoration for a reason: according to historians, a postal route ran through the village of Matrosy, along which Peter the Great passed at least four times.

At the opening, the head of the village administration, Oleg Korennoy, delivered a speech and cut the red ribbon. Television and a priest were invited, as expected, to bless the building.

The Sailors could now live happily ever after—residents of neighboring houses are pleased that they now have a luxurious well with a button, the administration is delighted that a project under the republican improvement program has been implemented on their property, and local recreation centers are pleased that the beautiful well attracts tourists.

But here’s the problem: after a year the well stopped working.

“They [the administration] urgently needed to show people that they opened it under the [state] program, but they didn’t connect it to electricity,” says local resident Tamara Spesivtseva.

At first, a well, which only runs on electricity, was connected to a nearby dacha. The well provided water until the dacha owner moved to the city.

"The guy's a great guy—he paid his bills all summer and fall," Tamara continues. "And when he left, he warned the administration in advance that he would cut off the power to the well. And so far, journalists haven't helped us."Having described the situation in detail in a post on VKontakte – author's note), it was not connected to the general network for another month.

The Ministry of National and Regional Policy of Karelia holds an annual competition for socially significant projects by TOS (territorial self-governments). In Matrosy, there are several TOSs—one for each microdistrict of the village. Their main goal is to demonstrate initiative and independently improve common areas.

The "Starye Matrosy" local self-government (TSS) committee, headed by chairman Oleg Petrelyaynen, submitted an application for well reconstruction. It was approved, and 860 rubles were allocated from the republican budget. Another 10% of the total cost, nearly a million rubles, was raised by TOS members, and the village administration also contributed a small amount.

Around the "Petrovsky" well stand neat, beautiful dachas, empty and quiet in the winter snowfall. The "Starye Matrosy" community has truly put in the effort to improve the area: through the same competitive program, they installed a memorial plaque describing the village's history and erected a monument to a Karelian peasant.

"We did an analysis, and the water in [our well] is perfect—we can bottle it and sell it," says Oleg Petrelyainen, an energy specialist by profession and now a pensioner.

The well is so good that it quickly sparked controversy. By law, it's considered public, state-funded, and therefore a national property. Accordingly, anyone with easy access to it can use it, but the TOS members who restored it are not happy about this.

"Since the well turned out to be so convenient, everyone, of course, flocked to it—the village itself, and even the surrounding hamlets. The well's flow rate is small; it's not an endless source. But people don't care. They came by car, collected a cubic meter of water—for the sauna, to wash rugs, and so on. That's how the problem arose," Petrelainen complains.

He says no one pays for the public well, and the administration is losing money. "Electricity, maintenance, cleaning, testing, and so on. You come home, turn on the water, and get a bill. And then someone comes up to the well, presses the button, and leaves. He used it for free, and the administration pays. Do you think that's right? I think it's wrong. You have to pay for everything in this life. For everything!" the TOS chairman argues.

Perhaps Petrelainen's opinion is also influenced by the fact that it was his dacha that initially fed the "Petrovsky" well. His fellow villagers tell him this, but for some reason he remains silent.

The fact that the "summer residents" have restored the ancient public well in their own style and, one might say, "privatized" it, has displeased other residents.

"I just want to ask: why was Mr. Petrelainen allowed to restore [the well] and put up a pretty little hut with a button? It's not his well. If I need my own water, I'll dig my own. And this is for the people," says one of the Matrosov residents. "The thing is, this well has been there for centuries. He restored it, connected it, and then turned it off and went home to the city. He's a summer resident here. He wants people to chip in for electricity, but everyone gets water in different ways: one uses one bucket, another three cans. Well, now they've solved the problem—they've connected it to a pole."

The village of Matrosy, located just 30 kilometers from Petrozavodsk, stretches along the banks of the Shuya River, which is tightly frozen over in winter. Spruce forest surrounds the village on all sides, so it's difficult to tell whether the houses have grown amidst the forest or whether the forest is slowly encroaching on Matrosy. This location attracts tourists to the village: in summer, they raft down the steep rapids of the Shuya River, and in winter, they ride husky sleds at a kennel for huskies.

In 2023, Matrosy had a population of over 700, although, as is typical in Russian villages and towns, the number is declining every year. The village is a favorite among summer residents, but they come mainly in the summer. The mainstay of Matrosy is the main psychiatric hospital in Karelia, providing residents with work, housing, and even water.

Tamara Spesivtseva works as a nurse at this hospital. An energetic, talkative woman, she commutes to work on the hospital campus every other day, taking on odd jobs on the other days, catching up on sleep, and doing housework. Twenty years ago, Tamara moved from a barracks to a multi-apartment building converted from a dilapidated wooden schoolhouse. There's no running water here, and never has been.

"I separated from my husband, he was a heavy drinker. When Sasha started 10th grade, he died. Now he's in the army, he's supposed to be back in the summer. And I'm suffering. At least my son helped out—he brought water and firewood," she says.

There are about ten wells in the village, and they used to always have water. But in the last couple of winters, the wells have started freezing, and now, to get water, the ice has to be broken up. Currently, there are only two working wells, including the "Petrovsky" well, and they are located at opposite ends of the village—quite far from each other.

"I have nowhere to get water except from the well," Tamara says. "I'll melt a bucket and a half or two of snow to wash the dishes and get myself going after work, and that's it. In the winter, I only shower at the hospital. In the summer, fall, and spring, the rains help—we set up barrels. When the rain drips, we use it for the bathhouse and for washing. I boil it and drink the rainwater."

According to Tamara, she wasn't allowed to "pump" a nearby well this summer because it's public. Meanwhile, the village administration isn't keen on maintaining the wells, instead encouraging residents to drill their own wells on their property. Many do, but not all wells have good water quality—it's a matter of luck. Many have water with a reddish tint and a distinctive odor, and tests show high iron levels.

"Those who are financially stable would, of course, still make their own water," says Tamara. "I'm a nurse, and I can't afford it on my salary."

We walk with her to the well closest to the house. It's a ten-minute walk along a path crunching in the frost. When the village completely turns into a forest, Tamara has to wade through knee-deep snow to the well. The well door is covered in fluffy frost and ice. Tamara peers into the frozen darkness of the well, touches the chain as it clanks against the ice, and calls the head, Oleg Korenny. He promises to "send a comrade to dig a well" within the day.

"It's still unclear what time this guy will arrive, or if he'll even arrive," Tamara sighs. "He [usually] gets drunk first, and then, when it gets dark, he comes to me and says, 'I'm not going, it's already dark.' So I'm left without water."

Someone is sent to "break" the well when Tamara manages to get through to the village head. No one maintains the wells on a regular basis.
That evening, Tamara didn't go check the well again—a snowstorm had started. Moreover, wolves come into the village at night, and residents try not to go out late. They say that this winter, wolves killed several dogs and even attacked a man, who escaped by jumping onto a fence.

On the outskirts of the village lies an empty snowfield, where a colorful banner, strung between two fir trees, glows with the inscription "TOS "Forest Fairytale." A Christmas tree protrudes from the snow nearby.

"Everyone who lives on our street participates in the TOS," says Valentina Bokareva, chairwoman of "Forest Fairy Tale," who worked as a nurse in a psychiatric hospital for 36 years. "But no one wants to do anything here. The disabled people sawed, carried, put up, and decorated the Christmas tree. No one wants anything; you can't force them."

Valentina explains that raising money for landscaping the common area from members of her TOS is also very difficult. Therefore, "Lesnaya Skazka" doesn't participate in competitive programs for the TOS, as they also require a fee. There's no other way to secure funding: the administration claims the budget isn't sufficient to cover the village's needs.

Snow fell all night, and by morning the Karelian village resembled a toy town inside a glass globe. Residents complain that the tractor only clears the central highway, rarely and only occasionally accessing the inner roads. They have to walk through snowdrifts.

Valentina points to a triangular overhang on the other side of the snowy clearing. It's a well, where residents of the surrounding houses, including Valentina and her husband, used to go. Now the well overhang is covered in snow, and the path leading to it is unbeaten.

"The water in this well is all brown, like coffee," Valentina explains. "I tell everyone that—we have coffee and tea in our well, please. No need to brew it. Yesterday they announced that tea would be more expensive. I offered to take it from our well for free."

I never got a chance to see the coffee water in the well because it, too, froze. According to Valentina, the water in this well used to be clean, but due to mistakes during the renovation, the quality began to deteriorate. The administration refuses to address this issue either.

Valentina, like Tamara, has to walk about a kilometer to the nearest broken well. According to her, almost the entire street is made up of pensioners and people with disabilities, and many are physically unable to walk that far to fetch water. Valentina and her husband currently rely on their son to fetch water.

Sometimes a line forms at the second working well, as people come here not only from private homes without running water or wells, but also from apartment buildings. There are three such buildings in the village: small two-story buildings into which residents of dilapidated buildings were relocated in 2016.

Unlike the barracks where people had lived before, the new apartments had both running water and sewerage. However, as before, they still had to carry buckets—the tap water was undrinkable.

Even at the guesthouse where I stayed, the tap water smells like raw potatoes, even though it comes from a well on the property. Even boiled water is disgusting to drink, and after a couple of days, my teeth develop a dark stain.

"We're short on water, really bad. It's not drinking water, it's industrial water," says a woman from an apartment building, with two teenage boys peeking out from behind her. "We only use it for washing and bathing. We constantly use Sanox."Plumbing cleaner - author's note), because this water turns everything yellow at once. I have four children, and it's very stressful.

The private company "Vector of Cleanliness" services apartment buildings. It has one answer to all residents' complaints: water purification filters need to be installed, but there's no money for them. According to an employee of the private company in Petrozavodsk, installing a water purification system in an apartment building will cost between 100 and a million rubles, depending on the number of residents and the water quality.

When residents realized that appealing to the village administration was futile, they wrote to Karelia's head, Artur Parfenchikov, and Olga Shmaenik, a State Duma deputy representing the republic. In 2021, Shmaenik actively advocated that "providing Karelia residents with high-quality drinking water and protecting water bodies is one of the [deputies'] main tasks."

"Parfenchikov has completely blocked us, blacklisted us. The head of our administration told me that since we get free water, we could participate in the improvement of the village and resolve the issue ourselves," says Tamara. "It's easier to just shut up and do everything ourselves."
I couldn't get a comment from the village head—he declined to speak with me. Lyudmila Muslimova, a former council member of the Matrosskoye rural settlement, has her own well on her property. Walking through the village with her small dog, she says she "was a council member for many years," but hasn't been able to help the residents with their wells: "We've tried and tried, and still somehow... it's all about funding—there's not enough money."

So it turns out that the authorities in Matrosy are doing everything but what the residents actually need. In addition to competitions for TOS, settlements and villages run PPMIs—regional programs to support local initiatives. Funding for PPMI projects comes from the republican and local budgets, as well as from the public. Local sponsors who own businesses in the settlement and wish to support the project are also eligible to participate.

In Matrosy, several improvement projects were carried out as part of the PPMI, as vividly described by the residents themselves:

"They built an alley here, behind the store downtown. Who lives in that alley? It's just homeless people who sit there in the summer, drink, and sleep on the benches right there, with nothing but bottles everywhere," says one resident.

"They put up a swing. You swing and look right at the cemetery," the second one jokes.

Residents want the authorities to repair wells and repair roads, which meet the requirements of the PPMI. They also want the construction of a hockey rink, which received the majority of votes in an open poll on social media.

But as the years go by, the number of monuments and benches in Matrosy continues to grow. The latest PPMI competition was won by a design for an art installation called "Dog Sled" in a local park. It will be built with the support of Husky Moa, an entire eco-complex in the village of Matrosy, with a sled dog kennel at its center.

The complex is owned by Skify Tour, a Karelian tour operator. Huskies have become a symbol of the village of Matrosy: a row of stands has been erected on one of the streets, displaying photographs of the kennel's famous dogs and their exploits, and the village administration's official social media account boasts the cheerful caption: "Matrosy—the husky capital of Russia."

"At the meeting [to select the PPMI project], everyone supported the administration's claim that this monument to dogs is necessary. I said, 'Why do we need this dog?'" Valentina complains. "We have so many unpatched holes that it's a shame we'll still be putting up these dogs. He [the head] wants to immortalize the Sailors in monuments, but the monuments are rather plain."

The sailors stand on the banks of a full-flowing, rapid-flowing river, surrounded by dense pine forests and no industrial facilities, yet the water—both tap and well—is still of poor quality. A look at Karelian news reveals that this problem is common throughout the republic.

"The Shuya River water intake contains highly colored water," explains Mikhail Zobkov, head of the Hydrochemistry and Hydrogeology Laboratory at the Petrozavodsk Institute of Northern Water Problems. "The color is caused by organic matter coming from the aquifer, particularly from wetlands. This is a natural characteristic of the water intake."

When asked if anything can be done about this, Zobkov replies that if water is chlorinated, it will have carcinogenic properties, but without chlorination and purification, such water “doesn’t pose a particular danger,” but its quality declines.

"Wells are also a regional problem; they have high iron levels," Zobkov continues. "A specialized treatment system is being installed to remove this. But it's quite an expensive proposition—a system has to be installed at every well."

Institute staff suggest that the differences in water quality and color in different wells and boreholes in the village of Matrosy are explained by the horizon the wells reach when drilling.

Galina Borodulina, senior researcher at the Laboratory of Hydrochemistry and Hydrogeology, explains:

"In Finland, people drink groundwater from the tap, but here we drink surface water. By the 2000s, 70% of Finland's water supply was already being converted to groundwater; by now, it's probably even more. Meanwhile, in Karelia, only 5% of our water consumption comes from groundwater."

The problem, according to Borodulina, remains the same: "Transferring to underground water supply is very expensive. Not only does exploration require a lot of money, but you also need to organize water intakes—drill a well, maintain a specialized service that will handle maintenance of the well, pumps, and everything else."

The scientist says that in the 90s, the Finns attempted to implement a groundwater exploration program in Karelia, but it was suspended for economic reasons in 2004. The only water intake facility that was built and remains operational is in Pryazha, 17 kilometers from Matrosov.

"Our conditions are exactly the same as the Finns', but there, water supply is even more important than healthcare. It's natural: water supply problems lead to health problems. But it's not like that here; the most important thing for us is to have [at least some] water," laments Borodulina.

Besides the functioning wells, the locals' main draw in Matrosy are the grocery stores. There are three in the village. Beautiful, fluffy Karelian dogs sit next to each one. The dogs are welcomed and pampered here—in almost every village, stray huskies roam the roads, cared for by the locals themselves. In severe frosts, they are allowed into the stores to warm up.

I stop by the Chaika store to buy a bottle of water. The customers are delighted to see a visiting journalist and begin a heated discussion of pressing issues—water, streetlights, and unpaved roads.

At the same time, few people in Matrosy are ready to enter into conflict with the administration, explains Tamara.

"Nobody needs anything, people are afraid. They're afraid that those who talk too much will be shut down. They see it online. That same Navalny, that same Furgal (The very popular former governor of Khabarovsk Krai was sentenced to 22 years in prison in 2023 – author's note.). Where are they all now? she says.

To earn at least 40 rubles as a nurse at the hospital, she has to work two shifts: "And I also have to fetch firewood, carry water, do laundry, iron, cook, and then take care of the housework and the garden. We just work and work like slaves. We work and work for our country."

At this moment, a man buying bread at the counter shouts cheerfully throughout the store:

— But you still vote for Putin!

"We don't even go voting!" one of the women I'm talking to in the store replies.

"And anyone who asked the head of our region, Karelia, for help is being threatened," says another visitor.

The man takes the bread and shouts again from the door:

— They won’t kill everyone!

Sailor women have recently been forced to cope with the hardships of village life alone: ​​their husbands have been mobilized to the Soviet Military District, and their grown sons have joined the armed forces. According to one of the women, the families of mobilized soldiers received the assistance promised by the authorities only once:

"When they first took us away, in October, they brought a pile of firewood. It was so big that my 18-year-old son could barely lift it into the shed, he didn't even bother stacking it. We've been living like this for two years now and we've come to terms with it. We're just waiting for this to end and for our men to come home safe and sound," says one woman whose husband was taken away and whose son went off to the army.

“We have to do something that can be done,” says another woman.

— I just don’t want to make things worse.

"I'm saying, let's wait until they start taking children [to Ukraine]. Then maybe we'll get going. Otherwise, everyone will have to endure until the end."
- These are the Russian people, so they endure.

Text and photo: Natasha Lozinskaya

The text was prepared in collaboration with the Mentoring project