Born on a Blue Day: Inside the Extraordinary Mind of an Autistic Savant (17 page)

I walked the rest of the way up the steep incline of the
Savanori
Prospektas
(Volunteer Avenue) to the top until I reached number one, a tall brown concrete building. I walked up the two flights of steps and pressed a button to the side of the door. Suddenly the door swung open and a short woman wearing lots of make-up and jewellery greeted me in good English: ‘Welcome! You must be Daniel. Please come in. How are you liking Lithuania so far?’ I answered that I had not seen much of it yet. The woman introduced herself as Liuda, the centre’s founder and director.

Liuda’s centre was called the
Socialini
Inovaciju Fondas
(Social Innovation Fund), a non-governmental organisation for unemployed and economically at risk women in the community. Many Lithuanians had lost their jobs in the upheaval that followed the country’s secession from the Soviet Union and she had had the idea to found an organisation to help women like herself navigate their way in the new economy.

Volunteers did much of the centre’s work and were critical to its success. Like me, some were from other countries, both near and far. I prepared the English lessons alongside an American Peace Corps volunteer in his seventies called Neil. He liked to reminisce during coffee breaks, telling me about the house he had built for himself back in the United States and the mobile home he and his wife had bought following his retirement, in which they had travelled to all fifty states in the Union.

The other teacher at the centre was Olga, a Russian woman with curly red hair and tinted glasses. Whenever she spoke I could see her two gold teeth, one in each corner of her mouth. Olga understood that I was feeling anxious about being in such a completely different environment and explained that it was normal to feel homesick and nervous about starting something new. I really appreciated her words.

My main role as a volunteer was in the classroom. The centre provided a few textbooks and worksheets, but otherwise resources were scarce and I was allowed to organise the class’s content however I wanted, which suited me very well. The women who attended the classes were all different in age, background and education and there was never more than twelve to a class, which meant that the students knew each other well and the atmosphere of the lessons was always relaxed and friendly. At the beginning, I felt very nervous about standing up in front of my students and directing the lesson, but everyone was very kind and positive towards me and I gradually became more and more comfortable with the role.

It was through these classes that I met the person who would become one of my closest friends, a middle-aged woman called Birut
. She worked as a translator and her English was already good, but she lacked confidence and attended the class for practice. After the lessons she would come up to the front of the class and speak to me, asking me how I was finding life in Lithuania. Once she asked whether I would like a guide to show me around. I had been too nervous to walk around the city by myself and gratefully accepted her offer.

We walked together down Kaunas’s main pedestrian walkway,
Laisv
s Aleja
(Liberty Avenue), 1,621 metres long and located in the town centre. At one end of the avenue is Saint Michael the Archangel Church, a huge blue-domed and white-pillared building that glittered and glowed in the sunshine. The church was transformed into an art gallery under Soviet rule and only reopened to public worship following Lithuanian independence. On the other side of the avenue Birut
took me to see Kaunas’s old town with its cobbled streets and red brick castle, the country’s first defensive bastion, which dates from the thirteenth century.

Each day around noon, following morning class, Birut
would wait for me and we would walk together to the local town hall for lunch. Routines such as these helped me to start to settle down into my new life, by giving each day a consistent and predictable shape that I was happy with. The canteen was located downstairs and was dimly lit and never more than half full. The food here was plentiful and inexpensive, including many traditional Lithuanian recipes such as creamy beetroot soup with meat filled rolls. My eating habits had changed a lot since childhood and I was comfortable eating a wide range of different foods. On days when there was no afternoon class, Birut
and I would eat in one of the many restaurants along
Laisv
s Aleja
. My favourite meal was Lithuania’s national dish,
Cepelinai
, so named because of the resemblance of their shape to Zeppelins. It is made from grated potatoes and ground meat, boiled and served with sour cream.

The friendship that I shared with Birut
grew deeper and more special over time. She was always patient and understanding with me, willing to listen and full of advice and encouragement. I do not know how I would have survived in Lithuania without her. When several of the women at the centre told me that they needed more English practice but could not afford the extra class fees, I had the idea of holding a weekly English conversation group at my home, which Birut
helped to organise. The women brought biscuits and helped make tea and coffee and then everyone sat in chairs or on the sofa and talked in English about anything and everything. One evening, Birut
brought and showed slides from a holiday she had taken with her family, and the group watched and asked questions and discussed their own travelling experiences.