Why the words ‘let’s call each other’ fill me with dread 

There are a lot of cultural differences between England and Kazakhstan, and the way the two nations arrange to meet friends and business acquaintances is one of them. I’ve heard the phrase ‘let’s call each other’ — ‘Давайте созвонимся’ in Russian — many, many times since arriving in Kazakhstan and it invariably leads to hours of annoyance and frustration. 

That’s why when my new landlord Arsen rang to announce he was bringing me a divan, I knew what was coming next.

“I will bring you a divan,” he announced. 

“Ok… when?” 

“Oh… we will call each other.” 

I knew this phrase well. It’s actually the title of a 1980s Russian pop song: 

But for me, it was a symptom of the infuriating local trait of never making advance plans. If you speak to anyone in Kazakhstan with a view to meeting up, you will most likely hear the phrase “let’s call each other”. For example, when I rang a company or a government office to ask for an interview, the chances were the conversation would go like this: 

“Yes, I am happy to talk to you. We can meet on Thursday.” 

“Great! What time?” 

“Oh… let’s call each other.” 

So rather than actually checking our diaries right then and fixing a time, we would need to have another phone call – at least one, quite possibly several – on the day of the meeting. Quite often the interviewee either wouldn’t pick up when I rang or would tell me to call back later, and I would finally get through to them early evening, when they would say “let’s meet now”, which would require as hasty donning of work clothes and rush across town in a taxi. Sometimes it would take so long to get across Almaty in the rush hour that when I arrived at their office they would have already left, and the irritating phone tag dance would begin all over again. 

It was the same with meeting friends. They would say “We will meet tomorrow. I will call you.” That was cue for me to hang about until 8pm wondering whether or not we were in fact going out that evening. I would eventually give in, change into my tracksuit and make myself a late dinner at around nine, having spent the entire evening not being able to get on with anything as I waited for their phone call. Inevitably, just as I was sitting down to eat, I would get a call from the friend saying “let’s meet now, see you at [select venue on the opposite site of town] in 20 minutes.” 

At first I assumed people were waiting to see if they got a better offer, but I later realised they just found this a normal way to make arrangements. My close friend Amira, who left Kazakhstan for the US in 2011, was a master of this. She always did the “see you in 20 minutes” call, but would then stroll in an hour later saying her landlady had called around or she had to wash her hair before coming out. Kazakh women would invariably turn up late and looking immaculate, while I would rush to get there in time, ending up hot, sweaty and harassed with unironed clothes, unwashed hair and a botched make-up job. 

I couldn’t help comparing this attitude to arranging to meet friends in London, where we would send out an email a week or so before to establish that we wanted to meet, compare diaries and eventually agree on a mutually convenient time and place. 

So when Arsen said we would call each other, I knew what was coming next. 

“Will you be home tomorrow?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I said. “What time?” 

“We will come tomorrow.” 

“Ok, what time?” 

“What time will you be home? 

“I’m not sure. What time do you want to come?” I needed to fix a time to avoid staying at home all day waiting for his call. 

“What time will you be home?” he repeated. 

“Tell me what time you want to come, and I will be home then,” I suggested. 

Long silence. 

“Will you be home the day after tomorrow?”