Last week I visited two special cafes in Almaty. This adjective is not given lightly; the cafe competition is intense in Kazakhstan’s former capital – globalisation has hit and I’ve been spoilt for choice over where to make up for the lack of bitter espresso and steamed milk I experienced between Shymkent and Almaty, and my typing is surrounded by the hiss of misters and glow of fairy lights.

What makes these Training Cafes, as they’re called, special, is the people who work in them – and that everyone wears yellow. Polina lays out cutlery on the table with unsteady care and walks off to the kitchen with our orders for a late breakfast.

“Why are you all wearing yellow?”, I ask Gulzhan, one of the leaders of the project, who looks at me through wire-rimmed glasses.

“We like yellow because it’s the colour of the sun and richness”, she replies, “but our staff didn’t like wearing it at first.”

“Why not?” I ask.

Gulzhan looks over at Polina, who has rejoined us at the table. “Why didn’t you like wearing yellow Polina?” Polina, arms matchstick thin, brown hair cropped in a punky way, just shakes her head.

Gulzhan addresses me, “during the Soviet period, the adults with mental disabilities wore yellow. It was a marker, a brand. We’re trying to reinvent what it means. Polina, do you remember wearing it?”

Again she shakes her head.

The two Training Cafes have been set up by the Psychoanalytic Association in Kazakhstan, which was supported by the BEARR Trust in 2018. Although most of the Psychoanalytic Association’s work mostly consists of psychotherapy sessions, the Training Café is their most visible and feted project. The cafes are tucked into two bazaars in different parts of Almaty, which sell everything from shoes to sturgeon.

As with many post-Soviet countries, care for mentally impaired children and adults lies far behind the UK, with the majority of children and adults in isolated institutions with limited legal rights. It is people like Gulzhan who are trying to change this.

“The state thinks they need to give everything to these people” Gulzhan says. “But that’s not true – with help and training, some of them can live independently”.

Yura joins us at the table. He’s wearing a yellow polo shirt. “How has the Training Café helped you?” I ask. He glances at me and gives me a small smile.

“Svoboda.” Freedom.

“What does this mean?”

Yura glances at me again, “I can take the bus”.

I’m caught off guard. Freedom to me means catching a flight to a new country, choosing which restaurant to eat at, cycling across the world. It’s a big wake up call.

“We’re trying to get them their legal rights,” Gulzhan explains. “Right now, if they’re in an institution, only the director can decide if they leave. They can’t work. They can’t live independently.”

This café is the Psychoanalytic Association’s emphatic statement that adults with learning disabilities can work and lead independent lives. Twenty three adults who would otherwise be in an institution miles outside of Almaty now work in the café, serving customers and earning a small stipend. Polina comes back with our plates of porridge and fried eggs with a shy smile.

It’s taken a lot of work to set the café up and initially there was little government support, until “a new minister came along, asked ‘what’s fresh?’ and visited us”. For a period after that, the Training Café was supported by the government and rolled out whenever Kazakhstan wanted to show its leading inclusivity projects, such as when the UN special rapporteur visited the country.

It’s not easy running the cafe. They are charged usual business rates for utilities, and according to government regulation, can’t officially pay their adults and so give them a stipend instead. There are also challenges integrating these adults into the world of work. Turning up on time every day is a challenge “at the start they’re late, say, twice a week”, but after a few months “it’s about once a month”. The work doesn’t suit everyone but it’s an opportunity which is currently rare for  mentally disabled adults in Kazakhstan, despite the law stating that 3% of employees should have disabilities. “That almost never happens”, Gulzhan says.

The impact of the Training Cafes goes much beyond the twenty three adults they help. To my mind, it is a showcase of what is possible when time, understanding and energy are put into helping people make the adjustment to a richer, more fulfilling life. It’s a continual learning process and it won’t work for everyone. Aiming to give these adults independence is certainly not as straightforward as keeping them in institutions – where a challenge unseen can be ignored – but “freedom” is an immensely valuable, and motivating, reward. Gulzhan and the Association have been keen to share their hard-won knowledge, and in 2018 (with the support of BEARR) they organised a six day workshop to train participants from throughout Central Asia how to run social enterprises with people with disabilities.

Above all, not only are they showing the government what is possible, but perhaps more importantly, Kazakh society. As we part, Gulzhan says with a smile: “At the beginning, the market sellers didn’t want us here, but now they come and eat as friends”.