I have no fear of the road. My feelings have hardened since the war of 1992… I am afraid of scenes they are talking endlessly about; just like what I saw when we were driving under Shushi. I saw a huge signpost with a foreign name “Shusha”… I saw the two flags of the enemy. I was utterly devastated; I wish it were a dream. We drove away, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Shushi.
We reached my city – Stepanakert. After a two-month absence I could not believe I was at the square. I walked home. The closer I got to the building, the faster my heart beat… I did not know what I was expected to see, what was awaiting me. There were lights in some windows, the rest were plunged into darkness and loneliness… When I opened the door, I had an incredible feeling. Everything was in its place, except for the bedroom window, which had fallen on my bed from the explosion… I turned on the lights of the house. It was cold. There was no gas. I looked outside the window… The street was empty, and there was a strange silence.
Aida Sargsyan – who has lived through three wars – was in a Baku hospital with his two-year-old son, when the Karabakh Movement started in 1988… Only when journalists arrived and started asking questions, she understood that a war broke out. Then her father called and told her to return to Stepanakert as soon as she could… He also told her to take a plane, as it was already dangerous to travel by land.
There were no buses to Stepanakert, and they took the one to Aghdam. All the passengers were Azerbaijani; they were the only Armenians on the bus.
We were watching the road in silence, holding our breaths, when suddenly my two-year-old son broke the silence… Everybody turned to us in astonishment and started whispering. But we were not scared; fear was gone. The driver, who was aware in advance that we were Armenians, reproached the Turks, saying that we were working class people and were not to blame for what was going on. They were silent.
We reached Aghdam. All got off the bus, while we stayed – my son, my husband and I. The driver changed the destination sign and drove to Stepanakert.
During the 1992 war, I was working at a shoe factory as an accountant. We were living in the basement of the building… My husband was at the frontline. Shushi was under the enemy’s control back then, and they were often firing shells that landed on us. Together with my children, we moved to my grandfather’s village Gandzasar until Shushi was liberated. We returned to Stepanakert only after that.
I was running to work under rocket explosions. I couldn’t let my family starve. It was terribly cold; my 8- and 9-year-old daughters were going to get some wood… Sometimes we would sleep cuddled to each other for warmth.
We were sifting wheat – provided by the Government – from flour to make noodles, and left them dry in the same basement… The Government gave us flour, wheat and soap, and we managed to get some beans, corns, potatoes and walnut from the village. We extracted oil by pressing the walnuts.
The war ended with our victory. We were happy. My husband returned. We were back to our work, but never to a peaceful life… We heard shootings every day. Not a single day passed without news about the wounded or dead on the border. And so, we were living in fear…
Though the 2016 war was along the frontline, I clearly understood that it was only the beginning and would blow up one day… And on 27th September 2020, the thing I was afraid of, happened. I hoped at least the next generations wouldn’t see what my children and I saw. It turns out now my grandchildren have lived through the war, too…
Every generation went through this catastrophe…
Davit (Aida’s son-in-law)
There was an 18-year-old guy from Yerevan in our regiment. His name was Alik. One day the unmanned aerial vehicle hit the trench so hard that it blew off Alik’s legs… I was by his side; he looked at his legs trembling and then started begging me to get him out from there. While I was trying to get him out of the trench, a shelling landed on us… When I raised my head, I saw that Alik had died in my arms…
…Every day, when I lay my head on the pillow, I remember Alik and I feel distressed. There were many such cases, but I can’t forget the youth who wanted to live so much, but couldn’t…
My elder son is 16. The thought that he will be in Alik’s place one day is frightening. Everybody fears war. One should be mad to have no fear.
… I was never wounded in action… But when I returned home, I noticed a man at my friend’s door trying to open it. I felt happy, thinking that he too was back from war… I quickly went upstairs. The man noticed me, turned round in fear, hit me on the forehead with a key and ran away. When I came to my senses, I realized that he was a burglar, but it was late.
I had an open wound on my forehead. It made me laugh; I didn’t get a single scratch during the whole period of war, and here… I was lucky my eyes weren’t damaged.
Irina (Aida’s daughter)
Wounded soldiers, blown-up houses, frightened eyes… I have seen many things, but I wasn’t scared… While now I startle from every sound. So did I feel from the first sounds of bombings on September 27. I realized that the war broke out.
At nights, I would hold my breath, looking at the stars, worried lest they moved. I was afraid, because the moving stars were the UAVs for me…
This war was far more frightening than the previous ones.
I am now in my house; I have neither fear, nor anxiety.
There are almost no familiar people here. Those who live here, are mainly from Hadrut and Shushi. I have the feeling that I am in another city. I haven’t got used to it, and I feel emptiness inside…
I have the feeling that soon I will live my house and my city again, that I will be running under the explosions of bombs… But this time we will not manage to escape, because we are besieged.
In case of a bad scenario (if the war starts again), we’d better get some medication that will kill us and that’s it…
And in case of a good scenario… For me, Stepanakert is the best place to live. So, whatever will be, will be…
Text Editor: Anush Kocharyan