Inga is 38 years old. She is Abkhazian and her husband is Georgian. There are four children in the family. Fifteen years have passed since the family went into exile; they lived in Ochamchire district in Abkhazia before the war. Inga talks about the difficulties and hardship experienced during the period of armed conflict, how hard it was even to get bread to eat and the problems of equipping a new place. She speaks of the sadness of losing her home and leaving behind her elderly parents, whom she sees very seldom. She describes the everyday problems of a large family, the constant search for work, shortage of money and the fear of being made homeless. The story was recorded in Russian.
Marrying a Georgian: "I had no concerns"
I was born in Abkhazia. I lived in Ochamchire district, in the village of Gvada in Abkhazia. I had a very happy childhood – there were no problems, no worries. The problems started later when the war began.
I met my husband in the region where I lived - though he was from another village, Kogara. I am Abkhazian, but I married a Georgian. Nobody was against our marriage. I had no concerns that my future husband was Georgian. Nobody cared about that then. All that happened later... It was all [caused by] the war... We fell in love and got married. My husband came from a large and good family – three brothers, two sisters, mother and father. His father was killed during the war, in December 1992...
Now I'm bringing up four children. My three daughters were born in Abkhazia and the boy was born here in Tbilisi.
Back to top“Bread was in short supply”
I will tell you how difficult it was during the war to get a piece of bread.
During the war we had to leave our house. We had to move every six months – we lived with different relatives. It was very difficult. We had nothing. Our relatives didn't have much income and were just able to support themselves. And then suddenly we turned up...with small children! At that time the children were two, three and four years old...
First, we lived in Martvili (1). This was in my father-in-law's native region. Once a week we had to go to Poti (2) to buy bread: it was impossible to live without bread, there was nothing else to feed the kids on. But bread was also in very short supply. It was very difficult to get it. Then my husband and I decided to buy wheat grain. We bought it, and brought it in, this grain, sat down and husked it like rice, sorted it with our fingers. We took it to a mill and ground it.
I remember what the grain looked like - it was as black as pitch! What we baked using the flour obtained in this way was edible only when hot - we had to eat it straightaway, as soon as it was taken out of the oven. When it was cool, the batch became so hard it was impossible to eat. The grain was actually of very poor quality - but we were glad to obtain even this kind of grain. My children ate this bread for a whole month. My eldest daughter, who was four years old, used to get stomach ache; it was difficult for children to digest such food. Then we got corn flour and mixed it with wheat flour, to economise; we tried to use the flour sparingly so that we wouldn't run out of it too soon. And then I began to sell cheese...
Back to top"I carried 40 loaves of bread on my shoulders"
There was a market day once a week in the village of Bandza (3). You had to buy goods within a couple of hours, then take them to a market in another village, resell them at a profit and buy something for the children. So I would buy 50 kilos of cheese, resell it, and then, with the money I earned, I bought bread. And as for buying bread, it meant queuing all night at a bakery in Poti. Once, I met a relative of my father-in-law's, who worked at the bakery; with his help I was able to get out through the back door [with all my bread]. I would buy 30-40 loaves of bread. I carried 40 loaves of bread on my own, carried all this on my shoulders. What else could I do? Three children, a daughter-in-law, a brother-in-law, the owners of the house where we'd found shelter - 12 people were waiting for this bread. We put it in a bag, steamed it thoroughly over boiling water and only then allowed the children to eat the [warm] bread…
Back to top"It's not easy to live here"
Now we live in Vashlijvari (4), in the collective centre. No fewer than 200-250 internally displaced people live here. The building is big. My neighbours are all good, kind people and we help each other. Nobody has discriminated against me for being Abkhazian - either during the war, or afterwards. Maybe I'm just lucky that all my neighbours are good people.
It's not easy to live here. Almost everybody is unemployed. We live under constant pressure, we're afraid that we will be turned out of here; we don't know what will happen next. You can see what’s going on in different places; they're turning people out everywhere. Nobody has said anything officially, but generally people are [talking about the issue of privatisation. People are afraid that they will be deceived, that the documents they're given will be fraudulent, and things like that. No investor has appeared yet. If there is an investor, maybe things will finally become clear. Otherwise we don't know yet whether we'll be moved elsewhere or, if we do leave, whether they'll give us some kind of a compensation. The main thing is to buy something with the money they will give us.
I remember when we first arrived in Tbilisi, it was possible to buy an apartment for 3,000-4,000 [US dollars]. Now the prices are so high that it is impossible to buy anything even for the 7,000 [dollars] usually offered usually by investors. I am a mother of four children and there are six of us living in this family - how are we going to live in one-room apartment? And, in general, will it be possible to buy an apartment for 7,000 [dollars]?
Back to top"Loss after loss"
I don't work anywhere; my husband works 15 days per month, every other day, all of us live on his salary. We tried to begin our own business. We opened a shop, we just worked three to four months, and then we were under pressure to close the shop because it is impossible to trade here... Each time my husband almost dies [of worry], he's so upset - and there's always something that disrupts our efforts. So it's loss after loss, without any hope of a stable income.
Back to top"I think only about the past"
I am an only daughter. My parents are alone [in Abkhazia]… I live here in Tbilisi but mentally I'm there all the time, something has been pulling me from there. I keep imagining that the process of returning will begin and that I will be home again. I have a lot of things to do, so I don't have time to dream and at night I think only about the past, all my dreams are about how we will return...
In the summer, when there is an opportunity, I go there sometimes, for some days or for a month, it depends. My children like to go with me, too. They get on well with their peers in Abkhazia. There is no constraint in the relationships with our relatives, only warmth and love. Our Abkhazian relatives tell us all the time: come and stay with us. But right now, we can't move and live there. Though I am very glad that my children get on well with my relatives, the bond between them is strengthening, they call each other on the phone.
Back to top"For the sake of the children"
My children went to school in Tbilisi. The eldest one has already finished school, she has entered [a higher education] institute and she is already in her second year. My second daughter finished school several days ago, she also has to go to [a higher education institute]; my third daughter is in the eleventh class. The youngest is a boy, he is three years old. He is at kindergarten. The children are growing up and they have more and more needs. It is necessary to pay for the study course [to prepare for national admission exams], which is very expensive. And in fact it is still necessary to look after and support four children, to provide them with clothes and shoes - I don't know how long we can live like this.
In the beginning, when we arrived in Tbilisi, it was very difficult for us, but somehow it was possible to stand on our own feet. I did a lot. But after some time everything fell apart - I lost my job; the family business didn't go well... I had to start all over again. I am in the same situation today as I was after the war - I don't have anything! Sometimes I can't keep calm, I feel I no longer have any strength. But I am determined to go on for the sake of children.
Back to top"The most important thing is a kind world"
I have many dreams: what is most important for me is the health, happiness and bright future of my children. It is every woman's dream to see their family happy and safe. I also dream of finding work - permanent, stable work - and that I won't [always] begin every day with worries, wondering where to go, where to search for a job. It seems to me that if this dream comes true all our problems will gradually be solved.
And the most important thing is a kind world, with no war, so that women - mothers - would never suffer again, would never have to see their sons go to war, and wouldn't see their children distressed. I want this dream to come true for women all over the world - I wish it for them - then the difficulties would be easier to overcome. We have overcome many obstacles. I have not told you all of them yet. I don't think I can continue as am a bit upset…
(1) City in Samegrelo, western Georgia
(2) City in Samegrelo
(3) Martvili district, Samegrelo
(4) District in the suburbs of Tbilisi
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