Zurab (1) lives in a village in Gali district. He is in the tenth form at school. Zurab remembers how his family moved temporarily to Zugdidi (2) after the second escalation of the conflict and how they returned home to find that their house had been burnt down and only a garage left. In his story, he talks about how he helps his father do manual labour, as the sole means of survival for the family is to cultivate the land, and he is the only son. Zurab notes sadly that he does not have enough time to study because of the demanding physical work he must do. The story was recorded in Georgian.
"I was getting ready for school when gunfire started"
I don’t remember anything of the first displacement because I was two years old in 1993. I can’t say anything about that.
During the I lived here [in Abkhazia] and I only have vague memories of it. But in 1998, the war began just as I was getting ready for the first form at school. I was dressed in a shirt and tie; I had a jacket on my shoulders although I hadn’t put on my [school] trousers. So I was getting ready for school when gunfire started. My mother was driving the cattle out of our yard.
Suddenly a neighbour called her and said that there had been the displacement, that we had to leave. I heard everything. My mother ran in and started collecting our clothes. Documents, clothes, whatever money we had, we packed everything hurriedly. We packed all those clothes and then went to wake up my sister. She was asleep. Our neighbours arrived. My sister had already woken up by the time they came. Our neighbours arrived and I thought we were going with them; that we would all go together with my parents, but I was wrong - I was wrong, and I went with the neighbours.
I can’t tell you their names. Half of them are dead.
So I went with my neighbours; when I looked around, I couldn’t see my parents. As it turned out my parents had got out and started looking for me. They started calling me, thinking that I'd had some problem. "I’m here," I shouted back. The neighbours also called to them that I was with them. As we were climbing over the neighbour’s fence, it seems that a guerrilla (3) told my parents to keep quiet, not to say anything. After that my parents came as well and went
черный ход (‘through the backyard’ in Russian) or whatever it’s called, through the bushes, and by crawling we reached the centre [of the village], where the Russian peacekeepers received us. Some of them brought chairs, others brought water. They didn’t bring any food, but still [
pause] they showed us attention.
Let me tell you something that happened once. My father went to fetch some clothes in a neighbour’s bus. They went together. He went to fetch whatever we'd left behind [in Gali]. He found half of them in the bushes and took them. At that time someone told us that the neighbour’s bus had blown up. My mother started screaming. She didn’t know yet that it wasn't our neighbour’s vehicle. My sister and I were calming her down, asking her to keep quiet as we felt ashamed about her screaming. But why was it shameful? There was a war taking place...
Then my father returned. He had a big
дырка (‘hole’ in Russian) in his sweater. He was wearing five sweaters, or four, and a
осколка (shell splinter)
had hit him. He said he'd somersaulted three times in the air before falling into the
канава (ditch)
.
Back to topMoving to Zugdidi
We were saved... Then my neighbour gave us a ride to Zugdidi by bus. My father stayed here []; my father stayed here. We went to one person we knew there. He worked as a
(‘barber’ in Russian) at Zugdidi station. He was our relative. He lived in Chitatskari (4). He had a flat in the former kindergarten. It was assigned to the
refugees (IDPs) too. We went with him, dressed in tattered clothes torn by thorns. We stayed for a month there. Then my aunt and her husband came and invited us to their place [in Zugdidi]. They said they had a two-storey house and offered one floor to us to live there. We drove the cattle there [in a truck] as well. Actually my father did that. I was seven years old at that time.
We moved [to Zugdidi]. We hired a truck called a GAZEL. We loaded it with everything: straw, hay, then the cattle, then our clothes. Certainly, all these things were in there together with the cattle, because there was not enough room in the car. We arrived [in Zugdidi]. My aunt had a two-storey house. She let us have one floor, one room. One room was enough; there were four of us. Then the time came for me to go to school. I went to school. I completed the first year of my school there.
My father returned [to Gali] pretty soon. When we went [to my aunt’s place] my father couldn’t stay there. He was worried; so he came back here. We had roofing slates [distributed by the UN] during the first and second displacement [in 1993-1998]. We sold them and my father bought a Moskvich (5) and began to work as a taxi driver in Zugdidi. But he was very worried about Abkhazia and our village.
The teachers at school in Zugdidi showed great respect towards us. I particularly remember one of them because I loved her very much. She was a very good person. I’d love to have a teacher like her now as well. I had good friends.
Back to topBack to the village: "I’d forgotten Megrelian"
When I had completed my first year at school, my family decided to return. We missed our village. We thought we’d have some harvest – we had planted hazelnut trees, we had planned to grow maize, and so on; we came because of this. We were sick and tired of living in Zugdidi; we were sick and tired. Our village was still better; so we decided to return.
When we returned, there were just two neighbours in the neighbourhood. There was one child and all the rest were old people. Suddenly a child ran up to me saying, here’s a new neighbour. I was not ‘new’ at all, but he didn’t remember me. I couldn’t speak ; I started remembering it again little by little. I’d forgotten it. When I arrived [in Zugdidi] I didn’t speak Georgian. I learned Georgian there, but I forgot Megrelian. When I came here, I didn’t speak Megrelian; I learned it here. Now I speak both.
Back to top"There are honest and kind Russians"
Our house had been burnt down. There was only a garage, built by my grandfather, left. Now we’re living in that garage. What can we do? There’s no other way []. My father works, I help him. We send money to my sister. She's doing a course at the university [in Tbilisi]. She took the national exams. So we help my sister, and I help my father.
My father worked as a taxi driver [in Zugdidi]; that was his income. Then we sold the car. We divided the garage into two parts; one room for me and another for my parents.
It was not dangerous at all when we were returning, because Russian peacekeepers were stationed here. My father knew some of them. One of them was his good friend. He was Russian but... They say Russians are mean, but that’s not quite true. There are honest and kind Russians as well. I also know a couple of Russians [peacekeepers] who are already my good friends [and the friendship will continue] if they don’t get moved to another place . They, too, helped us when we didn’t have food. When we came we had no food and they gave us sprats, stew, bread, jars to put chutney and jam in; so we started a business as well as a home.
Back to top"Constantly under stress"
It’s difficult to live in a garage. It’s cold and damp in winter, it’s dirty as well. I’m ashamed to talk about my home in this way, but that’s life. It’s certainly cold in winter in the garage. It’s also (‘damp’ in Russian). The wallpapers are all rotten. It’s so hot in summer that you can’t even touch the walls. They get so hot.
Sometimes we open the doors. We’re not afraid now; but we used to be. There were cases of armed robberies. Once - it was November or December - they broke into our house. No, to be correct, they wanted to break into our house but we didn’t open the doors. We started screaming. All of us, a boy, a girl, a man, a woman, were all screaming like women. They started to fire at us and one bullet hit our garage and then it hit another side. Thank God it was an AKC (6). If it had been an AKM (7), one of us would have been killed. Well, we survived. Then our neighbours ran to our place. Then, my parents took my sister and me to stay at my aunt’s place, somewhere else. My parents stayed here, but they took us to my aunt’s as they were afraid the robbers might turn up again and we would be scared.
It’s not easy to live constantly under stress and to be afraid of break-ins at night.
Back to top"It was dangerous to walk alone"
There was no school; but there was a school in a neighbouring village. So we went there. We walked about eight or nine kilometres. My sister, some other children and me. There were about eight of us. I was the youngest; I went into the second form. Some of them were in the third form, the fourth form and so on. Only I was in my second year. Three or four days later a girl joined us. She lived in that village. And we went to school together. There was no second form. We had a joint class. There was one teacher for the first and the second year pupils.
Later a school was opened here as well. In the beginning it was located in a private house three kilometres away from my home. Then they moved it to the centre – to the council building. We went there when we were in the fourth and the fifth years. By the second semester of my fifth year at school, we moved back to the former school.
It was dangerous to walk alone on the roads. We were scared. But we were not afraid at all if we were together.
Back to top"If I’m not too tired I pick up a book"
The Russian peacekeepers were stationed in the school before, then they were moved to another place. [So our] school opened first in a private house and then in a council building, before the Russian peacekeepers were moved out of the village. There was an order for them to move out of the school. The school was opened up. Then Russian peacekeepers moved in again. Now they are stationed in the former leisure centre. They are still there.
I go to school. I’m happy. I don’t do much studying because I have to work and my father has no one else to help him. I mean I'm the [only] son. He has a daughter as well, but she has no time. She's studying at the university. So I help him. If I’m not too tired I pick up a book, but if I’m too tired or feel ill, what can I do then? It’s not my fault. That’s life. Neither our life nor these conditions support me [in my studies].
Back to top"There’s no reason to be ashamed about manual work"
I openly admit that I help my father to cultivate the land. There’s nothing shameful about that for a peasant.
There’s no reason to be ashamed about [manual] work []. It’s not shameful for a peasant to work with a hoe. A hoe, an axe, a spade and a scythe, and so on, I do everything I have to. Only the rich and the city dwellers think it’s shameful. That type of people might say that I’m a peasant... But we earn our bread with this in the village, and now in the city as well...
Recently we built a stadium at our school. The UN or some NGOs have provided 2,000 laris (8) or dollars. Our headmaster bought cement, pipes, wire-netting, gravel. We made a wire-netting fence 4 metres high to prevent balls going over the top of it. So we’ve done that. He paid the workers; we, the children, helped with pleasure - and we built the stadium. Competitions are held in handball, basketball, football and in table tennis in summer. We also compete with the neighbouring villages. Our team even went to Sukhumi, but I didn’t go.
Back to top"I have plans"
There are three boys and two girls [of my age] in the village. There are eight boys and seven girls in my form. This is the case with my form. There are more or fewer pupils in other forms. We spend our free time, well, at the stadium. Sometimes the girls come out as well and that’s how we have fun.
Half the IDPs haven’t returned. However, we have quite a lot of neighbours. Now a good many people come in the summer. We get acquainted - and that’s the way we live.
I have plans for the time when I finish school. First of all, I’ll enroll for a course [at university] if I can. If I can’t do that, I’ll do my best to go to a college at least. I wanted to be a lawyer but my father insisted on my becoming a dentist. So I agreed. My sister too is studying dentistry. My father says that we’ll make money together and earn some income for the family.
I dream of travelling. For example, I want to go to America to see my favourite actors. Jackie Chan is my favourite actor. I’m crazy about him, because he always makes funny films. I always laugh when I watch his films. I like to put on performances. I’m quite good at this and can’t resist it. We put on some shows at school. I always take part in them. I’ve participated in many shows.
I prefer learning to the [physical work]. Now there’s no computer here, in the . Dandy and Sony [Walkmen] are our computers. But they're no use for studies. We are provided with half our textbooks and we have to buy the other half. By the way, we have a library. But there’s a time limit for borrowing a book there. I don’t know about the others but a week is not enough for me to read a book. Because the books are pretty thick and I don’t have enough time to read them. I have to work a lot. On the one hand, I have to work; on the other hand, I have to do my lessons. So I don’t have time to read books.
They teach the piano at music school but they do that only during the school day. They also teach dance; a local person is a teacher... I’m not very keen on Georgian dance or Ajaran dance. I prefer rap. We - the boys - mostly dance rap at the events at school.
Back to top"The Abkhazians don’t harm ordinary people"
There’s only a playground here. What else can you do in the village? All the buildings have been destroyed. You need a lot of money to restore everything. Our village will never have that much money. Some NGOs assist the population; for example, they’ve distributed a pesticide against the worms [the so-called 'American butterfly’] which have infested the hazelnut trees, fruit trees and crops. They used to distribute hoes, spades, plastic bags, spraying devices, but it all stopped.
Now they’re restoring the burnt-down houses. Twenty families have been promised financial assistance. They say it’ll begin on 15 July [2007].
The Abkhazians come to the village, but they don’t harm ordinary people. They arrest the dishonest ones, robbers and thieves. They’ve already got annihilated half of them.
Back to top"I’ve never held a gun"
Now I have to get the ID. But I'll lie about my age. Sometimes you need to tell a lie because if you’re legally an adult you have to join the army. Seventeen and eighteen year- old guys have been taken into the army and they're serving now. I don’t want to make the same mistake. I don’t want to join the army because I don’t know what’s going to happen [in Abkhazia].
Besides, I’m not confident in myself. I can’t use a gun. I’ve never held a gun and I won't need to if I don’t join the army. I’ll join the army when I’m about 21. Before that I’ll try to hide from the Abkhazians, because I don’t want to join the army at such an early age. I’ll try to avoid [that]. Then I’ll decide whether to join the [Georgian army] or the [Abkhazian army].
(1) Not his real name
(2) City in western Georgia
(3) Armed fighters during the war
(4) Village in Zugdidi district
(5) Type of car
(6) Type of machine gun
(7) Type of machine gun
(8) Georgian currency: 1 lari equals 0,6 US dollars
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