A new life?

The nightmares have-not stopped yet, back to the day my Dad went down to give my Grandfather a hand, working in the fields. It was then that the Azeri came and for no apparent reason bludgeoned my Dad to dead. When my Grand Pa and Grand Ma ran toward him to help, they killed them too. It's a forgotten side of the world where I was born, in Nachitsjevan, in the Southeast part of the former Soviet Union.

It is very hard to escape that country, and there are not many refugees who were lucky enough to escape to the west. My family is one of the lucky once. We became involved in the skirmishing between the different groups when my mother's sister and her husband came to us from Azerbaijan. They told us that the rumors were true.
One morning, Russian soldiers entered their village and rounded up all people who were from Armenian descent. They herded them in trucks and took them to Baku. She told us that my niece and her husband were not home and escaped. But, she had no idea where her daughter and her husband could be at this time. In recent months there were many clashes between the different nationalities in their country. According to my uncle there was a regular hunt on people of Armenian descent.
"I'm sure you must have heard about it," he said,
Thirty-two of our people lost their life, and after that the Russian army came. I thought the problem would remain in Armenia, but two days after the four-day revolt there it started by us, in Azerbaijan. February 28, 1988 we'll never forget it.
"In Baku we were kept under close guard, but not close enough though. We escaped," my aunt said.
That first night many people escaped. Looking back, it was the only night that it was possible. They who didn't make it were put on an airplane to Stepanakert, and never heard of since.
That same night we left Baku by city-bus. The next day we continued, hitchhiking the remaining distance to the Nachitsjevan border. We were glad to see my aunt and uncle, but it didn't improve our position in the area. The harassment's became worse by the day. We trembled with fear when we heard the soldiers. Where are they going? Who is today's victim, what kind of atrocities will they pull today, are we the victims or are it our neighbors? To get information they would go into a house and beat the men to within an inch of their life. When they were unconscious; they continued with the women.
"Answer our questions and we'll leave." they said.
Then they started ripping the clothing of her daughter while the mother watched. Whatever answers the mother and her daughter gave , still the soldiers would gang-rape them. The survivors of the ordeal carry the scars the rest of their lives. Although now they are save, and get psychiatric help, nothing can erase the memories.

In January 1990 it started to look like a full scale war between Armenia and Azerbaijan. It was then when Michael Corbachov sends in his army. Attempts on the lives of people of Armenian descent were occurring daily. We, living in Nakhichevan, were getting now attacked by both sides, at one side the Armenians and on the other the Azerbaijanis. If it was at all possible we wanted to remain in Shakhbuz. Destiny was against us. We didn't belong anywhere. When the Armenians weren't dropping their bombs, the Azeris were beating up on us, or worse yet, killing our people. The violence became worse by the day. It was like a replay of Azerbaijan. My aunt and uncle had taken their troubles with them, it appeared. The Azeris were running the country. The 20% ethnic Armenians had no chance of survival at all.

Before anybody else was getting killed we escaped to the mountains. It was a terrible trip the snow was very high and a freezing storm was roaring between the walls of the mountains. We met some Kurds who had escaped their hometown and had managed to sustain themselves in the mountains. They were quite save there, and we stayed with them for a while.
Begin March I heard from an Armenian that he had discovered a path through the mountains leading toward Armenia. Word had come to us that there was a possibility to escape via Armenia to a Western Country. Luck wasn't with us. When we tried the next night to escape via that path we ran into a patrol. Lucky for us we detected them before they noticed us and we could save ourselves. This meant that the road to Armenia was closed for us. Actually nothing new because for the last few years we weren't allowed to leave our country. This started when the Azeris in 1992 collected the passports of ethnic Armenians living in Nachitsjevan.
We stayed with the Kurds until the end of March. At first we earned our keep with work, but soon there was no work and we gave them jewelry. My Dad didn't live to see how he helped me and my family to survive. He had told me how he as a member of the Russian Army with the Cossacks had entered Berlin. He told me that money had no value then. He had traded tobacco and clothing for jewelry. Which he later, when back home, used to buy more land.
"Listen to your Dad," he said.
"Invest every penny you can save into jewelry. Sometime in the future you and your family might have to leave this country in a hurry. Then there is no time to take care of anything. Waste no time, do it now, while it is still possible to do so." he continuet
I could never have dreamed that this time would come so soon. Now I could finance our escape to the west. When there was a break in the weather we left the Kurds. The snow was melting, and the roads were impossible to travel. We had a terrible time to get around, but it was worse for the border patrol. Their truck's didn't do any good in the snow. Snow tires and chains couldn't replace a snowmobile. We counted on that, and it worked. We went on foot. Initially we made good time, but the further we got into the mountains, the slower we came ahead. The mountainous terrain was too rugged to cross without a guide, and we had to do it without one. A home made map and the knowledge that at the end of the road freedom was waiting for us, gave us the strength to go on. At one point my wife slipped and made a fall of 30 feet. Thank God she landed on a protruding branch. Nothing was broken, but she was covered with mud. We were following animal tracks and the path was al but impossible. Sometimes we found it covered with lose snow or a stretch of ice, alternated with dry pieces, where the sun shone. After the fall of my wife we decided to create a lifeline. This line saved us often, when we descended on the east side of the mountain, where there was more snow. This time we managed to get to Yekhegnadzor.
Now we were in Armenia where we had the good fortune to join a group of workers traveling to Tiblisi, in Georgia. I still think that it wasn't a work force at all, but a group of people who where lucky enough to get their hands on travel-documents.
Anyway now we were out of danger. Even tough in Tiblishi we were people non grata we managed to join a group of travelers who were going to the Netherlands. This was possible with the false passports we had acquired when we arrived in Tiblishi.
By now our quantity of jewelry started to dwindle, but so far we paid all our expenses including the fare to the Netherlands with it. I am quite sure that at the airport they knew that many refugees traveled on false papers. I guess the authorities in Georgia saw the backs rather then the fronts of refugees. Our first stop was Prague, for a moment I was affrighted that it was going to be the end of the line for us. The emigration officer started to scrutinize our passports. But our travel guide explained that we were leaving early the next morning for Germany and that our final destination was Amsterdam. Apparently he was not a stranger here and it was cleared up quickly.
The remaining part of our trip went without any incidents. An Armenian, our contact upon arrival in Amsterdam, told us to go without delay to the Refugee reception center in the town of Zeewolde to get registered as refuge seekers. Now we are more then a year in the Netherlands. We are having difficulties with the Dutch language. We can go to sleep without worry; no soldiers will kick in the doors. We miss our family. We don't know where they are. We don't know or they are still alive. We don't know what the future will bring. We are not accepted as refugees, yet. We don't know or we will spend the rest of our lives here. We know that we are save here and that we can build a future for children in this country. We believe in the future. We believe God will be on our side

copyright©1994 by Jack van der. Elst

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