By Tamar Samuelian for The Armenian Weekly

Under the Georgian government, the people of Javakhk are suffering. They are unable to keep and preserve the ancient Armenian churches or even worship in them. More importantly, the government has turned most Armenian schools into Georgian Governmental Schools, and the children attending do not get an education in Armenian. As someone who is fascinated with Armenian history, in all my studies I had not come across anything about Javakhk, which was a part of Historic Armenia. Considering the situation the Armenians of Javakhk are in, they have succeeded in creating a community for themselves, teaching their children Armenian reading, writing, and history, and creating a youth center where all Armenian children can hang out. Taking into consideration the situation of the Javakhk Armenians today, they have managed to survive and thrive on yet another land that belongs to Armenians regardless of the Georgian government’s efforts.

It was by chance that I came upon the Tebi Javakhk Facebook page after my spring semester in 2012. Had it not been for my joblessness and boredom, I would never have known about this jampar (camp). After reading through the application and the various posts online about the Jampar, I decided to apply, figuring it would be a good experience and an opportunity to interact with other Armenians of my age. I sent in my application on a limb. I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was more of a leap of faith than anything else. I didn’t know much about Javakhk to begin with, so after sending in my application I attempted to do some research to learn about the situation of the people living there. Unfortunately there wasn’t anything I didn’t already know online or at the library about this part of the world. When I got the e-mail that I had been accepted as a counselor at the Javakhk Jampar, I was ecstatic!

Prior to leaving the states, we had a few conference calls where we discussed everyone’s responsibilities, what to expect, what not to expect, how we were getting to Javakhk, the dangers, etc. We all met on July 19 at JFK Airport, anxious to get there.

Our first day in Javakhk was spent in the town of Akhalkalak, which is primarily Armenian. We visited the Armenian Relief Society (ARS) offices of Akhalkalak, where the ungerouhis spoke about the situation of the Armenians in the town, but more so about how excited they were with our presence. We then walked to the youth center, passing the statue of Mesrob Mashdots, who not only created the Armenian alphabet but also created the Georgian alphabet. At the youth center, Unger Nayiri gave us a tour, showing us the many, many books about the ARF they have collected, the pictures of the fedayees, the pictures the children have drawn, and the clothes they have learned to sew. That night we talked logistics—how we were going to operate these camps and how we would have to modify the camp to fit our circumstances.

The next day, my group, who was going to Akhdzkha, another largely populated Armenian town, left anxious and overtly eager. Since that was the day our jampar was supposed to begin, we hastily dropped off our things at the hotel and headed to the youth center to meet and greet all the children and their parents. Since we did not have any materials, most of that day was spent buying supplies and preparing mentally and physically for the jampar.

The first day began bright and early at 9 a.m. We made the trek to the youth center as a group, set up our individual activities for the day, and waited anxiously for the children to arrive. Every morning was basically the same: We would begin with singing “Mer Hairenik,” then do marzank, or exercises—jumping jacks, hokey pokey, “head shoulders knees and toes,” etc. Then, everyone would head inside for their class. During these seven days, I taught the children how to make bracelets with string (almost every child wanted red, blue, and orange string), bracelets with beads, and key chains. I taught them about the city of Van/Vaspuragan, the kings, the kingdoms, the vishabs that lived on Lake Van, the story of Akhtamar, the other various islands on Lake Van, what remains on the island today. I also taught them about Erzerum, its Armenian name Garin (my middle name), where most of their grandparents had emigrated or escaped from; I taught them where it’s located, its role in the caravan, the large mountain ranges that surround it, the unique black stone that is found only there, and the story of the Moghez and the Megnag and the halva. I even taught them the words to the “Erzerumi Tamzara,” which was by far their favorite. We taught them songs and dances we’d learned at camp, or at panagoom, songs that would empower them to be Armenian, such as “Leran lanchin” or “Seropin yev Sossein Yerke,” but also fun songs. I read them the empowering story of Sassounsi Tavit. We played games with them, they drew, they colored; we even made a paper quilt and a paper chain with their drawings and writings.

These children were amazing. As with all children, there were those who were noisy and disobedient, but the majority of the children were wonderful. They all listened very attentively, raised their hands when they had questions, and most impressively, caught on quickly to whatever it was we were teaching them, whether a song or a poem or a story. They were very fast learners, in other words. They were also very eager to learn. When teaching them arts and crafts, they would all surround me in a flurry to see what I was doing and then learn how to do it themselves. During playtime, yes there were spats, but they would solve problems on their own without having to call an adult over. I was amazed at how well they conducted themselves. The older girls were always looking to help in the kitchen or set up tables for lunch.

Aside from interacting with the children, we got to try the various dishes unique to the Armenians in Javakhk, such as khingali. Whenever we could, we would help out in the kitchen, washing dishes, pouring meals into bowls, distributing meals, cutting the cheese, tomatoes, and cucumbers, wrapping dolma, learning how to make khingali, etc. The director of the youth center would tell us time and time again that many of these children would not have had anything to eat had we not provided it for them, because their parents cannot afford food on a daily basis. One day, the group from Akhalkalak came to visit us, and we all took a trip to the Armenian church, which is no longer functional. It was so eye-opening to see the rocky roads they have to walk or drive along to get to their homes or to church, as many people can’t afford cars. Afterwards, we went to the youth center director’s home for some soorj, and found it surprisingly small—everyone slept in one room. We got to see what cramped situations they often have live in.

My favorite experience by far was when we went to see a thousand-year-old Bible in the village of Tsughrut. Even though it was rainy and muggy, we got to get out of the city, see the farmland, the farmers, the fields of corn and sunflowers and grapes, the cow herders, the people who cared for the horses and the chickens. It was beautiful. It was what I had imagined Javakhk to be. Every family had a home, and behind their home was a little stable with chickens for eggs or for dinner; a horse; maybe a cow or two for milk; and the wood from trees cut up and prepared for the winter, lined up outside of their homes. We first headed to the church where we said our prayers and then trekked to the home of elderly woman who kept the Bible. While we were walking, everyone slowly came out of their homes to say hello; they welcomed us, told us to come back, told us they had sons that we would love. It was like a homecoming. These people, Armenians, didn’t know who we were, or where we came from, but were more than happy to talk to us, get to know us, hug us. It was one of the most heartwarming experiences I’ve ever had.

The woman who kept the thousand-year-old Bible was reluctant to let us in at first, thinking we were there to take the Bible away from her, but eventually we made her understand that we were only there to see and admire it. She willingly told us how her father had carried that Bible as the only thing in his possession during the genocide, from Erzerum to Tsughrut. He had hid it in his pants so the gendarmes would not see it, eventually leaving the caravan to find his way to freedom in Javakhk.

We got to do some sightseeing, as well. We saw the statue of the Georgian queen Tamar. We walked up to the Georgian fortress, encountering Armenian workers who again were more than happy to talk to us, acting as though we’d known them forever.

The last day of the jampar was the most difficult. All of the kids knew it was our last day, so the mood was quite solemn; however, we put on a marvelous hantess for the parents who applauded and cried, and thanked us again and again for coming from so far away to teach their children and to help keep them Armenian. They were so sweet, so sincere, that they brought me to tears. The children were even more emotional; they didn’t want to leave us. Even though we’d only been there for seven days, they had grown attached to us, as we had grown attached to them. Slowly, every child left, with tears in their eyes, and we with tears in ours, saying goodbye, not knowing when we would see them again. Every day since, I sit and look through my pictures from Javakhk and reminisce about what an amazing experience I had. In all my 22 years, I’ve never had an experience like this: teaching children who appreciate and understand what I’m teaching, reinforcing the values my parents taught me, but also being my friends, teaching me things in return, laughing at my jokes—and me at theirs—running, jumping, tickling, dancing with me, explaining to me why they love Akhdzkha, and their friends, and stating that one day Javakhk will be a part of Armenia again. It’s so empowering to hear children tell you that. It definitely gives me hope. Leaving the children was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, even though our time together was so short. I grew so fond of them, they were like my own brothers and sisters.

Yes, I’ve been to Armenia and even Artsakh with the Homenetmen and with my family, but this experience was far from what I imagined it to be. I not only got to interact with Armenian children living in the diaspora as both a teacher and a friend, but I got to witness a different way of life. In some ways the situation that the Javakhk Armenians are in is similar to that of Armenians living in America and the rest of the diaspora, in that they are trying in every way possible to keep their Armenian identity; however, they have the added strain of a government that is trying to get rid of them, watching their every move, looking for a reason to kick them out or throw them in jail. We were all very curious how these children knew how to speak, read, and write in Armenian, as we’d read that even the Armenian schools in Javakhk were only allowed one session of Armenian a day. We learned that they have a Saturday School that all the children attend, just as I attended, where they learn to read and write in Armenian, and learn Armenian songs and dances. I was overwhelmed at their commitment to being Armenian, when in America we see Armenians slowly drifting away, assimilating into the American culture. Their parents are owed so much for putting themselves and their children on the line to help them keep their Armenian heritage. The people of Javakhk, although under strain, are resilient in keeping their traditions. This experience humbled me, and even more so motivated me to stay involved in the Armenian community, and work harder to motivate others to do the same.