A HOME IN THE HEART

We were displaced from Chankatagh, located in the Martakert region of Artsakh. The day we left our homeland will remain etched in my memory forever.

Our big family, with children, a pregnant woman, the elderly, and I, with my 6-month-old daughter and two sons, faced unimaginable hardship.

We fought to stay alive through different paths, across dense woods. I used to say I didn’t want to remember the hell we went through in those desperate moments. But my husband always believed that it’s important to remember what happened to us because it’s part of our life and fate. He thinks things will eventually get easier and better for us. And even though I see so many challenges ahead, I’m starting to believe in his optimism.

Before we came to Agarak village, we lived in various settlements across Armenia. Just imagine how hard it was for my schoolboys to switch schools and environments repeatedly.

After only a few months in one place, they’d be uprooted and forced to start over.

Our elders often said the children became lazy and didn’t want to learn anymore. But I understand them. How could they concentrate on school when everything around them was constantly changing? It’s not easy to lose a home, move from place to place, and stay in houses that aren’t yours, knowing they are temporary.

The hardest part is the feeling that no peace is within you anymore.

You always feel like you’re in motion, always waiting for the following change.

But I know my children, and I can feel in my heart that things will change for the better.

They deserve peace, stability, and a future full of possibilities, just like every child on this earth.

In Agarak village in Armenia, it feels like we’ve found what we’ve been searching for.

My husband adores this place and doesn’t want to leave despite the significant social issues.

The same goes for my children and me.

If you’re curious why we feel better here, I can tell you that the landscape and the views remind us of our beloved Chankatagh.

Occasionally, I find myself standing on the sidewalk, looking at the mountains and the lush green fields stretching before me.

The view is similar to the one from our village, and in those moments, I feel a sense of relief, as if the weight of everything is slowly lifting.

We’ve even started to create a little tradition here. It’s not common for neighbors to be so close or visit each other frequently in this village.

But we decided to change that by inviting our neighbors into our home, and you know what?

They’ve come to appreciate this gesture.

Now, in our neighborhood, we’ve formed a bond. We’re close, and we genuinely enjoy spending quality time together. We are grateful to have such wonderful neighbors, and being surrounded by caring people feels like a blessing.

One of our neighbors even said that he would buy the house we’re renting just so that we could stay close to each other forever. He wants to ensure that social problems won’t force us to keep searching for a new home repeatedly. Moments like this make us feel rooted like we finally belong somewhere.

Back in Chankatagh, Artsakh, our family was deeply involved in animal husbandry, a way of life we truly enjoyed. We raised chickens, pigs, and cows—our animals were a big part of our daily lives.

Unfortunately, we lost everything. It feels like a distant dream now, a sweet memory of what we once had in Nagorno Karabakh. At first, we couldn’t imagine how we would go on, how we could heal from those wounds, or even how to find the strength to simply live. But once again, my husband’s optimism and kindness helped me find the courage to look ahead.

Then, by chance, we met people from the Armenian Fund for Sustainable Development, and through their support, we became beneficiaries of a pig farming program. We are more than grateful for the help we received—it was the turning point that allowed us to begin again, to try and recreate the life we once had in our beloved homeland.

We, the people of Artsakh, didn’t just work the land—we had a true passion for it. We loved being in nature, caring for animals, working the soil, and growing the juiciest, most flavorful fruits and vegetables nurtured by the sun and water of Artsakh. It was the land that nourished us, but the love, care, and dedication of the Artsakh people made everything thrive. Every seed planted, every tree tended, was a reflection of the bond we shared with the earth—an irreplaceable bond that is now a part of our hearts.

Now, we take care of our pigs and chickens and hope to have greenhouses in the future. We would show how hardworking and talented we are if given the opportunity. But before that, we must face the many-layered social challenges that stand in our way and work to overcome them as soon as possible. It can feel like the scariest thing to face so many problems alone, but the truth is, many of our fellow compatriots are going through the same.

Maybe it’s not the loneliness of facing these challenges that scares us the most, but the fear of being unable to solve them.

We chose to be stronger—for our children.

They deserve a better, safer life.

They deserve to feel loved, encouraged, and happy. That is all I want for them.