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REFLECTING IMAGES: VISITING MY GRANDMOTHER'S VILLAGE IN PALU
by George Aghjayan
http://www.armenianweekly.com/2012/06/13/reflecting-images-visiting-my-grandmothers-village-in-palu/
June 13, 2012
For the third time in less than a year, I traveled to the land of
my ancestors. Each time I return, people ask how things went and I
struggle to find the appropriate word to describe these pilgrimages. I
have settled on the word "productive." These are not vacations,
nor are they taken with an expectation of pleasure.
George Aghjayan (L) with his daughter Sarah and cousin Steve Mesrobian
in Uzunova. (Photo by Nanore Barsoumian) These explorations offer
many extraordinary moments. Oftentimes it is difficult to express
the emotions of such moments, but I would like to write about one.
My grandmother, Margaret Der Manouelian, was born in the village of
Uzunova mezre in the district of Palu. Prior to the genocide, it was
a small village with only around 100 Armenians in 10-15 households
and the Surp Sarkis Church. Approximately twice as many Armenians
lived in the nearby village of Uzunova along the Aradzani (Murad or
eastern Euphrates) River.
In 1990, with my wife expecting our first child, I recorded my
grandmother's story of surviving the genocide and her six years as a
slave in Uzunova. In 1996, I traveled to Palu hoping to visit Uzunova,
but was unfortunately unable to get there.
So, it was with much anticipation that I expected to finally visit
the village that was the origin of so much of my family history, even
more so because traveling with me on this journey were my daughter
Sarah and cousin Steve Mesrobian.
As we approached the village, the incredible beauty of the location
struck me. The village sits along the Keban reservoir with magnificent
mountains in the background. In some ways, unknowingly, I have
recreated the landscape through my own home in Massachusetts.
The old village of Uzunova is now under water. The current village
of Uzunova contains only 10-15 houses and borders the old village of
Uzunova mezre. The remoteness of Uzunova has trapped it in time. Life
continues to center on fishing, farming, and animal husbandry.
Upon entering the village, I was naturally drawn to the water while my
daughter was drawn to an elderly woman walking to the fields for work.
The woman spoke generally about the village and I moved on-drawn
further along the water. Was this the place where my grandmother found
her father beheaded with other men of the village? So many thoughts...
It was overwhelming.
Boys fishing in Uzunova (Photo by Nanore Barsoumian) After watching
some young boys fishing and skipping stones, we walked back to the
road and happened on a beautiful stork. As we were taking pictures
of the stork and the many smaller birds also nesting there, a man
came out on his roof and invited us to take pictures from there.
After some initial pleasantries, the man invited us in for tea while
he was having his breakfast. As we sat around the table sipping tea,
we talked. He spoke of the history of the villages. I spoke of my
grandmother being from the village and the history of the Armenians of
the villages. He spoke of both of his grandmothers being Armenian. And
I understood.
This man and I are two sides of the same coin. My grandmother escaped,
his grandmothers did not. Many were killed outright. I am descended
from one, he is descended from another. And across the countryside
there are hundreds of thousands that are also descended.
At this point, I indicated that the geographic distance between us
had separated the history I knew of the village and the history of
the village he knew, and it was good that we could come together to
share stories of the village.
At this point he became very animated in talking to his wife. He
explained to her that we had come from half way around the world to
see Uzunova. That they could not begin to understand our attachment
to the village, until they understood the magnitude of the crime they
committed against us.
We then walked around the village. I found the gully my grandmother
and her family hid in when the killings began. We walked around the
remnants of the vineyard where my great-grandfather hid unbeknownst
to my grandmother. We saw the Armenian cemetery...a bone exposed
here...fragments of rocks there. We received shade of the trees that
marked the spot where Surp Sarkis Church once stood.
As we walked away, my thoughts drifted to my daughter. My family's
history was just extended two generations. One day, her children,
grandchildren, nieces, and nephews will come to her and ask ... she has
been there and will have the answers. A crime silenced and forgotten
is a crime that never occurred.
From: Baghdasarian
by George Aghjayan
http://www.armenianweekly.com/2012/06/13/reflecting-images-visiting-my-grandmothers-village-in-palu/
June 13, 2012
For the third time in less than a year, I traveled to the land of
my ancestors. Each time I return, people ask how things went and I
struggle to find the appropriate word to describe these pilgrimages. I
have settled on the word "productive." These are not vacations,
nor are they taken with an expectation of pleasure.
George Aghjayan (L) with his daughter Sarah and cousin Steve Mesrobian
in Uzunova. (Photo by Nanore Barsoumian) These explorations offer
many extraordinary moments. Oftentimes it is difficult to express
the emotions of such moments, but I would like to write about one.
My grandmother, Margaret Der Manouelian, was born in the village of
Uzunova mezre in the district of Palu. Prior to the genocide, it was
a small village with only around 100 Armenians in 10-15 households
and the Surp Sarkis Church. Approximately twice as many Armenians
lived in the nearby village of Uzunova along the Aradzani (Murad or
eastern Euphrates) River.
In 1990, with my wife expecting our first child, I recorded my
grandmother's story of surviving the genocide and her six years as a
slave in Uzunova. In 1996, I traveled to Palu hoping to visit Uzunova,
but was unfortunately unable to get there.
So, it was with much anticipation that I expected to finally visit
the village that was the origin of so much of my family history, even
more so because traveling with me on this journey were my daughter
Sarah and cousin Steve Mesrobian.
As we approached the village, the incredible beauty of the location
struck me. The village sits along the Keban reservoir with magnificent
mountains in the background. In some ways, unknowingly, I have
recreated the landscape through my own home in Massachusetts.
The old village of Uzunova is now under water. The current village
of Uzunova contains only 10-15 houses and borders the old village of
Uzunova mezre. The remoteness of Uzunova has trapped it in time. Life
continues to center on fishing, farming, and animal husbandry.
Upon entering the village, I was naturally drawn to the water while my
daughter was drawn to an elderly woman walking to the fields for work.
The woman spoke generally about the village and I moved on-drawn
further along the water. Was this the place where my grandmother found
her father beheaded with other men of the village? So many thoughts...
It was overwhelming.
Boys fishing in Uzunova (Photo by Nanore Barsoumian) After watching
some young boys fishing and skipping stones, we walked back to the
road and happened on a beautiful stork. As we were taking pictures
of the stork and the many smaller birds also nesting there, a man
came out on his roof and invited us to take pictures from there.
After some initial pleasantries, the man invited us in for tea while
he was having his breakfast. As we sat around the table sipping tea,
we talked. He spoke of the history of the villages. I spoke of my
grandmother being from the village and the history of the Armenians of
the villages. He spoke of both of his grandmothers being Armenian. And
I understood.
This man and I are two sides of the same coin. My grandmother escaped,
his grandmothers did not. Many were killed outright. I am descended
from one, he is descended from another. And across the countryside
there are hundreds of thousands that are also descended.
At this point, I indicated that the geographic distance between us
had separated the history I knew of the village and the history of
the village he knew, and it was good that we could come together to
share stories of the village.
At this point he became very animated in talking to his wife. He
explained to her that we had come from half way around the world to
see Uzunova. That they could not begin to understand our attachment
to the village, until they understood the magnitude of the crime they
committed against us.
We then walked around the village. I found the gully my grandmother
and her family hid in when the killings began. We walked around the
remnants of the vineyard where my great-grandfather hid unbeknownst
to my grandmother. We saw the Armenian cemetery...a bone exposed
here...fragments of rocks there. We received shade of the trees that
marked the spot where Surp Sarkis Church once stood.
As we walked away, my thoughts drifted to my daughter. My family's
history was just extended two generations. One day, her children,
grandchildren, nieces, and nephews will come to her and ask ... she has
been there and will have the answers. A crime silenced and forgotten
is a crime that never occurred.
From: Baghdasarian