BY HAIG MANOUKIAN

I came to Armenia with the AYF Youth Corps program, eager to spend time with the local children and to see my homeland from a new perspective. I didn’t expect to become emotionally attached to the children of the jambars at all. In my mind, I was here to do a job: organize a camp for local kids in Armenia. In Artsakh, I did exactly that. I ran morning exercises. I presented an educational about personal hygiene. I taught kids how to make lanyards. I taught the kids heghapoghagan songs. Then, I went back to our house and didn’t think about the kids until the next day of camp. I loved my job, but I kept it separate from my life outside of jambar. I did, however, become close to many of the kids during camp. I was greeted with hugs and high fives every morning, which made me happy to do what I was doing. I loved spending time with the campers and, at the hantes at the end of the two weeks, I was extremely proud of them. However, when we were all saying bye on the last day, I wasn’t emotional like many of the other counselors and campers. I simply took photos with the kids and hugged them goodbye knowing I might never see them again.

During our long drive from Stepanakert to our next camp in Gyumri, I thought about my experience with the kids from Artsakh. I wondered why I hadn’t been brought to tears when the campers hugged me sobbing and begging me not to leave.

The Gyumri camp started out the same: I ran many of the morning exercises by having the kids dance to songs like “Punjabi MC” and “Cha Cha Slide.” I also taught the hygiene educational, organized games, and helped teach songs like “Bank Ottoman” and “Kovkasi Kacher” for the campers to sing during the end-of-the-week song competition.

It was during one of our last song practices when I understood the true impact we, as AYF Youth Corps participants, have on the local children. It was the first time the whole group of about 50 kids heard the songs the older campers were soloing. During “Zinvori Yerkuh,” a song about a young soldier being killed in war and his mother never receiving his letter, I saw one of the younger boys begin to cry. I looked at him and nodded to make sure he was okay. He quickly wiped his tears, tightened his jaw, stood up straight and nodded back at me. After the song practice, a few of the counselors went to the boy to comfort him. He told us about his brother who had just left to serve in the army and how he wouldn’t see him for two years. I realized then that the songs we teach the campers during jambar are very real for the kids in Armenia. Many of the campers have brothers and fathers that are serving in the military or have been killed in war. As I thought more about that little boy, I began to realize the impact we had on all of the campers’ lives.

What moved me to tears, after our two weeks in Gyumri, was understanding how much the Youth Corps participants mean to the local kids of Armenia. Each of us connected with the kids in unique ways that we will always remember.

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BY HANNAH MANSOUR

Stepping into this trip, I was questioning my ability to form relationships with the kids we would be working with. I did not grow up speaking Armenian, and I really never had an opportunity to learn. I have worked with kids for the past 10 years, but even when I have done volunteer work in other countries working with kids, a language barrier had never been an issue. I honestly was filled with a lot of self-doubt about my ability to connect with any of the kids at jambar. This doubt in my ability to do the work that I came to do was amplified when we arrived to the first agoump – when we were told that we couldn’t speak any English, because nobody would understand us. However, that all changed on the first day of jambar in Stepanakert, Artsakh. The day started out with an overwhelming feeling, as kids were pouring into our class. I felt uneasy as kids came up to me asking questions, or tried to talk to me. I wanted nothing more than to be there for them and answer their questions, but I found myself at a loss of what to do.

As the campers were sitting in the classroom, I was left alone for a moment with them. I was writing something on the board when I heard a “Hello!” As I turned around, trying to find out who was speaking English, my gaze stopped on this young boy who proceeded to say “hello,” again, and ask how I’m doing. Shocked that he was speaking English, I began to speak with him. For the rest of jambar, this sweet boy, Narek, followed me around camp and translated for me. Not only was he so helpful to me, but it was so special to be able to build a relationship with him and with other kids through his desire to translate for me. When he grows up he wants to be a translator and has taught himself multiple languages already. When other campers began to realize that I didn’t speak Armenian, I was swarmed everyday by kids who wanted to practice their English with me and teach me Armenian. Because of this relationship I was able to form, it left me excited for the remaining jambars, where I would form unbreakable relationships with campers.

Arriving at our next jambar in Gyumri, I was filled with more confidence from my experience in Artsakh, and eager to form connections with campers. While there was not another Narek that could be my little translator buddy, I was still able to create genuine, deep relationships with campers even without the use of words. On one of the first days in Gyumri, a young girl in my color group was sitting at lunch with tears in her eyes. I brought her over to me to just sit, and even though I was unable to understand her, I knew that my company could help cheer her up. Lusi was very quiet and didn’t talk much to anyone throughout our two weeks in Gyumri. On the morning of our hantes, she ran up to me with a gift. Her sweet gesture was enough for me to see that we did not need to use words for us to form a strong connection. That night at the hantes, her mom came up to tell me that Lusi had told her so much about me.

This experience has taught me that our connections with people around us can run so much deeper than what we are able to say to one another. On our last day of jambar in Gyumri, I gifted a bracelet of mine to Lusi so that she too could be reminded of the connection we had and know that she is special to me even though our words were few. Each time it came time for another goodbye, I knew that the relationships that I have formed in Armenia through AYF Youth Corps will be in my heart and a part of the foundation of my first experience in Armenia.

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BY MARIAM NERSES

Visiting the Armenian Lighthouse Charitable Foundation was a very heartwarming experience. Zuhrab and Seta Ghazarian founded the shelter to provide and protect women and children that have been victims of domestic violence.

Women from all over Armenia, Georgia, and even Egypt have received help here. They offer two year programs to help support single women raise their children. During this two year program, women are not only taken care of, but simultaneously receive vocational training and counseling in order to help them find a job after leaving the shelter. Skills include sewing, crocheting, hair styling, doing nails, and more.

I was especially touched by how deeply caring and kind the founders are to all women seeking refuge at the shelter. While speaking with a volunteer from California who helps at the shelter during the summer, she emphasized the shelter’s primary goal is to provide women the necessary tools and support for rehabilitation. After the trauma many of these women have endured, the shelter functions on the belief that these women deserve the best care possible.

With a doctor, dentist, and psychologist volunteering weekly with the women, the shelter’s main goal promotes the ultimate well-being of the women there. As a woman, I very much appreciated learning about what this shelter has done and continues to do for so many. I am thankful we were invited to visit this shelter with open arms.

Alongside their mission to help victims of domestic violence, the ALCF also enters communities each week to assist the elderly in need of food. When we visited the shelter today, we were put in charge of the “Feed the Elders” program luncheon serving and cleaning after the elders that were there that day; they were given a warm lunch and later dessert.

Although it was saddening, I was extremely touched by the gratefulness they showed and most importantly, I was so happy to witness the shelter’s generosity making such a massive change. Additionally, as I plan to pursue a career as a lawyer and am interested in defending victims of domestic abuse, this visit especially meant a lot to me.

For such an amazing program to exist for these women, who feel they have no one to turn to, gives me hope that Armenia is moving in the right direction for social justice. I feel that many individuals focus on economic change in the homeland, but for that to happen, there needs to be a social movement that promotes a better life for the women living here. And I believe this program is doing just that.

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I knew seeing Hayastan for the first time would be an emotional experience. Landing at 3 a.m. felt surreal. Whether it was the anticipation of 20 hours of travel or a lifetime of longing to step on land I could call my own, there was an immediate connection.

I had finally arrived to the place I had heard about my entire life—the only place my great-grandparents and ancestors called home. The next morning, when I saw Ararat for the first time, I was immediately moved to tears.

It was an especially clear day and we had a beautiful view from the Armenian center we stayed at in Proshyan. Spending those first few days exploring Armenia gave me an inexplicable sense of relief— like filling a void I hadn’t even realize existed.

My first visit to Hayastan has indeed been absolutely emotional. But nothing prepared me for the emotional journey that would come with the jampar in Stepanakert. On our first full day, we had extra time in between activities and began singing “Aghpers Ou Yes” with the campers. I started crying, because it hit me that, in the diaspora, these songs are reflections of the past.

But in Artsakh, the lyrics, “Mom jan, chu dukhres, shad chu mudatzes,” are reflections of a very real present. The bond I’ve built with the kids here only intensifies the feeling of wanting to protect them. Picturing my young boy campers fighting in a war, or my little girl campers missing their dads and brothers is heartbreaking. But, the will of the people here is no doubt the foundation of their resilience.

When I first got here, the dialect and cultural nuances made me feel like I was a guest in a land outside of Hayastan; however, seeing those kids on the first day of camp reminded me that Artsakh is as much a part of Hayastan as Yerevan, as Sardarabad, as Ararat. Being pushed out of our lands in 1915 made us all citizens of the world, bound not by borders, but by blood. There is no better example of that power than witnessing the heart of Artsakh—its children.

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BY HASMIK BURUSHYAN

This trip has led all of us to many unknowns. The drive to Javakhk was especially suspenseful. We did not know what kind of town or people we would encounter. We did not know if we were going to comfortably find the combinations of words and sentences that would make us mutually understand each other. We did not know how deeply the Armenian culture was rooted in the people we were about to meet. Many of us are used to a different world.

Our arrival was met with intrigued faces. The people were eager to pierce the silence yet maintained the quiet for observational purposes. Soon enough, we patted the vibes with sincere greetings as if we were all meeting a long-lost brother or sister.

The youth centers of Akhaltskha and Akhalkalak were quite simple. Ordinary in the ways the chairs were arranged and especially the wall decorations. In each space of cultural haven, the walls were adorned with Armenian calendars and drawings of flags and fallen heroes that the youth using the center had created. None of these pieces were radical in the love of their heritage, but the pieces quietly spoke through the rooms. Seeing these faint movements on the wall glued my feet to the space from where I was viewing them I kept comparing it to the walls of my youth center back home. These thoughts circled around my head for a while.

All of us have pinned our hearts to the vocalization of our culture and historical roots. We have promised to continue to sing the songs that our grandparents did. We have made it our spirits’ call to reveal any wrongdoings that attempt to dim the colors of our culture. Some work loudly while others can only work behind the scenes.

The people of Javakhk work quietly but work with the greatest of forces to hold their Armenian-ness tightly. They hold their grip by continuing the work through the power of passion.

This is what I got when I stared at those subtle walls. I did not respond by feeling sorry for the people for not being able to loudly proclaim what was in their hearts. I did not feel a drop of pity. However, I felt the resilience of the people. I felt their resisting energies vibrate through those plain walls.

Another moment that can never fall victim to memory loss was my conversation with one of the locals. For the sake of connection, I questioned him as to why he did not relocate to Armenia. His response was needed. He said, “Why should we move? This is our Armenia.”

The story of Javakhk and its people is very promising. As a Diasporan, I am ready whenever to include myself in this process.

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BY KARINE HAIRAPETIAN

After a three-day teaser of Yerevan, I was not ready to part with the big city and move to the more rural city of Gyumri. In addition to leaving behind the vivacious street life, I was dreading the idea of sharing one bathroom with 16 other people. The question that I found myself asking was, why do the people of Gyumri choose to stay in their city and not in the city of Yerevan?

As I drove to Gyumri, my worries of living in a “boring” city quickly faded away. I didn’t know it was possible to feel such an overwhelming sense of Armenian-ness. Looking out of the crammed bus’ windows and seeing the green rolling hills and foliage, I was able to answer my previously overstated question.

Yes, Yerevan’s night life and restaurants may be superior, but my sense of Armenian-ness was diluted in an urban, globalized city. The term “hyrenaser” is epitomized by the people of Gyumri. After the earthquake of 1988, this town could have been abandoned, leaving behind only ruins. However, that’s not the case. Gyumri is continuously rebuilding itself from ground up, both literally and figuratively. Although they still have a long way to go, the people are continuously proving their loyalty and dedication to their beloved city.

Prior to traveling to Gyumri, I believed I had met all types of “hyrenaser” individuals but I was pleasantly proven wrong. The citizens of Gyumri: the adults and children, the working professionals and stay-at-home mothers, the schoolchildren and the grandparents, they’ve each taught me that “hayrenasiutyun” is something they live, breath, and work toward every day. I am extremely grateful to be able to share this feeling with them.

This instance is just one of the many impacts the AYF Youth Corps Program will have on my life, and I now anxiously wait to experience more life altering moments in the next few weeks.

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BY ARIANNA MESROBIAN

The ganches dedicated to us, the late night negotiations with our local ungers over when we would finally have to get some sleep, the impromptu khorovats – all things that I continue to miss a full five months upon our return to America. Every little face in my 1,200-picture photo album has a story and an inconceivable power to make me wonder. I wonder where they will be in life the next time I see them, I wonder what they are up to at this very moment, if they remember me and all our memories together. I wonder if they were aware that just as they admitted to counting down the hours between each camp day, they were who I rambled on and on about to those at home during those same hours. However, this is not to discredit the unexpected difficulty we faced in establishing relationships with local children.

The initial reaction we received from the campers was one of defiance, leading us to think hard about why we were being put to a test, and how we would overcome it. I can remember my first day at my first camp with just one word – madness. New and veteran badanis alike were running up and down the school corridor, exclaiming greetings, unable to contain their excitement, while I sat behind the sign-up desk in shock. There was a fully established dynamic amongst these kids – how was I expected to make a place for myself within it. Any sense of order that we tried to bring to this camp had completely vanished. It was time for the Plan B we did not have.

I remember going home the first few days, exhausted, with tears in my eyes. It was made known that our Western dialect was almost incomprehensible, our clothing, unusual, and my blonde hair and blue eyes, too foreign. I had accepted that there was no way my campers and I would come to understand each other, as I thought anxiously about the six long weeks ahead of me. It was in these first few days that I would learn what I was truly here for.

Within all the understanding of what being an Armenian is, there are the misunderstandings of the various places we all come from. It came time for the AYF Youth Corps team to bridge this deeply-rooted gap. The sentiment was blatantly revealed on the third day of camp, when the classroom discussion topic turned to hayrenasirutyun – love for one’s heritage. One of my oldest campers, and one of the brightest young women I have met, expressed that hayrenasirutyun arises and dies in the hayrenik – the motherland. She expressed her resistance toward us by communicating her disapproval for those who chose to live outside of Armenia, and namely, leaving their responsibility of serving in the army – a sensitive subject in the lives of the many children we met. This put me at a loss; for words, thoughts, even a simple reaction. I felt more defeated than I could ever remember feeling, and I could not think of the rights words in response. Luckily, my local co-counselor did not miss a beat, as he went on to explain that Armenians in the diaspora are soldiers of a different war – maintaining hayrenasirutyun. What most of our campers did not realize was that a lot of diasporan families did not choose to leave Armenia… It was the result of the genocide. And with this displacement came a great deal of effort to relocate and further cultivate our language, traditions and lifestyle in an otherwise foreign place. There was a short silence in the room before the argument went back and forth a few more times, never truly coming to a consensus. I left camp that day not wanting to return.

Day 4 was a completely new ball game. One of my campers had painted a noor on a stone as a gift for me to take home, several other girls asked if they could braid my hair into two French braids with the combs and hair ties they brought from home, and a boy whose artistic talents I was completely unaware of gifted a portrait he sketched of me at home. Just like that, my group of campers and I became inseparable. Each morning, someone brought my co-counselor and I an assortment of fruits and snacks for breakfast. Our game-time consisted of English hangman, as requested by the campers who were eager to learn new English words. During our discussion period, the badanis even wanted to learn all about the communities we came from, and how we accomplish coming together for events, learning the language and raising new generations with a sense of our culture and motherland. Defeat turned into pride on this day. I was excited to share my diasporan experience, as it was never something I patted myself on the shoulder for, and to learn more about the deghatsi’s daily life.

At the closing of this camp in Gyumri, excessively long hugs were exchanged between people with tearful eyes, mementos were swapped, and vows were made to never forget each other.

I could not thank the AYF enough for giving me an experience that showed me something larger than myself. Beyond all that we do on a daily basis to keep our roots alive outside of our motherland, there is a need for a greater exchange between these two bodies. A mutual understanding can obviously lead to strong, supportive relationships, and that is what all Armenians should strive for – to never forget about each other.

To apply to AYF Youth Corps, or get more information, visit ayfyouthcorps.org.

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BY ARMINE KALBAKIAN

We flock to the only hair salon we find within walking distance. We are greeted by amused ladies, amused by our origins and our hair styling needs. They offer a series of services we don’t quite ask for.

The manicurist removes her gaze from her dark coffee, looks me dead in the eyes, motions over her face, and seriously inquires “maquillage”? After convincing her that I only want a blow-out, one of the ladies, Suzan, begins to wash my hair. She makes small talk about my studies and career aspirations. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

When she begins to blow dry my hair, she discovers my split ends. She informs me with a whisper and the utmost look of concern on her face. I assure her that it is alright and that — if need be — I will return to have them trimmed. A minute later, I hear a barely audible snipping behind my head. “Tetev tserk oonem.” I laugh. A light hand.

She asks me if we are scared to visit this land. I tell her no. She explains that her son served in the army for two years. I hold my breath. A heavy heart. It skips a beat fearing her next words. “Then he returned home.” I breathe. Suzan smiles. She also has a daughter, newly admitted to college. Hope amid conflict. I see it again and again in this city. This independent Republic of Artsakh. Armenia as a whole. A series of unexpected and turbulent events.

I lied to Suzan today. I am afraid. I am afraid of the degree to which I love it here. I am afraid of leaving her side.

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BY PATIL DERHAGOPIAN

We as spurkahyes (diasporan Armenians) have an amazing understanding of yearning and wanting for our homeland. My heart fills with joy, my eyes glisten, and my smile widens every time I think of our lands and the beauty that surrounds it. I can lay pondering for hours. Until three weeks ago, my thoughts were only filled with pictures and videos of what I always hoped to see in person. Nothing could have ever prepared me for seeing Ararat clearly for the first time.

We had stopped by Khor Virab on our way to Artsakh for our second session of day camps/jampar after being in Gyumri for two weeks. We got off our van, walked up hill, and there it was. My jaw dropped, heart skipped a beat, lungs filled with fresh air and I felt a sigh of relief. Shoulders loosened, nerves unclenched, spine tingled as I gazed for what seemed like hours. Nothing could have prepared me for this.

We all stopped and stared for several minutes, not saying a single word amongst ourselves. Silence is the best indicator of pure gratitude and appreciation. I’m sure I speak for all of the participants when I say there was nothing more than those exact emotions when our eyes locked on the rural mountainside facing Western Armenia, and onto our mountain, Ararat. Simple, yet a symbol that represents Armenia in every way, shape, and form.

After visiting Khor Virab, we had a long journey ahead, a 7-8 hour car drive to get to Stepanakert, the capital of Artsakh. Little did I know that our prolonged car ride would lead to many more encounters with the other thousands of mountains that fill the fields of the homeland.

We drove through ups and downs, lefts and rights, green forests and rugged terrain. Twisting turns, breathtaking views, and not to forget- pulling over every two hours for stretching breaks.

We saw the sun tuck underneath the mountains, fluffy white clouds surround us, pink and orange cotton candy fill the sky and graced us with their appearance. Never had I seen a more perfect symphony of nature at work. The van pulled over to the side of the road, we peaked out the windows wondering what we stopped for. It was to my surprise to see the well-known “Welcome to Artsakh” sign. And that’s it. We were home.

My favorite patriotic song is Lerner Hayerni, because I understand what it’s like to feel so close yet so far from our lands. To struggle and fight for the homeland. Never to have met the Holy Mountains, but to miss them either way was a blessing in disguise. To know I have a place to call home outside of home. Somewhere, where I know I belong. A place I’m extremely proud and glad to call mine.

«Իմ երակներում ուժն է մայր հողի,
Իմ լեռներ, լեռներ, լեռներ հայրենի։»

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BY SAREEN OHANNESSIAN

Since the beginning of my trip to Armenia with the AYF Youth Corps, I have been exposed to many enlightening experiences. In this case, “enlightening” is proper word use when describing our visit to the Armenian Lighthouse Charitable Foundation located in the Armavir Province of Armenia.

Seta and Zohrab Ghazarian formed this organization about 20 years ago when they noticed a lack in the Armenian community supporting help to those dealing with domestic abuse, homelessness and poverty. Basic needs and necessities are provided by the organization via sponsors and volunteers. Doctors, dentists, psychologists and gynecologists come together to help women and children stay happy and healthy. This all occurs in one 10,000 square foot building, which has been dedicated to the Foundation for nearly 20 years.

Other programs organized by the Armenian Lighthouse Charitable Foundation include feeding the elders of Armenia and providing housing and basic living needs to Syrian immigrants. The organization also provides independent living opportunities for those women who have chosen to live on their own. Of course, this adjustment can be difficult for those who have been relying on the help of the Armenian Lighthouse Charitable Foundation. For this reason, the Foundation has made a continuous effort to keep in touch with previous residents and provide them with anything they may need.

During our visit, one of the participants asked about ways we can help the Foundation after we return to California. Seta excitedly replied, “we need the young generation in California to help us send clothes as we are getting old.” After speaking with Mrs. Seta and touring the building, I was reminded of the idea of a growing and improving community the Armenian youth ultimately strives for. This organization further proves that when the government’s desire or ability falls short, there are individuals who are willing to step up and satisfy that demand. In a country that is constantly trying to catch up to the rest of the world, it is refreshing to see the progress being made by the efforts of the Ghazarian family. My last impression of Mrs. Seta Ghazarian left me in awe. When a participant asked why she decided to work specifically with a female demographic, she simply answered, “it’s a calling.”

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