Elya Hovhannisyan’s house is right on the border of Armenia-Azerbaijan, or Tavush-Tovuz, or simply Aygepar-Alibeyli. Despite the terrible effects of the mine bombings, it seems as though the house serves as a symbol of the good years left behind and the uncertain future. The construction shows that the people who used to live there were good workers.
“My husband and his father used to build metals. My husband and father-in-law built all the gates and water supply machines in the village called Alibeili,” says Elya Hovhannisyan.
Elya’s husband and his father’s “business” didn’t stop there. “Everyone knew them in the Tovuz station (20 kilometers away from Aygepar),” says the owner of the ruined home and says that they have not only worked together, but were also good friends. I look from the second floor of the house. I can see ruins from the house all the way to the Azeri village.
“Do you see the collapsed walls there? That’s where our conserves factory was. Now there are only walls,” says Mrs. Elya.
She shows me a building with red arches. “This was the bus stop. People used to take the bus from here to Tovuz to trade.” I show her the cemented poles not far from the bus stop. “What is this?” to which she replies: “That’s not our land, that’s theirs. It used to be a restaurant at the time and was called Vagifanots,” says Elya, smiling. All elderly residents of Aygepar remember Vagifanots as they recall the good relations with the Azeri. They say that in the beginning it used to be a small barbecue spot, then it turned into a two-story restaurant. “They used to greet us honorably. If we didn’t like the meet, they would bring new meat,” recalls Arakel Anikyan. The restaurant located on the road tying the two former Soviet countries together was the hang-out spot for Armenians and Azeri. “Were there any fights?” I ask. “No, no fights at all. Well, we used to fight on who would serve who.”
“Where is that Vagif, do you know?” I ask and everyone shrugs their shoulders. “I don’t know where Vagif is, but there was a guy who used to make the barbecue. He went on to lead the Azeri team during the war and I think he died from a mine bombing,” says head of the wine factory Albert Grigoryan. He remembers how he and his friend Rafik used to debate. “Why are we fighting, for whom? Let’s stop the war,” they say to one another. Elya Hovhannisyan remembers Raffik. She says that he was a good craftsman and used to work with them when building the home. “During the negotiations he used to ask us who remained and they told him that they ruined those people’s homes and he simply said that he feels pity,” she recalls.
Mrs. Elya lives alone in this half-ruined home. Her husband died in 1985. She has a daughter and two sons. Her daughter is married, one of her sons lives with his family in Rostov, while her younger son is serving in the army conditionally for two weeks.
The single mother looks out from her window to the Alibeili village, which has turned foreign in the past sixteen years. She remembers the good days spent in the village and the friendly ties, and doesn’t forget the terrible war.
“We were living right next to each other. No matter how many battles there were, our home was always ruined. The tanks destroyed our home. As soon as the tank hit, we came and saw that there was nothing in the house.”
Mrs. Elya’s home looks like a lost heaven. Judging from the holes in the wall and the dirt on the floor, you can deduce that the walls used to be decorated with nice pictures. It never crossed their minds that their house would be left in ruins, or that neighbors can declare war on each other. “Who was to blame?” to which Mrs. Elya replies: “Neither the Armenians nor the Azeri; everyone knows who is to blame,” she says.
Elya lived in Rostov with her son and his family for two years. She says that there were some Azeri there who also felt bad for what happened. “They also felt pity; they asked why something like this happened when we had been so good to each other for all those years.” Then she remembers her friends from the Tovuz station. “I remember Mejit. They were all good people, we were good friends.” Mrs. Elya says that Mejit’s wife sent a letter through a friend. “He had written that he wants to come see us. He said that he isn’t afraid of the Armenians, rather the Azeri who just may not let him pass.”