Lilit’s “home” is scary…better yet Lilit’s life is scary because the light from the outside doesn’t penetrate the home. Lilit is 18 years old, but she is so tired and indifferent that she doesn’t even react to the cries of her newborn child. She is amazed by nothing, nothing makes her happy or disappoints her because it seems as though her senses are dull. The dark room of the basement of the hostel for refugees of the Shengavit district looks like the ruins of a disaster and the residents leave the impression of people who have gone through a disaster. Lilit’s son Hrach will soon turn two years old and still doesn’t know that there are yellow buildings being built in his birthplace Yerevan and that his compatriots spend hundreds of dollars to eat in restaurants, while he often doesn’t sleep from hunger…Hrach is small to know about the sad life stories like the life they live; film directors choose the most backward villages of the most backward countries in order to get images that look convincing because people don’t live like animals in civilized countries.
Hrach is a citizen of Armenia who is on the road towards civilization while he lives like an animal. The lives of Lilit and her son are unbearable and pathetic. A yellow building is under construction just a couple of meters away from the hostel and people like Hrach will look at that building and wish to live in one like that. The sons of the residents of that building will find ways to evade military service, while Hrach will become a soldier. That’s what is foretold.
“They used to call my mom Fedayin (freedom fighter) Gayane who didn’t leave the borders of Armenia during the war. She was a military doctor and died just recently. Everyone knows her because she was saving the soldiers’ lives. My sister became ill after my mother’s death and now we are left without anyone,” says Lilit. Besides saving the lives of the soldiers, Fedayin Gayane also adopted Lilit and her sister and raised them all by herself.
“My sister has tuberculosis,” says Lilit and adds by saying that it’s not contagious and that there is no need to worry. I tell her: “People who suffer from tuberculosis need warmth and nutrition; what are these conditions you are living in?” She tells me: “I know, everyone says the same thing, but you tell me-how can I heat the home? We spent all winter like this and there was no hope that we would make it this far.”
There is laundry in every corner of the home; wet clothes are laid on the chairs and table. The gypsies living in tents are probably more hygienic than these people. Lilit says cold-heartedly: “We only get the “Paros” subsidy and live on 12,000 drams (40 dollars) a month. My sister is 13 years old, she is ill and we are in a terrible situation. A person with tuberculosis is not allowed to be in a humid room, but well, everything is wet in our house. We haven’t heated the home during the winter; we only threw things we found outside in the heater. We have no clothes to change; I am forced to wash them and lay them to dry in the home so as to dry them faster, but we are the ones getting wet, not the clothes”. In comes the neighbor and starts telling about Fedayin Gayane who had served on the border. She says: “Lilit’s real parents died and Gayane adopted Lilit and her sister. I am the only one who knows the willpower she had and the honor of raising these children. They called her Fedayin Gayane. She died three years ago and these children found themselves in a terrible situation. I am surprised to see that the children of a soldier woman are living like this. That woman dedicated her life to military service. If you see how these children go without eating, you won’t be able to sleep at night”. I ask Lilit: “Don’t you have a husband?” She says: “I do. He is an alcoholic. He comes and goes as he pleases. We have nothing. What can you demand? That’s life…”
Lilt’s words are cut off by the cry of another child. I try to find where the voice is coming from, but can’t. I ask: “Is there another child in the home?” She responds smiling: “Yeah, she was born recently on January 20”. I am surprised because there is a newborn child sleeping in the bed of Lilit and her sister with tuberculosis. The child is so small that if I didn’t hear the cry, I wouldn’t know that there is another child in the home besides Hrach. I ask: “Doesn’t the child have a cradle? It’s dangerous to have the child sleep in the bed of the elders.” “No. he sleeps with us,” she replies.
The children cry simultaneously; they are hungry. It’s extremely pressuring. They are like orphans. I can’t take it; I want to leave and can’t breathe anymore.