First day of Jampar in Gyumri was finally here and so was a camper named Ardo who had trouble written all over him. Within minutes it was obvious he was going to be the obnoxious troublemaker none of us had the patience to deal with. After just a few hours he had disrespected and bothered more than enough campers and counselors and was told to go home and not return for the rest of the week. Of course, he didn’t listen to that either and within a couple minutes of sending him home he magically appeared in the classroom again. He promised to behave and for some reason we believed him and let him stay.
The next day before jampar even started he came up to me and said in Armenian, “Today I will behave, I have even learned all the songs you taught yesterday.” Very surprisingly he was the loudest one during song practice, he even threw his fist up with pride during the necessary times. It had become obvious that he learned respect and was ready to cooperate for the rest of the week. What wasn’t obvious was that he would end up being my favorite camper, the camper who would give me 40 kisses a day, and be the one to give me bracelets and presents every morning.
Thursday morning was a little different than the other mornings – he handed me a best friend bracelet on which he had written, ‘I love you.’ He gave it to me so I would remember him forever and asked for something in return so he could remember me. Thursday night I went to the store looking for something small and appropriate. After a while I saw a dice keychain and knew that it was the perfect gift.
A dice is the perfect way to describe everything that has happened to me on this trip so far. Ardo is one of seven children, his hygienic condition speaks for itself that his family isn’t the wealthiest, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that all seven children have one room to in which to sleep. This is where the dice comes in – Ardo and I both have 100% Armenian blood, but due to “paghd” (luck) he is living in such conditions, and I am living in the States, worried about which 2016 model car I want, when he will soon worry about how he will care for his family and himself financially. The destiny of two Armenians is as random as a roll of a dice; it all depends on luck, whether you end up with a one or a six. I do not deserve the lifestyle in America more than he does, in fact he is the one who allows me to have a homeland to visit, it is someone like me who falls victim to white genocide.
This trip has made me realize that one of my dreams is only just a dream. A dream I would like to make a goal in the future would be to move to my homeland and raise a family. Unfortunately, during a discussion with my campers from Artsakh, I opened up under pressure and realized how different their lives are. These children who come in the morning with the biggest smiles, wettest kisses, and biggest hugs have brothers, fathers, and uncles who have died to keep our land, who are on the front lines to defend our land, and who soon will wholeheartedly join the army to keep our land. Standing in front of these teenage boys thinking I am doing a huge deed for my country while they are the soil and mountains keeping a country alive on a map made me realize the actual sacrifice I have to make. Hearing stories of how all three brothers and a father were killed leaving a mother alone made me ask myself a question – am I, or anyone back in the states willing to sacrifice all the male figures in their family just so we keep our land?
I began to explain to Ardo why I got him a dice but tears didn’t allow me to finish. I watched the troublemaker of camp cry and it wasn’t because of a horrible “badeej”, it was because of an everlasting connection made between the diaspora and the homeland.
Today, we went to visit the memorial of several fedayis that fought in the Artsakh war who were from Proshyan, the village where our first jampar is located. The unger who was explaining their stories to us used the word “sacrifice” multiple times, and I could not stop comparing the words to my friends who spoke to me before I embarked on my Youth Corps trip who said, ‘Props to you for sacrificing your whole summer.” At the time I agreed that I was also making a sacrifice; but standing in front of their memorials I began to doubt myself. What I was doing was not a sacrifice. This Youth Corps trip was something that I wanted to do, but now I have realized it’s something I needed to do.
The constant pull between school, work, friends, and the Armenian Cause is something the average Armenian diasporan youth faces every day. There are tons of different external factors back in America that cause us to become distracted or lose focus when it comes to the Armenian Cause, but here in Armenia, I was finally given one that drew me in like a moth to a flame. In that moment, hearing the word “sacrifice” over and over again, I could see why I was here, clear as day — for the continued work of our ancestors through new means. We have the means of education, resources, and opportunity.
We visited a second monument later that day — less of a monument, more of a square piece of granite cemented in the ground. This was the exact spot the former village mayor, Unger Hratch Mouradian, was assassinated. The reasons for his assassination did not interest me as much as the impact that this man had on every single member of that community. The genuine sorrow in the locals’ eyes as we all stared at this square of granite was proof that not only did this man make a difference in his community, but he had the potential to do so much more. My fellow participants and I had not even met this man and yet we began to cry as they told us his story, about his many sacrifices. There was an instance where the unger explaining said, “Unger Hratch knew that the new generation would thrive if given the right means.” For the past 12 years I have always thought of my friends and myself when I heard the words “nor seroont” or “new generation’. In that moment I heard shouting in the distance from our campers calling, “Unger Koko!” That’s when I realized that Unger Hratch was correct because that “nor seroont” was standing in front of his memorial learning about his good deeds while being called for by the “Nor nor seroont” to ask about a lesson we taught them at jampar that day.
If there is one thing I know as fact, sacrifice is not a word that goes synonymously with the AYF Youth Corps program…but duty, might.
It was finally Monday morning, the day I had been waiting for impatiently. It was the start of my group’s jampar (camp) in Artsakh. I woke up anxious and excited to meet the countless young children in our village. Sadly, that same morning I woke up to a message from my mother letting me know that my grandmother had passed away. That was the worst news I could have received on a day when I was ready to set out to meet and interact with our campers.
I felt as though a part of me was gone—numb—unable to actually process the situation. But for some reason, I wanted to participate in our first day of camp, I wanted to be there with everyone in Artsakh, in Gyumri, in Tavshud, with my fellow volunteers and with the hundreds of kids in our homeland. My grandmother would have been proud of the work that I was doing and would have supported anything that gave me happiness and satisfaction.
During this time, I couldn’t help remembering Sosé & Allen, who worked so many years to make the AYF Youth Corps program a reality, and who lived their dream by repatriating to Armenia. Their memory, along with the memory of my grandmother gave me the strength to stand up stronger than ever motivated to do good.
The jampar in Artsakh had begun, and the first week was definitely one of adjusting to the kids. We (the counselors) were essentially strangers in their minds (all 150 of them). Even with all the adjustments, I can say that it was an instantaneous and natural bond that was established with these children. By the second week I realized that our time was nearing its end (and we would be moving on to Gyumri). I did not want to think about it. In our short time, I had build friendships that I know will last a lifetime. but I didn’t want to say goodbye.
One of memorable parts of jampar for me was prepping my group, which was the gabuyd (blue) team, for song competition; especially the young boy that I helped to do a solo for the song called “bidi bashdbanem” (“I will protect”). The dedication the group put into learning the songs was absolutely amazing. The little boys and girls singing that song made me feel especially proud and connected. Each and every morning the children would impatiently wait for us at the entrance of the school waiting for jampar to begin. The last day of our camp in Artsakh was so touching, but I expected it.
Saying goodbye is my weakness no matter what it comes down to. Signing these kids hands, shirts, and song books made them feel so special, and in a way made the counselors feel special because of what we meant to them – practically becoming their older sisters and brothers.
Just like that, the two weeks in Artsakh had come to an end. But before I left, I made sure that I got the chance to light a candle at the beautiful Ghazanchetsots Cathedral in Shushi in memory of my grandmother, Sosé, and Allen. This was the perfect opportunity for me to pray and ask for their continual love and support. I had never felt better, and after many tears and many different emotions, I have been standing stronger than ever, ready for any type of challenge or situation that Youth Corps has to offer me.
“Shad boyov eh, shad boyov eh”, was all the chatter I heard as I walked into the gym packed with eager little campers. It was registration day and I had the glorious position of occupying the campers’ time with games until camp officially began. I was frightened, since I have never worked with kids in my life. Yet I found myself excited to get camp underway in Proshyan. The transition from the practical European city of Yerevan to the village of Proshyan was remarkably easy. I fell in love with village life. The strong sense of community found in Proshyan was unlike anything I’ve experienced. The village has a strong ARF presence. Around Proshyan, the Tashnagtsoutyun is more than just a political party–it’s a lifestyle these villagers religiously follow. Words like “badanee,” “unger,” and “agoump” are held to an extreme I’m not used to experiencing. The strong traditional culture found here is what I want all us participants to extract back home to our own chapters. Wherever I go in Proshyan, I can feel the happiness our presence brings into the community. Children follow me through the streets wherever I go like I am of importance. Little do they know I’m usually just going up the street for some ice cream. On multiple occasions the villagers expressed their gratitude of how the Armenian diaspora has not forgotten about their homeland. They always leave me speechless and overcome with emotion. Nothing brings me more joy than knowing I’m instilling the best of both worlds onto our young generation. Knowing I’m shaping the future of Armenia is the most powerful feeling I have ever felt. From my explorations in Proshyan, it’s very obvious to me how far it has come as a village. It has such a bright future in these children and I personally want to remain a part of it. The hospitality, warmth and strength of the villagers have allowed me to find a home away from home. I love every minute of living here. My name is Harout Pomakian, I was born and raised in Los Angeles, but Proshyan adopted me.
It did not hit me until we stepped foot in the Proshyan agoump; I felt a mix of overwhelming joy, zealousness, and hope. Joy because this agoump was none like any I have ever seen before; it had its own gym, filled with punching bags and weightlifting equipment, and that is only downstairs. Upstairs has its own astonishing features, such as the stone-walled conference room and the newly built dorm-like rooms full of brand new bunks prepared for our use. Proshyan is only fifteen minutes from Yerevan, and after a week of touring, mostly in the city, I became used to calling Yerevan home. After settling in at the agoump, we returned with our group to Yerevan for dinner; I couldn’t wait to get back to Proshyan. I’m sure it had something to do with us sleeping at the Proshyan agoump that made me call it home, but Proshyan was the first place in Armenia to which I felt an emotional attachment. Never before have I seen a city that widely expresses their Tashnag roots; nor have I seen a people belonging to a village that walk around with their Zeenanshan necklaces chained tightly around their necks, waiting for everyone to take notice.
We all had a great week in Yerevan and my group was fortunate enough to spend Vartivar there too. However, by the end of the week all of us were ready to start having a different type of fun. We were all impatiently waiting to finally start camp and do what we really came to do.
That day finally came on Monday, July 13. The first day of camp in Proshyan left me impressed and in complete shock. From the start the kids of Proshyan treated us with utmost respect and kindness, and welcomed us with the most overwhelming warmth.
What really got to me was when seven year old kids started singing all four verses of Mer Hayrenik, and Mshag Panvor with such strength and pride. I always thought that the Diasporan Armenian youth expressed more patriotism than the ones living in Armenia, but now I’m not so sure that is the case. I felt proud but also disappointed and wished that campers back in LA were as enthusiastic about Hai Tahd, ARF, and the Armenian Cause. I know I’m quick to judge but after one day in Proshyan, I am positive that these kids will grow up to be prominent men and women making real changes in Armenia.
In Proshyan not only did I meet new influential young ungers and ungerouhies, but I also connected with my new family- Harut, Mel, Koko, Kile, Talia, Taline, Ani, Paulina, and our group leader, Melo. Soon Paulina became my mom, and who knew Koko could make such amazing breakfasts. I know it’s only been a day but I’m just so excited to learn from the kids here in Proshyan, later in Gyumri and Artsakh, and from my fellow Youth Corps group members – truly my new family. One thing I hope to do on this trip is to make the campers remember me like they remembered past Youth Corps participants.