Blog—My Armenia—Carol Rickman's Blog

gifts and family

8/13/2015

When it came time to return home, we were a little heartsick. We had grown to love these people so much and we felt their love for us.

Several ladies came and brought gifts for our daughters. It was important for them to do something for our families since they believed we had done so much for them. Among the gifts were gorgeous potholders made up of a myriad of differently colored yarns. The reason for this was that they never threw things away casually. They kept tiny leftover strands of yard and used them to create beauty and utility. Nothing was wasted there because they had so little.

There was also a darling crocheted cream colored baby dress and bloomers with red flowers adorning it. And for a grandson, a crocheted skateboarder in, what else? Red, white, and blue.

By the time we left, there were 25-30 members of our faith that had been baptized. They all gathered in our apartment the night we were to depart. It was a very emotional group, sharing stories and memories. The only ones missing were our neighbors, Arrax and Arshak. They finally showed up around 11 PM, after everyone had gone and we were preparing for our 3:30 AM flight.

Exhausted, we answered the door and they presented us with a gallon of mixed fruit juice concentrate. You have to understand the monetary value of such a gift. They must have been saving it for some time.

As touched and grateful as we were, we could not board the plane with it, so we gave it to one of the Americans staying behind to use.

To the end, they were the most giving and sacrificing, joyful and upbeat, humble and grateful people I've come across.

Culture, money, and the american flag

8/11/2015

As I mentioned before, the Armenians are a very cultured people. Regardless of what they did for a living—garbage collector to general in the military—artist to surgeon—they love culture and all partake of it as often as means would allow. Even peasants and country folk would dress up in their finest to come into town and attend a symphony, ballet, opera, or museum.

When I say, "as often as means would allow," that was frightfully true. When we arrived in Armenia, the exchange rate was 40 rubles to the dollar. By the time we left, it had fallen to 800 rubles to the dollar.

Once a month, we would treat our friends to a day at the park. There would be food, a small orchestra, amusement park rides, games, and lots of dancing. Between the 10 Americans no there serving, it cost us each about $20. USD to put on this monthly festival. All had fun and it helped to grow our pool of friends.

Once, when we arrived at the park for our party, we noticed a centerpiece. It was an American flag stuck in a vodka bottle, proudly waving in the breeze!

We once had to go to the American Embassy and noticed a huge American flag proudly waving outside. We were told emphatically that, still fearing another genocide or Turkish invasion, this flag helped them to feel safer.

As soon as the Consulate opened, we went to introduce ourselves to let them know there were Americans there. A few nights later, we went to the opera and during a break, they stopped to introduce the new Ambassador. He stood and waved . . . in blue jeans. Which might be alright for America, but definitely made him stand out in a crowd of Armenians who array themselves in their finest when they go out.

During the intermission, he was in the lobby and everyone was crowding him and asking for autographs. As we met and shook his hand, several Armenians asked my husband for his autograph. Somewhere in Armenia, there are people scratching their heads and asking themselves, "Who in the world is Joseph Rickman and why do have his autograph?"

how others live

8/10/2015

The angel on our shoulder

8/6/2015

Our next door neighbor was a widow whose husband had taught English at the university, so she was fairly well-spoken in our language. She was a retired opera singer and her name, oddly enough, was Angel.

Angel took it up on herself to be our very own angel, considering herself to be of a somewhat higher class than most of our visitors. She spent her time watching and listening for anyone or anything that might be amiss. If she heard a knock on our door, she immediately rushed over and tried to shoo them away. "Don't bother them, they are important Americans!"

During that particularly cold winter, the heat was only on so many hours a day. There was a hospital around the corner where many Russian soldiers were patients. They would walk through the snow and ice in their flimsy hospital slippers and come to our door, begging for vodka. It was heartbreaking to have to turn them away.

Angel would also hear when I left my apartment. She would immediately open her door and announce that she was coming along, for my protection. Outside, there were tables set up like lemonade stands with folks selling things—almost anything they had to make ends meet. Sometimes heirlooms that had been in their families for generations had to be sacrificed to feed their children. Often, I would see crystal, china and silver being sold. I wanted to help and would try to make purchases. But Angel would step in and dicker them down, which was very difficult for me. I wanted to give more than they were asking. The thing is, once she got the price reduced, she would then purchase items herself for the reduced price! What a gal!

But, she lived, as many Armenians do, with generations. In their apartment, she lived with her daughter and her granddaughter. Many apartments had also been in families for generations and as one died off, there were new babies to be raised in them. There would be as many as 4 or 5 generations living in an apartment, with the elderly watching the little ones, so all other adults could work.

On particular time when we went "shopping" we came across an old man selling off his heirlooms to buy food. It broke my heart. Angel, of course, did her thing and got him down to half price. Once we returned to our apartments, I waited and sneaked out, barely closing my door and tip-toeing down the hall. I went to the man and gave him the other half of what he was originally asking. I felt better after that.

արվեստի սէրը հանուն (art for love's sake)

8/5/2015

We were a few times invited to a family's home in a small village outside of Yerevan. It was pastoral and lovely. When we first arrived at their "home," we saw that it was no more than a basement with mud walls. They were preparing to build their home on it, but were doing it a piece at a time as they could afford it.

They had, however, laid a cornerstone in which was carved a cross, showing their devout Christianity. The parents were Levon ♂and Siranuche ♀. Their children were Armena ♀ and Gevorg ♂. They lived quite modestly, as did most Armenians, but they also lived joyfully and gratefully, as did their countrymen and women.

When we entered their basement, we saw that the only art that adorned their walls was a beautiful wood-burning that Levon had done himself. As I said before, they are a very cultured people and love their ballet, symphonies, and operas, museums and other pursuits. So art was important to them. We had a lovely visit and really enjoyed their company.

Fast forward to the end of our mission. It was around Christmastime and we were preparing for our trip home to our family. This time of year, travel was very difficult, especially coming in from a small village to Yerevan. But they made the trip to bring us a gift. It was the most ornate picture of the Madonna I've ever seen, constructed of tiny glass beads. It was breathtakingly beautiful and he had put twisted wire on the edges to frame it. We were speechless and touched.

When they left and we were preparing to pack it, we turned it over and saw that it was made on their only piece of art, that wood-burning that decorated the mud walls of their home. They had sacrificed their own art to create a gift for us. No words.

(Stay tuned. Tonight I will post photos to go along with this article!)

today is a "never forget" day!

8/4/2015

Carol's message today is one of profound sadness and infinite hope.

In 1915, 100 years ago, a radical group of Turkish Muslims invaded Armenia and inflicted a genocide that must not be forgotten. The lower estimate is that 1.5M Armenian Christians, it being one of the oldest Christian nations, were slaughtered. More were taken prisoner. The Armenians put the estimate closer to 3M souls.

Here, we will share some of the details and lasting effects of this genocide, but we will follow it with messages of hope and love. Please, read thoughtfully and prayerfully. There will be a take away from this history lesson that all of us need to act on.

Though the words Armenian Genocide never occurred until 2004, there is little question that that's what it was. Historians say that there were around 2M Armenians living in the Ottoman Empire and that most of them were slain or taken.

The Ottoman rulers, like most of their subjects, were Muslim. They permitted religious minorities like the Armenians to maintain some autonomy, but they also subjected Armenians, who they viewed as “infidels,” to unequal and unjust treatment. Christians had to pay higher taxes than Muslims, for example, and they had very few political and legal rights.

There was a previous massacre which occurred between 1894-1896, in which hundreds of thousands of Armenians were killed.

Then, in 1915, there had been a rise in power of these young Turks and they imposed another attack on the peaceful Armenian Christians.

On April 24, 1915, the Turkish government, now run by these radical young Turks, arrested and executed several hundred Armenian intellectuals. They herded many into the sea and stood guard until they drowned. The marched many others, sometimes naked, without food or water, into the desert and made them march until they dropped dead. If they stopped walking, they were shot. In most cases, deaths were prolonged and exceedingly cruel, rather than quick and painless.

Many children of the adults who were murdered were left on their own to fend for themselves. They wandered streets alone and searched for food and a place to sleep.

Some families escaped to Iran and other surrounding countries, but returned as soon as they could. U.S. missionaries aided many in their escape.

The genocide ended in 1918, with the surrender of the Ottomans. At that point, the young Turks fled to Germany, where the were safe from prosecution.

With the memory and constant fear of another attack, the Armenians did their best to rebuild their lives. They approached the Soviet Union and were taken under their wing for protection, becoming a communist nation at that point. For 70 years, they lived under their rule until they once again became their own people.

The thing to remember is that if they had denied their Christianity, this might not have happened.

Though we may believe this sort of thing could never happen again, it does. Everyday.

Our children join gangs out of fear and the need for belonging and acceptance. They are gunned down in the street anyway.
Thousands upon thousands of babies, with souls, are slaughtered too soon after their lives begin, and their parts sold.
We live in fear of the next terrorist attack.
Women's bodies are mutilated to enforce fidelity.
Daughters starve themselves to death to try to overcome negative self-image.
Children cut themselves and turn to drugs to drown out the noise of abuse and neglect.
Babies are born addicted to mothers who have given up hope.
Teenagers sell themselves on the street and die from AIDS.

But, there is an answer. Love. Respect. Love. Tolerance. Love. Humanity. Love. Empathy. Love.

The Mormon's put together a sweet message that says it all.

Carol shared memories with me of speaking to elderly Armenians who were children during the genocide. They still cry. They still look over their shoulders and live with PTSD. They worry that it will happen again.

Here are some positive messages that Carol learned there:

Children are valued highly. They count. They are the most important. The Armenian orphanages get the very best of everything. Though these children are without parents, they are loved and cherished. When Carol visited and saw the conditions, she was amazed. She asked what we, as blessed people, can do for these children. She was told that the little girls need pretty dresses. They care about the children's self-esteem and not just their most basic physical needs.
Armenians are not bitter, but are rather humble and grateful for what they have. They don't waste time mourning their losses or lacks. They celebrate what they have.
They love the Americans for the assistance they were given by American missionaries during their crisis.
They look out for one another.

A very cultured people, they remember the loss through music, art, and literature, as in the song in the above video.

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Now, here's your takeaway from this story. Though we may not participate in a genocide or actively contribute pain and cruelty to anyone, if we aren't part of the solution, we are part of the problem.

We can start, right now, with a neighbor, a family member, a friend, a stranger. Be kind. Say nice things. Be brave. Show what you believe through the way you live. Seek to do random acts of kindness. Help when help is needed. Think, when you wake up in the morning, about what you can do. Pray to your God for guidance in who needs assistance. Don't put down others for what they believe. Just live your life as an example. Show tolerance and acceptance for those who live lifestyles you don't condone. Give unconditional love. Stop judging. Stop gossiping. Stop looking for evil. Stop thinking and speaking negative things.

In short. Love. Love. Love. Without borders. Without conditions. Without judgment. Without hesitation. In spite of differences. Just love. Think globally. Act locally. And love.

the wine dilemma

8/3/2015

One of the problems we had there was that everything was scarce and hard to come by except wine. Everyone wanted to serve it to us and everyone brought some when they visited. We could not, of course, partake, but our challenge was in saying "no" and risk hurting their feelings.

They are very proud to be able to offer us anything. So, we never drank when offered at a gathering, and we accepted the bottles when they came to us. We hid them under the sink so they never knew.

We could not poor them down the drain, as the plumbing and drainage was so poor. They would have definitely smelled it. We couldn't put it in the trash, because they would see it when we all put our rubbish at the curb.

We finally had a solution. We took our fine collection in brown paper grocery bags to the dumpster at the housing factory site a few at a time and that took care of that.

Love and milk

8/1/2015

Across the hall from us is a young couple with a daughter who's 5 and a son who's 3.They came to meet us. As we were talking, I asked her where she got her milk. She told me she would take care of it and get some for us. Understand that groceries of all kinds are scarce and hard to come by. People wait in line for a loaf of bread.

She came to our door the next morning and proudly gave us some milk. We found out later that she had gotten up at 3 in the morning to wait at the curb for the milk man to come by so she could get us our milk.

It is hard to fathom the kind of care we are receiving and the lengths the beautiful Armenian people will go to to show us kindness.

Arriving at our new digs

7/31/2015

After spending a couple of months in the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, UT, we finally arrived in Yerevan, Armenia, to be our new home for the next year and a half.

It was a modest apartment on the 5th floor. It had running water and electric part of the day. The Armenians are recovering from a devastating earthquake and their means were already meager.

We had learned the language *a little* but there seemed to be little problem understanding and communicating with them. The Lord oversaw that.

When we got to our new apartment, the neighbors were very welcoming. They loved the Americans so much!

Our first Sunday there, we, of course, had no meetinghouse yet, so we met at the large apartment of our leaders which was in a very nice hotel—one used for visiting dignitaries and community leaders. There were seven of us. We had sacrament meeting and then discussed our plans and duties. A housing factory had been set up to build homes for those displaced by the earthquake. The men worked there and taught with their wives.

We stayed and worked for about 4-5 hours and then headed home on the streetcar. As we got off, there was a man waiting on our stoop. When he saw us, his face lit up! He beckoned us into his apartment, which was in the basement. His name was Arshak and he introduced his wife, Arrax and teenage daughter, Lusina, teenage son, and their 2-year old baby, whom they proudly named after an American hero, Edward Kennedy.

We sat in their living room, and Lusina brought us coffee in dainty little demitasse cups, which we had to gently decline, due to our faith. She then brought out wine. Nope, not wine either. So sorry!

We found out through discussion that Arshak, the head of the household, had seen us leave that morning and waited on that stoop all day for our return so that they could welcome us. Such were we to find all the Armenians. As we served them, they humbly lived to serve us.