“You don’t understand what it means to live in a children’s home...how shall I put it. Have you seen the film ‘Jumanji”? Do you remember the part where the animals run wild and break everything in their path? That’s how we used to act when they told us ‘Ok children, tea’s ready’.”

This is what 23 year-old Kristina, a part-time ward of the home, told us. A smile broke out on her face as she spoke these words.

Kristina says, “I can’t imagine that you could ever steal something from the store or sneak into the movies without a ticket. You guys are different, ‘you’re locals’.”

To meet Kristina I agreed to visit her as a guest. Post holiday confusion reigned in the small one room apartment where the table decked out with New Year’s goodies just fit. While she was straightening out the table I asked her what the term ‘local’ meant. She explained that, “ Everybody who lives in the home always remembers that they’re here on a temporary basis, that they’re not ‘locals’.”

For Kristina and her friends the term ‘locals’ refers to those who haven’t grown up in the Gavar children’s home or in any home for that matter.

The room was very tiny. Kristina’s girlfriend “H” was allotted the room as part of the ‘State Assistance to Children’s Home Graduates’ program. Kristina will get her own room this year; at least that’s what she’s been promised. The girls have allocated a small corner of the room to two ‘brothers’, friends from the children’s home, where they can set up temporary residence for the winter months. They’ll all welcome in the New Year by inviting another friend from the home who was without money that day and on his own. “If on of us doesn’t have money or a place to stay it doesn’t mean they’re not our friend.” That’s the working rule of thumb for all ‘non-locals’.

Kristina was very young when she entered the Gavar home. It was the police who took her there. When she completed the 10th grade she took a two-month accounting course at the Gavar State University. She says there was not one kid in Gavar who didn’t dream of going to Yerevan.

Kristina and some other teenagers like her were given the chance to visit Yerevan. They were warned not to picture Yerevan through rose-colored glasses.

They were domiciled in the student dormitory in the Zeytun district, 3 or 4 to a room. “ I remember that we didn’t have mattresses to sleep on and we woke up with red marks from the bedsprings. They gave us 24,000 drams per month. We would go to buy clothes and were embarrassed to go to class dressed alike. We didn’t know how to spend the money wisely and one month we ended up going hungry. We soon understood what to do.” Kristina relates. Those who came to Yerevan from Gavar studied at the business law college in Avan. “We took exams to get accepted into the culinary arts program but wound up being accepted in the accounting program. I don’t know how such a thing happened...Perhaps in our case it was possible” she said with a derisive smile.

Kristina left the college after two years. In order to live she had to work. “ That was also very difficult. Just to get work cleaning car windows at a gas station in the freezing cold of the winter was a pain. They would tell us if we became their girlfriend they’d give us good jobs; they’d make other proposals as well.”

“It’s wrong for anyone to say that they have no parents. But that’s exactly what we say - we have no parents...I don’t know what a parent is, what is it...?”

Kristina said that after leaving the children’s home she was able to locate her mother. She wanted to know whom she resembled. “Yeah, I really take after her, we look very much alike...my mother is a gypsy.” Kristina has long hair and black eyes, just like a gypsy. She’s also very pretty and at 23 years old still young.” My mother has her own family with three kids. I guess she’s happy. I really didn’t spend any time with her. At first I was quite angry but it soon passed. I didn’t want to get involved in someone else’s life.” Kristina recounts about her mother.

A few months after our meeting with Kristina she was promised a home and work in Russia, but wound up in Dubai instead. “When I found myself in Dubai I realized that I was really completely on my own. I knew that I had fallen into a trap but it was too late. I felt that I’d either sink or swim on my own.”

“They tore up my passport and those of “G” and “L” (other wards of the home) right in front of our eyes. They then wrapped our heads with some clothes, took us to a house and began beating us with belts. They demanded that we become prostitutes and make money for them. They didn’t let up. They particularly came down hard on “G” who really put up quite a struggle. She was only 15 or 16 and younger than the rest of us. We were kept in a large house and in the evening they’d take us to hotels and clubs.” Kristina recounts.

All throughout the conversation Kristina keeps saying that all of this is in the past and that she’s started a new life. Her memories of the past are still fresh and it prompts her to say that, “I learned about life in Dubai; that I can’t believe in anyone. I even wary of having girlfriends and I always hide my passport. Who knows, something can happen and I’ll wind up in the same place again.”

In Dubai Kristina spent one year in the clutches of a pimp going by the nickname of ‘Dbr Ano’. One day the police showed up and Kristina gave herself up. She told them who she was and what she was doing in Dubai. As she had broken the law they sentenced her to jail.

Kristina remembers that, “ The meals they gave us in the jail always made us sleepy. I had a stomach ulcer and couldn’t digest their food. You couldn’t sleep either since the lights in the fort were always on. When they saw that I couldn’t even get myself out of bed the guards began bringing me meals from home so that I didn’t die of starvation. Perhaps they thought I might die there.”

After spending four months in jail, and with the mediation of the Armenian authorities, Kristina returned to Armenia.

“Now do you understand why such things don’t happen to the ‘locals’? They’re more attentive now that they’ve seen what can happen to the children within the confines of the home. The kids aren’t left alone so that they don’t wind up in the same boat as we did. But they abandoned us in our time of need; things could have worked out much differently...”

“There are certain things that stay with you after leaving the children’s home, if not in our own personal lives then in the perceptions that others have regarding you. People say - it’s a pity, she’s all alone, no parents, do you want some food? But I’m all grown up now and I don’t need anyone’s help. If I can work, make some money and fend for myself, then it means I am no longer that kid living in the children’s home. It’s a new start for me and I’m getting my new life in order. The children’s home is in the past, history, finished.” We agree not to talk about the home anymore.

I ask Kristina if she knows one of her old friends from the home who is now happy...

“Yes, me...” and she begins to laugh.