"May God give you so much money that it pours out your windows and the neighbors collect it," is the toast made over and over again in various formulations on Tatevik Chiloyan's eighteenth birthday. It makes sense that the toastmakers were Tatevik's neighbors in Kond. People there can't forget about their difficult conditions, even on special occasions. "Irrespective of the financial situation, a child's birthday should be celebrated-it's a sacred day," says Anahit Chiloyan, Tatevik's mother. It's no secret that the Chiloyans - like the majority of Kond residents - have to borrow money to celebrate a birthday. "I called a friend this morning. She said she would give me 5,000 drams (about $10). That's enough, I can't complain. It will satisfy my guests. We always spend about the same amount," Anahit explains, as she moves the table into the middle of the room. This is particularly tricky, as the three-legged table is expected to withstand all the dishes. In less than an hour, the birthday table is ready. More important than what it actually holds is the festive mood it created for the twenty guests gathered in this dilapidated room.

Almost all of the people in Kond share in eachother's lives, not just because their houses are so close together, but because they all care about each other's worries and successes. They all know each other; there are no secrets here. All of the neighbors come to birthday parties, even those who have moved away years ago. Tatevik's friends who have gotten married and moved from Kond have come to wish her a happy birthday. People in Kond say that a marriage outside of Kond is a lucky one. The bride's relatives say to their neighbors: "We wish your daughters the same luck; we are already in luck!"

"What can we do?" asks Anahit. "We hope that our children at least won't have to live in rooms with concrete floors, or carry water in buckets," she explains, introducing those friends of her daughter's who have married "successfully".

Few residents of Kond can permit themselves to think about higher education for their children. "Most of Tatevik's classmates live like us; none of them can go to college. How can they? We barely make ends meet. That is why we complain, we demand that the government not destroy our children's future. They should address our problems; their children are no better than ours," Anahit says angrily, and then decides not to talk about sad things on her daughter's birthday.

The giving of the gifts is an interesting episode. The neighbors have brought chairs with them as well, since the Chiloyan's don't have any, as Anahit has reminded them in advance. Every one, without exception, apologizes for the size and content of their present and says: "Dear Tatevik, you know that I would like to give to you something else." After they have given their gifts sat around the table for a while, the guests decide it is to dance, at which point the Chiloyans remember they don't have a tape-recorder. Anahit quickly leaves the house. She comes back fifteen minutes later, out of breath but bearing a tape-recorder. "Every one knows me; so far no one has turned me down. I can't let my child be sad."

Kond residents celebrate their birthdays and other holidays this way at best, they say, hoping each time that the coming year will bring some kind of miracle.

Photos by Onnik Krikorian