One Week in Norway

After my time in Georgia I got to go home for a week... Aker Brygge and City Hall in the background.

At the lake behind our house, Semsvannet.

The women by Aker Brygge down town...

And my dear Gry Anita making a valid point...

Goodbye Georgia...

My last days in Georgia were sad but beautiful. I said goodbye to the cooks in the kitchen, the lovely ladies who made dresses, co-workers, friends from church...

My co-workers took my to lunch at an Italian restaurant...

Outside the parliament building, my last night....

Gio and Eric stayed up with me till 4 am and came with me to the airport... We drank a lot of juice because it was sooo hot, ate some junky food, listened to music, while I packed. Then we said goodbye.

Whose right, and who pays?

Abkhazia was proclaimed an independent republic in 1921 when the Soviets arrived... Later on the Soviets incorporated it into the Georgian Soviet Republic and encouraged thousands of Georgians to go and settle in the region. During Gorbachev’s leadership, the Abkhaz people began demanding more autonomy. At the same time, Georgians became more nationalistic--with demonstrations and declarations. In 1992 conflict broke out. Georgian soldiers occupied the capital Sokhumi (where I was), claiming to protect the railway link. Later that year the Abkhaz began an offensive. There was serious fighting for a year. It is quite clear that the Abkhaz were supported by the Russians. In mid-1993 the Abkhaz attacked Sokhumi, violating a truce, driving the Georgians from Abkhazia. The entire Georgian population was forced to leave, resulting in the 250,000 Internally Displaced Persons that are now spread throughout Georgia, living in collective centers, abandoned hotels, and with families.

The question now is: will Abkhazia be recognized as independent? They have their own flag and their own government… But only according to themselves. Georgia demands that the IDPs should return safely to the region before settling the question of independence. The Abkhaz want no such thing until the question of independence is settled. One thing is clear: the Abkhaz will not give up their quest for being called a nation—indeed, they will continue as they are. But they are blocked from trade, they have no rights as a country… There are few jobs and great devastation. Each side feels righteous in their claims, begging the question of whether they do indeed have the right to independence, and if they do, at what cost… They are clearly a “different people”, with their own language and customs which are overridden in being attached to Georgia. But when you look around and see the homes of Georgians who had to flee, it leaves a bad taste. Why is it so hard to just live together, in harmony? Why does land matter? Perhaps those questions are useless. It matters to them. They want their own space and will not give it up. The Georgians want to retain what was perhaps the most beautiful part of the country…

So we are left with the question: who has the right to be “free”, and who is to pay the price of freedom? Perhaps we should instead be looking for new ways of defining freedom?

At the beach with the military

The following day Jonathan and I spent at the beach of the Russian military base in Sokhumi. It was completely surreal. At the entrance we were welcomed by a large Mosaic of Lenin’s head. Inside, dozens of Russian military in uniform were wandering around, talking to the tourists or observing. There were tanks inside. A little beyond were white columns opening to the stony, lovely beach. We swam in the 25 degree water which probably wasn’t clean but felt delightful, sunbathed, bought figs and cooked corn.


In the evening we went back to our “compound” and celebrated the birthday of a staff member from Turkmenistan with a nice group of 9 representing 8 nations—a good reason to like the UN.

The next morning was my last day. I joined the Danish officer and German doctor for a hike along the beach in the morning which was also the most intensely informative history lesson I have had. I learned about Georgia, Russia, Germany. And about the German war criminals who built several buildings in Sokhumi, of all things, as well as the finishing touches to the parliament in Tbilisi… I wandered around on my own for a while, we had lunch, then Jonathan took me to the little airport. I was sad to leave because it really was the most restful and strangely fascinating place during my time here. On my journey I met a group of Jamaican officers and an Iraqi patroller—from Basra. He said that despite all his travels(he has been to all countries in the world except 18), he still thinks Iraq is the most beautiful because of the people and their inherent hospitality. He was in the air force during the Gulf Wars. Of the 250 members of his team only 2 remain. Most were killed in the war, and those who weren’t were killed afterwards by the regime. I had to hurry and get on the plane but one day, we said, we hoped to meet in Baghdad...

In a country that does not exist

Wednesday morning Jonathan (who works in the conflict zones) and I boarded a small plane from Tbilisi headed for a country that does not officially exist. When I learned that he was working in Abkhazia I became so interested that he promised to take me along on a mission. Somehow, he made it happen and I was able to spend 5 days there. After the short plane ride to Kutaisi we got on a military helicopter with two other passengers headed to Sokhumi, the capital of Abkhazia. The trip only took an hour but brought us into a different world.

From the helicopter I saw the green waters of the Black Sea, long beaches, and endless palm trees and plants. It looked like a tropical resort. When we got closer, I saw a hint of the other dominating aspect of the territory: abandoned houses, overgrown with grass, empty, burnt, unmistakable wounds of the war between Georgia and Abkhazia in 1992-93. We were welcomed by an El Salvadorian landing assistant—the first representative of the international community stationed in Abkhazia. R, the local UNICEF assistant, drove us to the UN compound. The compound is comprised of a couple of old Soviet hotel buildings turned offices and rooms for the international staff. There was also a club room, a basketball court, and a small chapel. About 50 UN vehicles were parked at the entrance and our car was checked with a metal detector for bombs as we entered. At first, the security procedures and military presence in the areas were strange but only after a few days it felt customary…

In the evening, we met up with a group of people stationed in Sokhumi and went for dinner across the street. There was a Swede, a Dane working as an observer for UNOMIG, an American, some British military who had been stationed in the Kodori Gorge where there was a great deal of tension recently and a risk of a revival of the war that ended 14 years ago. The following morning, R, J and I had a big day ahead. We were meeting with the Minister of Health of the de facto Abkhaz Government. Together, we were going to assess a health point an hour from Sokhumi. He seemed like a very important man when I was introduced to him, smoking up a storm and looking here and there. He drove in a separate car. We were also joined by an engineer and some other people I never managed to identify.

Driving to the health point we passed dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of abandoned houses. When the Abkhaz started an offensive against the Georgians in 1993, 250,000 Georgians fled the country, never to return. They continue to live as internally displaced people in Georgia. Their homes are like ghosts of a reality that must be hard to forget.

The health point serves 10,000 people and really has nothing other than a large building. The downstairs houses the rooms of a gynaecologist, an empty lab, two dental rooms. They have hardly any equipment. It is hot and stuffy. The bed is more like a plank. Upstairs the situation is worse, with little other than a water tank to boast of. Some of the rooms are burnt, others are filled with dust. There is only an outdoor toilet surrounded by medical waste. But the staff, in part, made up for the bad conditions. They seemed competent and caring. They seemed to be able, still, to do a good job, though they could do far more with better facilities. We had an hour meeting with the Minister of Health doing most of the talking while puffing numerous cigarettes.

After the meeting we were all invited to the home of a villager to celebrate the “accomplishment” (UNICEF will be working with the Ministry of Health to supply the facility with the most urgent material and physical needs). What met us at the village house was worthy of many gasps. The garden was beautiful, offering much of natures bounties, including figs, nuts, corn. The table inside was decked for 25 people literally in layers: watermelon, fruits, cheeses, local maize dish, eggplant, goat, chicken, cheese, salad, rice dish, grape puree, bread, chachapuri, and varieties of drinks. Each had two plates and glasses. We sat down though may have thought twice had we known we would not be getting up again for the next five and a half hours, with no exaggeration. We ate, and ate, and ate some more. Toasting began after 5 minutes and ended at the end of the meal. It would be a disgrace, R told us, not to prepare such an extravaganza with the presence of the Minister of Health. Indeed, when we drove into the village several people bowed when they saw his car.


Toasts were given to children, to health, to the town leader (who looked more like a playboy than a politician), to the Minister, to the village. Then, the town leader decided it was time for a toast for me and J. I could do little else but sit still in my chair while everybody stared(I was the only woman at the table—an exception to the all-male rule, since I was a guest). He praised me for my work for children (little did he know I was only there to observe), and dozens of other kind words. The Minister of Health eventually chimed in and asked if I was single. When I answered in the affirmative he decided there should be a lottery the following day, and I should choose an Abkhaz husband. “Kharasho” (good) I responded, imagining the pool of 60-year old Abkhaz bachelors. J was offered to choose an Abkhaz wife the following day in his toast. It was one of the most hilarious and fun moments. We were also asked to give toasts. After the endless meal ordeal we said our goodbyes and headed back to our compound.

The next day R, J and I went touring. We swam in a stream that had about 5 degrees Celsius temp. It filled us with life. Later we drove to lake Ritza where we encountered a band of Russian Hare Krishnas. J found them entirely obnoxious—I was compelled to buy their CD, much to J’s and R’s distress… In the evening there was Karaoke on the compound—with Jamaicans, our Swede and an Australian as the main stars. I tried to sing along with Carl Gustav on “Obladi Oblada” but can’t say I was really able to follow.

Tbilisi View

This has been the next to the last weekend for me here, which is a little sad, as I feel there is still a lot more to experience and I will miss people here.. Yesterday, Bacho invited us over for fried potatoes and juice. Today we wandered around the Old City (the fortress, Narikala) and the Botanical gardens. We also went with Giorgi who has been accepted to study in Mexico at Montemorelos University. I have never seen such a reaction as his. He has been waiting for the invitation for 1.5 months, thinking about it nonstop. We went with him to get the envelope from the Marshutka driver and he came bouncing back, throwing his arms around Tengis. He will study computer science for 4 years. He wanted to go to the US but figures Mexico is close enough. Spanish will be his 5th language as he already speaks Georgian, Armenian, Russian and English. Not bad for a 19-year old...

Office Missions

My boss organized some trips to the regions to meet with Government officials and NGO’s in August, while many others from work are on vacation. Monday and Tuesday this past week we spent in Akhaltsikhe (yes, I am proud to spell and pronounce it, one of the victories of my time here...) and in Borjomi. Borjomi is where the best water in Georgia comes from. I tasted it straight from the ground, slightly salty with sulfur taste. It’s actually good and supposedly excellent for the health. Our meetings were in Akhaltsikhe, with the State Agency for Employment and Social Affairs, the Youth Assocation, the local government (Sakrebulo), the NGOs in the region. The meetings are of course in Georgian so there is little for me to learn from it, other than scrutinize the buildings and people (which definitely can be interesting). And then I learn a little from what Keti tells me afterwards. The hospital, where we had one meeting, was in a really poor state, with no floor paneling, beds that looked like they belonged in a prison, and no air to cool down the patients. It was very speical to see how the babies are delivered, through a window facing the street, in baby blue blankets, almost like a drive-through for newborns...

We met with two of Keti’s friends from France who are traveling in Georgia for 3 weeks. They had stories to tell… One of them had a terrible neck-pain. We went to Keti’s sister in the evening who coincidentally is an “acupuncturist”. The girl was poked with two sewing needles in her forehead, and when they were removed, her pain did not cease and blood came trickling down her forehead. She said she felt better in the morning however.


After more meetings the next day, we went with the French girls to a monastery out in the middle of nowhere were monks are still living and practicing, including a man with a 3 foot long beard. We also made it to the most stunning sight I have seen: Vardzia, a city comprised entirely of caves, from the 12th Century. It was initiated by the father of Queen Tamar and she completed it. Originally there was room for 50,000 people to live there, and it didn’t seem like such bad conditions. They were able to hide from their enemies, from the sun, and live in close proximity with one another!

The final field trip this week was to Kazbegi on the Russian Military Highway. We went with the french girls and Konstantin came along to hike for the weekend. Beautiful Caucasus mountains but also somewhat creepy to me—maybe it was the clouds, maybe the fact that I cannot imagine living my whole life so far from the city. We met with the department of statistics (which basically collects no data because it is never requested by the central government) and the regional authorities.

Politics and Patience

I haven’t written much about Georgian politics. One reason is that it's all quite new to me-but I am learning. Most interesting has been learning more about the Rose Revolution and the Presidencies of Shevarnadze (bad) and Saakasvhili (much better). On the government website you can read the following about the current President:

He quickly became a popular minister who resonated with the Georgian people. He used public transportation and walked to work through Tbilisi's streets, while other ministers rode in cars with dark windows. He became known for frequently stopping on the streets to hear the complaints from average citizens and then for arranging solutions while other officials had no such contact at all.

According to my boss, none of this is true. It is true, however, that when protests broke out against President Shevarnadze in Tbilisi, Saakahsvili led throngs through the doors of the Parliament, lifted his hands to show he was unarmed, holding in one hand a red rose, signifying what became the rose revolution. The whole ordeal was nonviolent:

He pushed into the building, but was forcefully ejected and the furious crowds pushed their way at the building, lifting their roses… What could have turned violent, did not. The Georgian guards surrounding Parliament had become familiar with the protestors over the weeks, chatting with their fellow Georgians for days and nights; the protestors had even fed the young guards when the government had made no such provision. At the moment the crowds began to surge, the guards first resisted, but then, they began to disobey their shouting superiors. The young Georgian security guards stepped aside and led by Saakashvili, the people of Georgia entered their Parliament…

This was 2003. Since then, Mr. President has worked hard to stamp out corruption, replacing Ministers in the government just about every year, and hiring young people. Roads and buildings are being repaired (somewhat). There are new fountains outside the parliament and the Philharmony… According to those who have lived here a while, the city has received a great facelift. Everybody agrees it is better than under Shevarnadze, who was corrupt and a disaster for the country.


Many, however, say that what the government is doing now is just show—“it is like advertisement.” Things may look good on the surface, but inside… Salaries are still very low—a nurse may earn 25 dollars a month, a teacher may earn the same or a little more. The international community is trying to solve the problems but it is not easy. The World Bank is rebuilding schools, the Millennium challenge Fund is rebuilding roads, the UN is doing health, education, agriculture programs. The country is full of NGOs doing small business development etc etc. But the results are not always entirely clear. And the international community, particularly the large donors, feel obliged to work with the government. This often means that things take forever and that people do not really feel the outcomes of what is being done.

The UN people say, “we are guests in this country, so we need to cooperate, we need buy-in”. That is all well and good. But we are not just guests of the government? What about the people? Shouldn’t they be convinced that what is being done is of value? I am not saying that nothing good is being done. The work on infrastructure is very much needed, as on agriculture, teacher training… But it takes so much planning, so much so-called “technical assistance” and “capacity building” and "strategic planning." Most of all, it takes a great deal of patience...

Yerevan

The following weekend I decided it was time for another long trip (rather, my time here is running out and I wanted to make it to Armenia). I found out that the Swedish guy (from Lund, speaks Skåne dialect) working for UNDP here was going to Yerevan. I hinted that I was planning a trip there as well—he accepted the hint and invited me to join him, his wife, baby, and a friend. I was only going to drive there with them but somehow we ended up spending the weekend together. A big reason was that they had a car, a big one. And crossing the boarder with somebody who has a real diplomatic passport is really cool… When we got to the boarder, he waved his passport and they let us pass all the other cars. This could have made me feel guilty but it was somewhat of a pleasure, I cannot deny it. It was hot, the lines were long, and indeed, we had a mission: we needed to get to Yerevan (as if everybody else had less of that mission…)

We found a cheap hotel, with great breakfast included (Lavash—finally a break from white Georgian bread and some whole wheat flour!) We looked around the city (the cascade, mother Armenia who holds a sword pointing towards Turkey). The city was clean with functioning toilets and seemed quite well off though the countryside is very poor. In the afternoon we went to the Museum of Armenian Genocide. It was horrific. 1.5 million were killed, mostly from 1917-22. There were pictures, quotes, a garden with trees planted by foreign powers who recognize what happened. Turkey is notably absent. When I talk to Georgians about this they say, “Armenians need to get over it…we are tired of hearing about their pain.” They mock how 95 percent of Armenian dissertations in Social sciences are about the Genocide. It hardly seems like one can have any business criticizing people for remembering such a gaping hell-hole in history. Outside the museum I met the first Norwegian I have seen here. He was from Oslo and had been traveling alone for 5 weeks in Iran—without any problems. He had seen Mt. Ararat from Iran, Turkey and now Armenia. We saw it from Yerevan though it was very cloudy and smoggy.

Tiring of the city we continued on our way to Garni, location of a 5th Century Roman temple. Garni had beautiful mountains and we decided to spend the night in the village, with an Armenian family, who gave us supper. I wandered around and saw men herding their cattle, kids playing in abandoned cars, and groups of women sitting on rocks outside their houses, eating Semitchka (sunflower seeds).


The following morning we almost literally stumbled upon a stunning site—sharp and patterned rock formation in the mountains. We swam in lake Sevan on the way home and made it back to Tbilisi by evening time.

Adventures in Azerbaijan

Not knowing when I will be back here, I decided to find my way to Baku, Azerbaijan one weekend. Doug and his family are living in the second biggest city, Ganja, and they invited me to spend some time there on my way to Baku. I got on the Marshutka (mini bus) to Krasni Most from Tbilisi. (After having spent the previous day hunting down the Azerbaijani Embassy, which had moved from its reputed location, convincing the consul to let me in after the 10-12 hours, and paying 40 dollars).

It took about two hours to get to the boarder by Marshutka, which we crossed by foot. It was a great feeling, walking from one country to another, my own little pilgrimage, with all the belongings I needed on my back. The boarder patrols stared at me when they realized I was foreign—apparently there are not many Norwegian women traveling alone from Georgia to Azerbaijan.

On the other side of the boarder I asked the first bus driver I found if they were going to Ganja and when they were leaving. They welcomed me aboard and started asking me all kinds of questions. “At kuda vy” (where are you from) was the only one I could answer: Norvege (for some reason, I answered in French, a language unknown to both of us….) The bus ride was great fun, both the scenery and being the tourist attraction aboard. We stopped on the way and had a meal by the road, with fish, bread and flies… none of which I really find too appetizing. Particularly not in the company of toilet odor. The bus ride took much longer than anticipated. I borrowed a phone from one of the bus-guys and told Doug I was late. I made it to Ganja by midnight. Half the bus got off with me to see what on earth this stranger was up to. When they saw Doug come to meet me they seemed a little relieved and we waved goodbye. The style and atmosphere in Azerbaijan was completely different from Georgia. The streets were wider, cleaner, and it seemed much calmer. Doug and family live in a nice place which is attached to a prayer house.

The next morning we went upstairs for “church”. Though this is not like any church I have seen before. We went in barefoot. Women and men sat separately (for at least parts of the service). The songs had Azerbaijani melodies (beautiful!) It was so fascinating to see how religion and culture can go hand in hand, rather than have a religion traipse into a country without regard to the local culture and ways. I ended up spending the day in Ganja. We had lunch, went for a walk in the park, and in the evening a big group went wandering around the peaceful city. The most striking was the Haydr Alief Park/square, statue and museum. Apparently, the former President of Azerbaijan (whose son is now in power) loved to make monuments, streets, squares, and anything else he could think of honoring himself. All over the country there are statues and parks celebrating him. They were very beautiful and well-kept, but as one Azerbaijani said, “they don’t really help us.”

Doug and two others took me to the train station to catch the night train to Baku. I was not able to reach the first train and was grateful later when I learned that two of the wagons had been full of convicts…. This was why the platform was full of armed guards when I arrived. The next train left at midnight. Three Moslem girls approached me and asked if I would join them since I was traveling alone. They were wearing headscarves, one spoke excellent English because she is working for GTZ (German Technisches ….) Unfortunately we had to part when the train came because we were in separate compartments. I ended up with 3 men. I didn’t much fancy spending the train ride with them but quickly tried to fall asleep. The following morning, one of the guys turned out to speak English. He insisted on showing me around and helping me get a ticket etc. The Moslem girls also offered to go with me but somehow everything got confusing and I ended up with Mejid.

Baku was HOT. And humid. It was also a pretty city, clean, organized, well-off due to the oil money/pipeline. I had very much anticipated the carpet museum. Somehow I thought it would give me some great experience and insight. It turned out to be just a bunch of carpets (hm…what should I have expected). Afterwards, I went with Mejid to the old town where we climbed Maiden Tower in 40 degree humid air. That left us with very little energy so we ended the day feasting on fruit, fruit juice and water.

In Baku I finally saw somebody from the African subcontinent. I talked for a while with a Nigerian soccer player who had been there for 1.5 years and was having a very difficult time. People are always staring at him, and he doesn’t dare approach anybody, particularly women, because then he gets chastized. He said it was worse than a third world country—not economically—but because he had never met such ignorant, primitive people. It was very disturbing to hear his story. He wants to get out as soon as possible but his uncle convinced him to stay…

I got on the train again in the evening, worried that I would end up in another compartment full of people with no oxygen (as my previous night, where I came to the point where I felt like I was almost choking). Fortunately, I got a compartment of my own and this time there was air condition! I was settling in for a splendid night when the conductor came and pointed that I should move my things. “Njet”, I told him. He then escorted me to the compartment of the train director and ordered me to have a seat. I felt quite small but determined not to move. He started speaking very quickly and I understood that he wanted me to move but pretended like I had no idea what he wanted. The train director than asked if I spoke German. Yes, I said. “Du schlafst allein?” (you sleep alone). “Ja”. He told me to move and I quickly let him know that it would not be right for me as a woman to sleep in a compartment with men. He seemed more understanding but said I would have to pay 20 dollars. I showed him 6 and said, “Ok?” He nodded and let me go.

I slept so well and was ready to arrive in Tbilisi rested and well. Little did I anticipate a 3-4 hour stop in great heat by the boarder to Georgia. I didn’t get to work until 1pm but still felt very satisfied with my journey back “home”.

A weekend in the wild

The weekend was one of the wildest of my life. Saturday morning I joined several people from work and some of their family members for a trip to Shatili, far up in the Caucasus range, right by the boarder to Russia (Chechnya).

The road started out pretty fine—for the first 45 minutes. Then began the bumping, and jumping, and jiggity-jiving on what can hardly be called a road. Off-road would be a better description. But this was not just any mountain—it was steep as can be, the road was the narrowest I have seen, and there was absolutely no support on the side of the road. But off we drove, hoping we would get to our destination in one piece.

After 6 hours of bouncing we came to Shatili. It elicited literal gasps and screams from my fellow travelers. It was definitely a sight to behold. Stone houses, towers and fortresses, in the middle of the wilderness, built with precision that even the Incas would have had a hard time replicating. The houses were from the 12th century and still in good condition! In fact, 15 families were still living there. During communist times, they were forced down to villages in the valley because of their refusal to abandon their rituals and abide by communist ideology. After Stalin’s death, however, some returned and are living there to this day. Apparently, family feuds and pagan rituals are still abounding.


From Shatili we drove out to another fortress and to the boarder area where we could see the Chechnyan guards (very exciting!) Upon the hillside were clustered a number of little stone caves or abodes. The caves had windows and when we peered inside, we gasped once again, this time with horror. They were filled with bones, literal human bones, skulls, spines, arms and legs. I have never in my life seen anything like it. And the story of how they got there makes it worse. During the plague, people would voluntarily sit in these caves and wait for their death so they would not contaminate other villagers. Those who could not take it would jump off the cliff into the water. There were so many of these caves. One of the girls with us was 15 and cried very hard when she saw it…

After that experience we went out to another tower located high up in the mountain where a poet and his family are still living. We then headed back to Shatili where we stayed at the home of a lady who teaches at the University in Tbilisi. They made a nice supper and we had a good time talking.


Things were good, they said, during communist rule. Everybody had what they needed –including a job (now unemployment in Tbilisi is close to 40%). The bad thing was the removal of some freedoms—they could not, for instance, purchase jeans (...) But looking at how things have developed in Georgia over the past 15 years since Georgia became independent, you see very clearly that things have not just gotten better. There are far more people now with little or nothing to get by on.

Raising their voices

A common view in Tbilisi: Demonstrations outside the university and government institutions. Scores of professors are being laid off due to the President's appointment of a new Rector of Tbilisi State University. They will be left with approximately a 40 GEL pension per month (USD 20). No wonder they are protesting.

Past but no present?

Monday night after work, Vacho (who works with Operations here) offered to take me to the former capital of Georgia, Mskheta (pronounced something like MesChhheta. It is now the capital of the region Mstkheta-Mtianeti (Georgia is divided into 11 regions + Tbilisi). It turned out to be quite a magical experience, and I understood why the place is of mythical significance here. One of the churches was 12th Century, stately and tasteful. During communist times, the inside was covered with white paint so people would forget about their religion, as were most churches in the country (though Maya here at work says they still practiced although it was more difficult). The church also contained a painting of a woman lying in the ground beneath a tree. The story goes that she was holding tightly to her chest what Jesus wore on the cross. She was buried with this cloth and a tree grew up from where she lay. That is where the church is now situated... The other church (Jvari) is 5th century, proudly overlooking the town from the mountainside.

Georgians are proud of their history, perhaps rightfully so. Vacho had many stories and great knowledge of the past. So does the security guard here, Vladimir. Giorgi, who also works here, has explained the history of Georgian language—that it is one of the oldest in the world, unlike any other in the world. My coworkers and other Georgians know their history, they have a strong sense of their roots. They can all site places of historical significance, the names and dates of kings, queens, saints, buildings—not just older people but people far younger than me. Although the proud view of Georgian history is almost universally shared, there is one exception. Petre (who works with IT here) sat down at lunch today and announced that Georgia has no present: “People boast endlessly about the past, but the reality is that the country has nothing as it is, and the people are lazy.”

This, naturally, incited a variety of responses amongst those of us around the table. Maya was shocked at his pessimism and could not understand how he could live with such an attitude. Petre continued, “Georgia has a past. There are beautiful churches, much great history, but we cannot take credit for this. We did nothing of it. It belongs to the worlds heritage.” He was very frustrated with how things are at present. Maya became more and more defensive, arguing that there are things she is unhappy about in Georgia, but there is also so much to be proud of—the culture, religion, literature. Petre was not convinced.

My initial reaction was that he was entirely wrong and though I have only been in the country a short time, I have found so much to praise. He said it is different when you have been around for a while: “People have nothing and they are selfish.” I asked him what a “present” would look like—what would be the nature of a Georgia that he would feel was somewhere he could be proud of. He thought about it but was not sure of the answer. It was more a sentiment.

It made me wonder, what does it mean to have a present? What does it mean to not just have a proud history, but a good today? What, in a country, should make us feel like we are somewhere? Is it GDP? Infrastructure? Great leaders?


We then got into a discussion of what a person’s role is in the world. Petre’s conclusion was that it is to do no harm... The best we can do in the world is to avoid doing anything bad. If we try to do good, we may end up hurting people, so the best thing is to be neutral. Again, my immediate reaction was to disagree, saying that there really is no point to your life if your only goal is to always take the middle ground. It doesn’t really help people if you just sit there and watch the world go by. But when I think more about it, Petre is right in that people with the most noble intentions have caused such pain and destruction and the world would have been far better off if they had been less convinced or neutral....

Faces to remember

I waved as hard as I could as we drove away from the children standing outside the Health Center in Pankisi. We didn’t speak a word of the same languages but smiles and hands communicate enough. We only spent an hour at the ambulatory clinic, evaluating primarily the immunization situation. The conditions for the Chechnyan refugees are not good. Nobody seems to have anything to do: young and old were sitting around the clinic, squatting on the grass or on logs. There was garbage all around, cats and chickens. There is no running water, even at the clinic. The clinic is really an old Soviet building without windows and lighting. The place for examination is a large wood board. Despite what seemed to be a disease-inducing place, the nurses expressed that everything was working very well and they had no additional desires. They receive vaccines once a month for Hepatitis A and B, polio etc. One of the issues was the fact that the refridgerator for the vaccines from UNICEF had to be kept at the home of one of the health workers because otherwise it would be stolen.

Before going to Pankisi we spent time at the Akhmeta central health facility. The good-humored director said she was happy to talk to us because she knew she could be honest, as opposed to Soviet times, when she had to portray everything as good and wonderful. The facilities were poor but the health workers know what they are doing. After the interview, we were provided a large meal which I could hardly partake in given the abundance of meat. The director gave at least 12 toasts, for everything from children’s health, to the Georgian highlands, to our families, and to love. She was so warm and fully embodied the heartiness that is Georgian hospitality.
Earlier, we met with the UNHCR reps in the region. We apologized for the intrusion but the representative hummed that “there is no emergency”. Perhaps this explains the somewhat relaxed attitude humanitarian workers have in this country...