In Part 2 of my autobiography, I described a brief period of my life, lasting about three months, during which I lived in Ukraine in a cramped apartment with extended family. Although the stay was short-lived, the impact it had on my worldview was significant in comparison. It was the first time I had moved away from the country I called home, Armenia. I was struck by how other places could be more developed than what I was used to in Yerevan, the capital of Armenia. One easy example for an eight-year-old child to understand was the difference in public transport, which we used frequently. The subway system in Kiev was larger, older, and more elaborately designed than the one in Yerevan. Despite all that, we did not settle in Kiev because no opportunities were available as even official registration to legally work was not granted. Thus, in the summer of 1997, we boarded a plane for the second time that year, having never experienced air travel during my first eight years of life. After a three-hour flight, we landed in Moscow, Russia, where we were greeted by another uncle and cousin duo.
Moscow, being the center of politics and business, was relatively stable compared to other regions of Russia. This stability attracted many immigrants from other former Soviet republics, but this influx of diversity was not always well received by some Russians who used discriminatory rhetoric, claiming that immigrants were taking away their jobs. Amidst the influx of immigrants, tensions were also high in Moscow, as it had only been a year since the end of the First Chechen War. Immigrants of all ethnic backgrounds were often falsely assumed to be Chechen and living in the city illegally, putting them at risk of deportation. Despite the challenges of obtaining legal documents such as residence and work permits, immigrants were still often extorted for bribes under the guise that they were "Chechen spies." Those who refused to pay the bribes faced the possibility of being detained and spending significant time in jail while their permits were "checked”. My parents would often take precautions such as walking several feet apart in order to avoid being stopped together and having to pay a larger bribe per person in case they were detained.
Some of the challenges and discrimination faced by my parents were reflected in my own experiences in school. I faced discrimination from both students and teachers who held prejudiced attitudes towards non-ethnic Russian students, particularly those from the North Caucasus region, which includes Chechnya. Even though Armenia is located in the South Caucasus region, we were all grouped together and treated with equal disdain.
My Russian literature teacher even went so far as to tell my parents that I was undeserving of an A grade, as other Russian students didn't perform well enough to earn it, and that I could only be ranked equal to or below them. Despite what she said, I was not discouraged and made significant progress in reading and writing in Russian and even improved my handwriting which was the low hanging fruit she could point out to justify a lower grade. By the end of my second school year in Moscow the same Russian lit teacher had no choice but to give me an A grade as I had not given her any grounds for complaint of any sort. I learned a handful of important life lessons from that experience which had a big impact on the development of my personality. First and foremost was the lesson of consistency and long term outlook. I had to have a multi year strategy of gradual improvement to convince my teacher I was worthy of an A. That was also my first real encounter with the power of proving people wrong. Not only is it the best fuel for motivation but it can also lead to surprising outcomes as that discriminatory teacher ended up regarding me as one of her favourite students probably because I was actually engaged in her class to earn a high grade.
With regards to discrimination from students, ultimately it wasn’t that bad. The worst I had to face was some name calling and on rare occasions the threat of a fight which never actually materialised. While I was a small kid growing up, I always displayed a level of athleticism when playing outdoor sports which made the bullies think twice about using me as a punching bag. I would also sometimes memorise funny comeback lines from movies and TV shows to say back to bullies when they tested me out. It was a good defence technique that made me a less appealing target for bullies, who often sought easier prey. I still had a handful of friends but the ease with which I was able to make friendships in Kiev was lost in Moscow. The challenge was compounded by the fact that I lived far from my school, requiring an hour long daily commute by bus each way. Managing that as a nine and ten year old by myself without any issues was a valuable experience for developing a strong sense of self-reliance and independence at a young age.
With regards to living conditions, yet again my family lived in a small high rise apartment shared with extended family. My brother and I shared a tiny bed with a thin one inch mattress which stood in the corner of the living room and creaked so loud every time I had to readjust my body position on it that I learned to lie completely still in order to avoid disturbing my and my brother’s sleep.
One aspect of my experience in Moscow that left a lasting impact was the food. My family lived on a tight budget and relied on cheap carb-heavy meals to fill us up. I remember detesting the bland and seed oil drenched macaroni pasta with no cheese or any other sauce that was served at least once a week for dinner. To this day, I still have an aversion to mac and cheese even though my version had no cheese and refuse to try even small amounts. The other dish which I developed a gag reflex to was the famous Russian kasha, a staple traditional Russian dish made from boiled or roasted grains like buckwheat or rice. I hated it so much that I would be elated when my dad took me to the nearby market to buy eggs. I didn’t even care that we didn’t buy the normal eggs which come in a carton and instead got the cheap broken eggs collected in a jar. As long as I got to eat scrambled eggs cooked in butter instead of kasha, I was happy.
While I had preferences, I was not a picky eater and would always finish every last bit of food on my plate as most poor kids do. Although the food available was not always of the finest quality, I never felt hungry. Fortunately, my mother was steeped in traditional Armenian cooking which is abundant in nutritious dishes. My favourites were dolma, minced meat stuffed in grape leaves or cabbage, basturma, air-dried cured beef that is seasoned with spices and herbs, and tjvjik, Armenian version of liver and onions. We also often had khash, another Armenian dish that is made from slow-cooked cow or sheep feet and served as a soup with lots of garlic, khinkali, a Georgian dish that consists of large dumplings filled with meat, usually beef or pork, and a mixture of spices and herbs, and borscht, a Ukrainian soup made from beets, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, onions, and a variety of other vegetables. Despite our tight budget, my mother always managed to create delectable nutrient dense meals that were both healthy and satisfying. While my mother did not do the best job of teaching me how to cook, her example of cooking traditional meals from scratch to feed our family has been a huge influence in how I cook and feed my own family presently.
My father, at this time, was working as a jeweller. Why jewellery? If you know an Armenian person in your life, the likelihood is that you have a close connection to a jeweller. Armenia has a long history of jewellery making, dating back to ancient times. The Armenian Apostolic Church has a rich tradition of metalwork and jewellery making, which has been passed down from generation to generation. Furthermore, the country's location at the crossroads of Europe and Asia made it a hub for trade and cultural exchange, allowing Armenian artisans to draw inspiration from a variety of sources. There is also a plethora of Armenian jewellers worldwide because of frequent invasions and conquests of Armenia by different empires throughout history, including Roman, Mongol, Persian, Ottoman and Russian empires. During periods of instability, many Armenian artisans were forced to flee their homes and take their skills with them, which led to the spread of their jewellery making techniques to other countries, establishing a strong reputation for Armenian jewellery.
My father learned the art of jewellery making from another uncle, the one who greeted us in Ukraine. He was able to secure a job as a contract jeweller for a busy jewellery store in a different part of Moscow. In this role, he would take orders from the store, complete them at home, and return them once finished. Did he have a separate workshop room? No, he worked in the kitchen of our small apartment that we shared with extended family. Here, he would perform manual casting, a technique favoured for small-scale production or creating one-of-a-kind pieces due to its time-consuming nature and the high level of skill and attention to detail required. In contrast, automated casting, which is more widely used today for mass production and quicker turnover, relies on specialised machinery and computer-controlled processes to cast metal into a mould.
My father would get wax moulds of the pieces he was contracted to make from his employer. At home, he would make a slurry mixture of investment powder and water, to pour over the wax moulds, which would harden into a heat-resistant shell capable of withstanding the high temperatures required to melt the gold. Then the fun would really start, as he would melt the gold in a crucible at a temperature high enough to completely melt the metal, but not so high as to cause it to vaporise. The mould would also need to be heated, not only to harden the shell but also to melt out the wax, creating a cavity in the shape of the jewellery piece.
The melted gold would then be carefully poured into the cavity and vibrated to remove any air pockets and ensure a complete and uniform fill. This was my favourite part to watch because it was the most dangerous. My dad would have a metal chain attached to the mould which he would grab with a pair of pliers and start spinning it as hard as possible for a few seconds while the centripetal force would make the liquid gold flow into all the crevices of the cavity where wax used to be. Once the gold solidified, he would break the mould to reveal the newly cast jewellery piece - all done from the comfort of our kitchen.
After completing his orders, my father's job was not quite over. He still had to deliver the finished pieces to the jewellery store, which was not located close by. This stage of the process presented a different kind of danger. At any point on the journey from our home to the store, my father was at risk of being stopped by a police officer who might have suspected him of being a "Chechen spy". In such a case, no amount of official documentation would have prevented the officer from confiscating the gold and keeping it forever. To mitigate this risk, I became my father's "gold mule". The idea was that a man accompanied by a child was less likely to be stopped by the police, and even if they were, the child was unlikely to be searched. So, I carried the gold in secret pockets as I made regular trips to the jewellery store with my father. As a reward for my efforts, on the way home we would stop at a new McDonald's that was becoming popular in Moscow and I would get a classic McDonald's ice cream cone. This was how I got an education outside of school about important questions like ‘what are the rules and who do they benefit?’, ‘who upholds those rules and how do we get on their good side?’ and ‘how do we circumvent the rules that put us in a disadvantage?’
Before moving on to the part where my family moves away from Russia to Canada, there is one more important aspect of my life that needs to be discussed. Midway through our time in Moscow, my parents came across an advertisement for free English lessons. I went to these ‘free’ lessons with my parents to discover that they were offered by Mormon missionaries. This would be the start of my family’s introduction to the Church of Latter Day Saints. Stay tuned for the next post about my experience with Mormons and how we eventually successfully made it to Canada with their help.
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