Varsenik Demirjian: in 1947, we boarded another ship which took us to Yerevan. I knew that this was my very last destination

PanARMENIAN.Net - Varsenik Demirjian, a Genocide survivor, eventually made her way to Yerevan, Armenia, where she lived in a comfortable, two-story home with her two sons, their wives and six grandchildren.According to her family, she did not discuss what transpired during the genocide for most of her life. However, in her final years, she found the strength and will to tell her children and grandchildren what happened. Edward Djrbashian, her great grandson, translated her experiences that took place in Adabazar, Turkey, in 1915:

“I had no idea what the future had in store for me. Yet, my father and mother had heard of what happened to the Armenians in neighboring villages, so they asked our Arabic neighbors to take care of me, just in case something happened. On April 24 of 1915, when I was only five years old, the bloodthirsty Turks invaded our village. Just as my parents predicted, my mother quickly told me to run to the closet and to stay there.

Panic-stricken, I curled up in the dark closet and in a blink of an eye I heard loud screaming and a loud bang! Out of fear, I dropped the bag of gold coins my mother had given me. The clinking sound alerted the soldier because I heard the clicking of his boots on the hardwood floor coming closer and closer. Thankfully, as he was approaching the closet, one of his superiors called him down and he left the house without finding me. As my eyes closed, I slowly fell asleep.

After a very long time it seemed, I heard a voice calling, 'Varsenik, Varsenik!' The familiar voice comforted me and gave me courage to rush out of the closet. My heart sunk when I saw the tears in Hassan’s and his wife’s eyes. 'I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your parents have been murdered,'” Hassan told me.

Since that day, my life had never been the same. I lived with Hassan and his wife for a few months. They gave me my own room and fed me well. I didn’t mind living with them, but the thought of my parents being dead hurt me greatly. One morning as my eyes just opened, Hassan came running to my room and told me to wear my clothes and quickly hide in the closet. As I did what he said, I heard a knock on the door. It was an American’s voice. As I closed the closet door, flashbacks of my mother screaming went through my head. It seemed like only a few moments had passed by, and before I knew it, the closet door swung open. There were two men. One seemed to be an American, and the other was an Armenian. I couldn’t resist not answering the questions the Armenian man asked me, and eventually he nicely asked me to pack my belongings because he was going to take me to a Red Cross orphanage in Jerusalem. That was the last time I saw Hassan.

In the orphanage, I learned to read and write English and Armenian, cook and knit. I made a couple of friends, but none were ever close to me.

After living in the orphanage for twelve years, my teacher gave me a reason to smile again. She called me up and said, 'You are nearing the age of 18 and I have very good news for you, Varsenik. Your uncle from Greece has somehow contacted our Orphanage and we have agreed to let you decide if you want to leave.'

Of course, I was grateful for receiving news that would spark a ray of hope in my melancholic life.

The remaining weeks at the Red Cross orphanage were very delightful, because I knew that in a week or so I would be in a beautiful country, Greece, with people I can call family. As the time approached for me to leave, I thanked everyone in the orphanage house and the teachers for all they had done for me.

What I found in Athens was my future husband, Hakop, whom I married a few years later. We had three children and our family survived during the harsh times of the WWII era, when the Nazis occupied Greece. Finally after the war, we decided that it is time to return to our real homeland, Armenia. In 1947, we boarded another ship which took us to Yerevan.

I knew that this was my very last destination.”