Abkhazia, Lost in Borjomi (part I)

Temporary electricity, firewood for heating, drinking water in the yard only and 11 laris a month to live on, empty  walls in the room –these are the living conditions they have in Borjomi, in the building of a former hotel “Mtis Kheoba”(Mountain Gorge). These people do not demand much-they just want proper floors, ceilings, water, electricity, flour and to be included in the list of socially excluded people.

IDPs living in Borjomi do not differ from the other IDPs who reside in other parts of Georgia. However, international organizations are always ready to apportion millions to improve their living conditions.

Nearly 300-400 families reside in the 13-floor hotel Mtis Kheoba. Living conditions are the same for everyone. Some of them can afford heating by firewood, and those who are poorer use electricity. Those who are healthy and energetic can climb the stairs up to the tenth and thirteenth floors. They also have to carry water up the stairs as well. Those who are old and have poor health go down to the yard occasionally with the help of neighbors. The neighbors bring these old people drinking water too.

It is 9:00 AM. There is a terrible frost, the air is crisp. The mountains are covered with snow and the Borjomi town is located among the mountains. It is high time to go out walking to breathe fresh air. It is quiet and people are not moving. Hah, it is so slippery and I think I’d rather take another path.

The snow is crunching under my feet and the sun rays are pounding on the fresh snow. I cannot see well. The view is spoilt by the smell of burning. I approach a huge block of flats from which the smell is coming. I see chimneys in the windows and the smoke is coming out from them. The walls are black with smoke. A woman is coming out of the building carrying a bucket. She is wearing a hat and is dressed plainly. She is hurrying somewhere. The woman did not pay attention to me. I am following her and reach the yard. She opens the door of a small wooden hut. The pig is snorting and the door is closed. A woman leaves the hut five minutes later.
-Good morning.
-Good morning-she is surprised. She takes off her hat and tidies herself up, putting the bucket on the ground and waits for something.
-I am a journalist. You are living here, aren’t you?
-Yes, I am. I am so sorry I am not well dressed…
You might know that only IDPs live here. I am from Sokhumi and I was the last to leave my home town. It was the day Sokhumi was defeated. I have lived here 14 years. The conditions are very bad. We have electricity and water temporarily. Mostly we heat our rooms with firewood. The electricity is from 5:00AM till 11:00AM. Then in the evening the electricity is from 5:00PM till 11:00PM. If there is electricity we have water too; however that water is not good for drinking. It is technical water. We receive only 11 lari a month as an allowance for IDPs. Those who are involved in the poverty reduction program receive some additional aid, too. Some families arranged a cattle barn here to earn some money. I have a piglet which I brought from Zuigdidi. What else can I add? I am being interviewed for the first time. Is it any good? You correct it, ok?
-Where are the people, are they still sleeping?
-I am not sure. Some of them are and others are working…come a bit later and you will see everyone…
I part with her.

It is 2:00 PM. The yard is crowded. Some people are getting warm in the sun; others are carrying laundry somewhere to wash. Some men are smoking. I start to take photos. I feel them draw their attention towards me. “Who are they? What are they taking photos of?” they are asking each other. Meanwhile I manage to look at the building thoroughly.

Inhuman living conditions can be easily guessed by the building. A terrible smell is coming from the side building which once used to be a garbage dump. Nobody thinks of emptying the dump. The problem is that the door of the dump is open and the smell is coming from the garbage gathered during many years. Everybody who lives in the building has to pass the dump everyday on their way to the water tap. They are ready to put their hands, handkerchiefs or collars on their noses when going past it.

There is a queue at the water tap. Old people get their hands frozen. They are shivering and cannot manage to fill the water.
-Go aside, Bajo. I will fill it for you. I am afraid your hands will be frostbitten (a neighbor is helping an old man).

It seems that the water tap is a good place to gather for some time. They are asking questions to each other and receiving news as well. However, I guess if they do not take enough water, you might leave without it for a day. Mariami is coming back with two empty bottles.

-Water is not available, you are going in vain-she is warning the other neighbors on her way home.
-What a misfortune… It might have been frozen. Guys, do you know what is going on with it?-the others are asking.
Bajo is lucky and has his bottle filled. He grabs the bottle and goes home; he seems to be tired and stops in front of the building.
-Can I talk to you?
-Of course, you can-he takes his hands out of his pockets and puts them on his hips. He takes off his hat, bows his head and seems like he is thinking and getting ready to answer my questions.-I am sixty-two years old Bajo Dadvani from the village of Bzifi in the Gali district. I arrived here in 1992. We do not have the conditions to live in here. Those who have a little money, they can buy firewood for winter to warm the room. The others cannot even afford it and ask the neighbors for help. Nobody assists us at all. They did not involve me in the socially excluded people’s program. I could not understand why they did not involve me in it. I wonder what they saw in my room to not consider me a socially excluded person. I urged the government for human conditions and electricity. Nowadays, I live on my 38 lari pension.”

The lift has not worked for so many years already. The steps are nearly destroyed and it is too dark in the stairs. However, my hosts are climbing the stairs so easily as if they are walking in a lit corridor.
-If you want we can stop for a while to rest. We have got used to climbing these stairs-says a young woman who is taking us to show the rooms in the building.
At last we reached the eleventh floor and entered through the door. The young people introduce us to the hostess.

-Welcome. I am Mzia Dilebashvili. You can see how we live in here.

The room is so small that two people cannot move freely there. Exposed walls have a pale green color. Unless you walk carefully on the concrete floor which is broken up, you might break your neck. A wood burning oven, a small table, two chairs, a wardrobe, a bed and an old TV is the total wealth of the family.

-We are too poor. We are three in the family and get only 11 lari as an allowance. We were not inserted in the list of the most impoverished people to get some additional aid. Though you can see how poorly we live. I do not have a floor, fridge or a job. They had promised to include us in the program after January.  At present I do not work and 11 lari is the only income for my family. No other member of our family works. Sometimes, my boys work if someone hires them for a little time. If I could, I would not live in these conditions.

-Do three people live in this small room?
-We have no way out. I have another small room next to it and I will show it to you.
  
The next room has the walls in the same conditions as the previous one. There is one big water tank in it and worn shoes are on the floor. There is nothing more in it.
-Is it a cellar?
-No. it is an ordinary room. This is all our property. However, they did not involve us in that program. Let them repair at least one room for me to live in human conditions. Let them make a floor in order not to get frozen. We cannot feel our feet because of the frost.”

I am looking forward to leaving the room. I cannot look in her eyes, though I do not know why. Maybe, I am ashamed for her poor conditions…I climbed down the stairs… Now I visit Natela Gakharia.

(Part II)  http://www.humanrights.ge/eng_/articles.php?id=572

Eka Gulua, Borjomi