Delivery of Hugs

I would like to thank To Russia With Love, in Ireland, for giving me the opportunity to connect with the people from Beslan. Russia With Love works tirelessly with children in poor regions of Russia, improving their present lives and most importantly giving them a future. When the tragedy in Beslan occurred they sprung to action and pulled out all the stops to get there and give what they could. They made a huge difference.

On Sunday the sixth of March 2005, Mother’s Day, a group of about seventy people arrived from Beslan at Dublin Airport, Ireland. The Irish charity To Russia With Love organised this trip and as someone who has been in touch with this charity since last September, they asked me if I would like to come up to Dublin the following weekend to help out. Initially I was over the moon. After months of dwelling on the effects of this terrible tragedy, months of communication with people from all over the world as we collectively tried to come to terms with it, and months of anger and grief I now had the opportunity to connect with some of the people who had affected my life so greatly. On Saturday Morning the 12th of March I and my colleague and friend Inna Kouzmenko, boarded a train for Kildare. Inna is from Kaliningrad in Russia and has been living here in Ireland for the past three years. Our destination, Kildare, is outside of Dublin. The families were staying at The Barretstown Gang camp, a beautiful location which operates as a place of recuperation for children who are in need of rehabilitation. It is full of adventure and well equipped to provide these children with lots of activities. Each family from Beslan stayed in cottages on-site. As the train made its way up the country Inna and I chatted about TV shows and tried to complete a cryptic crossword in a bid to relax, but the periodic silences as we both stared out the window at the blurred landscape told another story. I was scared, upset, and nervous and I know she was too.

Our point of contact was the Newbridge shopping centre, we were to meet a Russian lady called Oksana Privalko, also living in Ireland. When Inna and I reached the shopping centre we were the first to arrive. We walked in and stood for a while waiting for Oksana to arrive. I stood in this very average, slightly small shopping centre listening to the familiar sights and sounds of Irish shoppers as they brushed past me. Although nobody had arrived I knew the minutes were ticking by, maybe seconds, and tears began to gather in my eyes. By this time three ladies from the Russian Embassy arrived and now the five of us were standing together. Several times I had to walk away and pretend to look into shops because my eyes kept welling up. Inside I began to fear that if I was like this at this point how would I be when they arrived? I realized that I had to pull together every ounce of strength I had. Soon I received a phone call from Oksana, she was outside waiting for the buses. I asked her what she was wearing so that I would recognize her, she said a brown jacket and denim jeans. I went outside and found her straightaway. We stood and chatted as we scanned the car park. Then, two small white buses with Barretstown Gang written on the side weaved their way into, and through, the car park. I stood on the curb and fixed my eyes on the buses. They drove slowly past me as the driver looked for a drop off point. I scanned the windows. The faces looked out at us. Some smiled back. I remember their brown eyes and black hair…they were probably wondering who I was, standing there with a smile from ear to ear.

All at once we were standing in a group, myself, my companions and thirty five people from Beslan, mostly former hostages, or else bereaved. It was a windy day and I can still clearly remember the strange feeling of standing with them. They were pale, so, so pale. Most wore black. I cannot remember any other color. It was at that point that I felt a type of shock. I saw more than people. From that point and for the whole day, the entire thing unfolded in front of me over and over again. I spoke with them and helped them shop, but all I could sense was that I was sitting with them in the gym. The reel played in front of me all day. The horror they had experienced was still tangible, you could sense it, and you could almost smell the echo of fear. You cannot imagine their paleness, the shadows under their eyes. They are still hostages.

Each person was given an envelope before we went inside. I do not know for certain how much they were given but I assume it was around €100 euro. Then we divided them into groups and myself and Inna were given a group of about seven or eight people. In the store everyone dispersed. It was a big store, good quality items at reasonable prices. Clothes, household, gifts etc. Whilst our friends from Beslan went around shopping I and the other ‘helpers’ stood or moved around amongst them. I spoke to one of the translators, a lovely quiet girl with short hair from a city outside Beslan. I told her that I found it difficult to know what to say and how to say it. She said to me, as she looked at T Shirts, that it was the same for the translators and not only that but a concern was to prevent upsets from breaking out amongst the group themselves. I expressed surprise at this. She said that emotions were still running high and politics, and the source of blame was a controversial matter that had not been left at home in Beslan. I remember saying something to the effect that it was not really surprising that they were still entangled in conflict even amongst themselves, as they are the victims of propaganda and filtered information. At some point silence fell between myself and the translator, Yulia, and both our eyes filled up with tears. I put my hand on her arm, and unable to speak I walked away.

There were many events in Dunne’s Stores that day. I found out to my surprise that Marina Farnieva was in my group. Anybody familiar with the first video the hostage takers took will know her son, Georgiy. He is ten years old and was the black haired boy in the white shirt and black trousers who was filmed sitting at the feet of a hostage taker. Georgiy Farniev looked straight into the camera and became the face of Beslan. Luckily he escaped with minor shrapnel wounds. Meeting his mother Marina, a small woman with long black hair, was a treasured experience. Marina is a single mother, a shop assistant and has heart problems. Georgiy is her life. Here was this woman whose photo I had seen many times, and whose story I knew by heart. She did not speak English so we had no way of communicating. However by pointing and using signs we actually managed to have a lively conversation about our children. I told her to go and pick out an outfit for Georgiy and I would buy it. This took some persuasion but eventually she relented and returned smiling with a pair of jeans. I told her that I meant a whole outfit and again the battle was on again, but I persuaded her once more and she returned with a red sweatshirt. I took them from her and stood at the checkout. I turned around to tell her to get something for herself and found her weeping behind me. I turned back quickly. When I had the outfit bought she took them and thanked me profusely in Russian, but still wouldn’t go and pick out something for herself. I put thirty euros in her hand which she accepted instead. I am sure the other shoppers were wondering what was going on but I was completely oblivious to them. I gave Marina a hug and pointed to my heart telling her that hers, and her neighbors situation was very difficult for me. She understood.

All of this time I had photographs of the little boy I sponsor, Azamat Mukagov, in my handbag. The idea was that I would ask people, discreetly and tactfully if they knew him. For no reason really, but any sponsors who are reading this will understand. One girl nodded when I produced the photos. She said “ Mukagov” and went on to tell me a little about the family. When she walked away my translator told me that she was a hostage with her small boy and was sitting under a table with other children huddled around her. When the bombs went off, she had said “it’s now or never” and threw, literally, the small children out of the window, one by one, whilst being shot. All survived. Her name is Svetlana Ismailova.

After spending two hours in this store we moved uptown and went into some smaller shops. I wanted to do something practical to help, so designated myself bag-minder and there I sat on a chair as the collection of bags grew around me. It was quite an upbeat day. I offered to carry bags when the shopping day finished. An old woman called Zareta Kargieva ‘Zara’, lost her daughter and grandson in the tragedy. She was here with her granddaughter Ilona. Zara is in her sixties, and wouldn’t let me help her with her bags. We both laughed as we tugged a bag between us in the street, she in protest. As she gave in and walked beside me to the bus I thought ‘I will never suffer in my life as she did in three days, I can surely take her shopping bags’. Zara insisted on speaking to me in Russian and I kept telling her I did not understand. But she kept on anyway. In the end she burst out laughing at me because I didn’t understand her and then I laughed too. For some time we wobbled with the bags on the path, laughing at each other. That was a nice memory, myself and Zara, laughing on the street.

Back at the buses three fathers from Beslan, young men had bought a case of beer and had opened it in a shopping trolley on the path. Oblivious to our laws here they were drinking openly. These men did not smile as the women did and had a distant look in their eyes. They spoke quietly amongst themselves. One of them raised a bottle to me, as I stood with other girls from Beslan. I probably would have accepted it even though I hate beer, but the other girls declined so I did too. I know now that the man who raised the bottle in offer lost his wife. Not many men came on the shopping trip, it was mostly women. One has to assume that those who did have lost their wives and are trying their best to carry on the chores she would have undertaken, buying clothes etc. It was such a sad sight really.

A few minutes later Inna spoke to one of the ladies from the Russian embassy. Beside her was a man. He smiled at me and yet he had such a sad air about him. He was only 44 but gray and slightly stooped. I noticed he had a tiny green shamrock pin on his collar. I pointed to it and he told the translator that the shop assistant told him it would not give him luck unless he got a kiss from an Irish girl. Would I oblige? I smiled, offering my cheek. There he kissed me. Everyone laughed and we parted.

A person who made an impression on me was Svetlana Alikova. Svetlana is 66 and is an elegant woman with a lined face which still bears the beauty of her youth. Whilst in Dunne’s stores she walked up to Inna and said” I was in the school, now I look after my three granddaughters.” I remember saying to Inna later that day that I might ask her if she knows Azamat, the boy I sponsor, or his family, then we decided I wouldn’t ask her as I had already found someone who knew him, and she probably didn’t know them. A phone call a week later would reveal something special about Svetlana Alikova…

The following day Inna and myself left our homes early to be in Dublin for mass at 10 am. It was my first time in a Russian Orthodox Church and I was enthralled by it and the differences to my own experience of mass in a Catholic church. One of the first people I met inside was the man with the shamrock pin. When he saw me he pointed to the pin, smiled at me and gave me the thumbs up sign. I had to laugh.
The children were there. I hadn’t met them the day before. Svetlana Alikova's three granddaughters were there, Marina, Elisaveta and Amina. I now know their story. Svetlana, her daughter in law Alina and Alina’s three daughters had been at the school. On the third day the hostage takers put them into some kind of a kitchen. During the attack Alina put saucepans over the heads of her three girls, which saved them. However Alina died from shrapnel to the chest. Svetlana, the woman I met, was also badly wounded with shrapnel, and almost died, but made it at 66 years of age. The girls father, Konstantin is in Beslan, he is alive, but I feel that Svetlana has taken the role of their mother.

At one point in the mass everyone stood holding candles. In the Russian Orthodox calendar it was Forgiveness Day. I stood with my candles, on which I had inscribed the names of my friends in America and Canada who I felt were there in spirit, such was their enthusiasm for my trip, and their love for these people. I glanced beside me and I saw my friend, the man who looked for the lucky kiss. This time he had two small children with him. A red haired boy aged about nine and a brown haired girl. The red haired boy I thought I recognized from stills inside the school and now I know it was him. This little fellow can be seen looking around him in those stills taken from the first video. The father stood with both his hands on the shoulders of his children facing the altar. Looking at the little boy’s hand I saw a woman’s blackened wedding ring on his thumb. I initially thought they had lost their mother but have since learned that she survived and was in Beslan. His name is Tamelan Kotsoev and his children are Viktoriya and Viktor.

As I stood there in the midst of these poor souls, of whom I have since learnt were amongst the worst hit of the community, I said to myself that I am witnessing true faith. There I was with these people who surely must have questioned why God could have ignored the whispered prayers of tiny children. How God could ignore the frantic and silent begging of desperate mothers. Yet here they were, standing in front of Him again. Although I believe in God, my understanding of him has changed. Perhaps not believing in Him is to lose all belief in reunification with their loved ones. Ultimately it’s a matter of survival.

Being in the church was a mixed experience for me. The children sat on a long bench at the back and they are obviously very close to each other in terms of emotional support. Most of them sat with arms around each other, quietly. Some of the younger ones walked around. After the mass the children went to the beach to play football. It was time for me to leave, leave the church, leave Dublin and leave our friends from Beslan. At that point I realised that despite the small exchanges, the hugs I delivered on behalf of friends to Svetlana Sokolova and her niece Dana Konieva, orphaned, and sisters Agunda and Zalina Vataeva who lost their mother, and everything else, I had not really opened my heart to any one individual and felt I had to do so while I had the chance. Without knowing where I was going I walked towards Svetlana Alikova. I asked one of the organisers to take a photo of me with her and another lovely woman called Serafima Basieva. She did, and when this was done I asked her to translate the following from me. Now it might not seem that the following is any great sentiment but you must realize that when you are standing in front of these people you are very humbled and even the most vociferous of us are silenced. Not only this but even when opening ones heart, you have to consider your words carefully. So there I said my first words of how I felt, to a person from Beslan, face to face. “ I wish you peace and happiness in your future…and I want you to know that the event in Beslan has affected a lot of people around the world…. And you are not alone. It’s important for ordinary people like me to know that special people, like you, know that you are not alone. You are never alone.” Following this Svetlana spoke, and through the translator said “ We know we are not alone…I cannot find the words but it is something we can sense, thank you” Then in a heavy Russian accent Svetlana added ‘thank you’ in English. We put our arms around each other and hugged. I then turned and walked out of the church. It was emotional walking away from them, and as I have since described one is with a strong feeling to go to Beslan and see them again. I told Inna that I was happy that I had told one person how I felt, before leaving, and that I had chosen Svetlana Alikova. I was drawn to this woman for some reason.

One is left with a compulsion to follow them. Two days, in my case, is not enough. Someday I will go to see the little boy I sponsor, little Azamat Mukagov, and his family. However, I have already met one member. A week later Azamat's father, Aslan, asked Inna on the phone if we met his relative…Svetlana Alikova.

Helena Walsh-Kiely
Ireland, April 2005