#kharpert

Layn djagad ellas, gamar ounkvi ounenas, khoshor achvi, yergayn tartich ellas, pats peran chelas, kich khosis, shad lsogh ounenas, amragour grtski, sona boylu yev jarbig ellas. [May you have a wide forehead; may you have high eyebrows; may your eyes be large, your eyelashes long. May you not have a gaping mouth; may you speak little, but have many listeners. May you have a wide chest; and may you be tall and clever.] Khoroung gartatsogh ellas, krchet grag tsadge, Asdzo yergughn ounenas yev hatset trutyamp vasdagis.  [May you be a deep reader; may fire spark out of your pen; may you know the fear of God, and may you earn your bread with ease.]

My brother-in-law was American Consul Davis' body guard in Mezre and the consul himself saved my father's life. There was a Turkish gendarme by the name of Shadhe who wanted to kill my father. Consul Davis came all the way to our door in Pazmashen. My father was hiding in the back, in the wood shed. He came on his horse and took my father back with him to the consulate. When the deportations began, I went to Mezre to say goodbye to my father. He cried. The consul saw him and told me to stay. Later, my mother escaped from the deportation and also came to the consulate. We were in the American consulate during the deportations. Consul Davis saved us. Everybody else, my sisters, my maternal aunt—all of them, all of them—were deported. Our whole village was wiped out. We lived in the consulate until 1922. On September 7, 1922, our family left Kharpert along with 250 Armenian orphans on horses and wagons. My father was asked by the Near East Relief to oversee the transportation of these orphans from Kharpert to Aleppo. From Aleppo we went to Beirut, then to Marseille and then by ship we came to Providence, Rhode Island.

They took us from Hüsenig, to Mezre, to Kharpert to Malatia and then, after a couple of days walk, to the shores of the Euphrates River. It was around noon when we got there and we camped. For a while, we were left alone. Sometime later, Turkish gendarmes came over and grabbed all the boys from 5 to 10 years old. I was about 7 or 8. They grabbed me too. They threw us all into a pile on the sandy beach and started jabbing us with their swords and bayonets. I must've been in the center because only one sword got me… nipped my cheek… here, my cheek. But, I couldn't cry. I was covered with blood from the other bodies on top of me, but I couldn't cry. If had, I would not be here today. When it was getting dark, my grandmother found me. She picked me up and consoled me. It hurt so much. I was crying and she put me on her shoulder and walked around. Then, some of the other parents came looking for their children. They mostly found dead bodies. The river bank there was very sandy. Some of them dug graves with their bare hands—shallow graves—and tried to bury their children in them. Others, just pushed them into the river, they pushed them into the Euphrates. Their little bodies floated away.