Once Upon a Time, There Was a Village: Gudemnis

Once upon a time, in the land of Syunik (Meghri community), there was a charming village called Gudemnis. No one knew exactly how it began or why, but it had always been there. Long ago, in the early 20th century, Gudemnis was full of life, with over 600 people living there. They grew gardens, farmed the land, and raised animals. Back then, Gudemnis and two nearby villages, Kuris and Vahravar, were all known together as Kakavaberd. During the 1913-14 academic year, the Kakavaberd coeducational four-year parish school in Gudemnis had 96 students. (Source: Araks, Official Gazette of the Meghri Regional Council of People’s Deputies, September 18, 1991).

But as time passed, the village grew quieter and quieter. People moved away, and the bustling life of Gudemnis faded. Now, only 21 registered residents remain, of whom only two—a husband and wife—winter in Gudemnis.

On a bright, sunny day at the start of winter, a blue-eyed girl from Yerevan named Lilith travels to the village of Gudemnis. Lilith is a journalist, and her work is writing, filming, and more.

As she steps into the village, her eyes fall upon three buildings. Two are still standing, but the third is half-ruined. One of the standing buildings is the 17th-century Church of the Holy Mother of God. The other one is a 21st-century medical unit that has also taken on the roles of a club and library. Its worn, weathered walls make it seem as though it, too, has stood for centuries.

Lilith wanders down the winding streets of the village, passing ten locked doors, until she reaches a white house. She thinks, “This must be the home of the only permanent residents of Gudemnis.” With excitement in her heart, she knocks on the door, steps inside, and says, “Here I am! Tell me your story, and I’ll share it with the world.”

The elderly couple, both over 70, warmly invite Lilith in. But when they learn she is a journalist, their smiles fade, and they shake their heads.

— We don’t want to be filmed, and we don’t want to share our story. We know the ways of journalists—you hear one thing and share something altogether different.

No matter how much Lilith tries to convince them, saying, “I’m not like the journalists you know,” it doesn’t work.

Feeling upset and frustrated, Lilith leaves the white house, looks around but sees no one. She wanders left and right, passing gate after gate, each one locked and silent. At last, she reaches the house of the village head.

The village head—David Ohanjanyan—reminds Lilith of the heroes from the famous epic—David of Sassoun and Ohan of the Great Voice—all rolled into one: broad-shouldered, tall, and with strong arms. However, it turns out he, too, is reluctant; he doesn't want to be filmed. At least, though, he agrees to talk.

— Why did people leave Gudemnis?

— Half a century ago, when the Agarak copper-molybdenum combine began its work, people left the village to find work there. Now, only one in five houses is lived in, and even then, only from spring to autumn. The rest have locked their doors and gone to the city.

— Why don't they stay in Gudemnis?

— The village has good amenities: roads, electricity, drinking and irrigation water. In the summer, when people come to their summer houses, there’s even transportation. But what is there to do here all day? Just sit by the stove? There is nothing to do.

But it turns out there are still people who say, "Why should I leave this clean air and go to Agarak or Meghri?" One of them is Zina Sahakyan.

The old woman’s face lights up with happiness when she sees Lilith as if she had been waiting for her all along. Though short and thin, Zina has a strong voice and is a lively woman in the early years of her tenth decade of life.

Zina hands Lilith a bunch of grapes and begins to show her around her large two-story house, praising her father-in-law for building such a fine home.

Zina lives alone in the smallest room of the house. In front of her bed are several photos.

— Who are these people?

— The one at the top is my husband. He took that picture while in the army and sent it to me. The one on the left is also him.

— And who is the girl?

— This child is the one who shattered my life. She was my youngest son’s daughter. She died from an infection when she was in the 10th grade. She was a brilliant student… Her name was Mariam... There was no child like her.

Grandma Zina has two sons, two daughters, eight grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. They all live in Agarak and Meghri and visit her often.

Though Zina’s strength has faded with time, and she hasn’t baked bread in the tonir for many years, she still tends to her garden with her own hands, harvesting it and sharing the fruits with her children and grandchildren.

Zina was born and raised in Gudemnis, where she worked on a collective farm, mowing orchards and threshing grain. At the age of 20, she married and moved to Agarak with her husband. Later, tired of city life, they returned to Gudemnis, where they engaged in gardening and animal husbandry.

Eight years ago, Zina’s husband passed away, leaving her alone. She sold the livestock and no longer spent winters in the village. As soon as the first snowflake falls in Gudemnis, she calls her son to come and take her to his home in Agarak for the winter.

Before Lilith left, Grandma Zina decided to give her three red apples. But then, remembering a fairy tale, she changed her mind. She kept one apple for herself—the storyteller—and handed the other two to Lilith, saying:

— Eat one right now and remember the taste and scent of Gudemnis. Eat the other one when you go and tell the world about Gudemnis, which is still alive.