Narek Sargsyan and his dog, Pax, in a moment of carefree exuberance as they run through a field in Katarot, Shushi, Artsakh (Photo: Armine Vanyan)
“I had a white Labrador named Pax. He had a place in our house, too. He stayed in Karabakh, but we really wanted him to be near us. Dad asked a man to leave his refrigerator and bring our dog, and we would buy a new refrigerator for him from here. So, we did. Now, our dog is with us, and he is seven years old,’’—Narek Sargsyan, a 10-year-old from Stepanakert, Artsakh
Argishti Mkrtchyan (Photo: Narine Karapetyan)
“If you know which country I am from, what do you think my only dream is? Of course, I dream of having Artsakh and Shushi back. I could talk endlessly about Artsakh. Artsakh has been torn apart with scissors, and that’s why it’s now in this part, in Yerevan… I am sure that, one day, I’ll go back to Artsakh.”
These are the words of seven-year-old Argishti Mkrtchyan, forcibly displaced from Artsakh/Nagorno-Karabakh. His testimony is part of*Artsakh: My Childhood Street | 101 Stories*, a project giving voice to displaced children while striving to preserve the endangered dialect of Artsakh and cultural memory in the wake of the ethnic cleansing of its Armenian population. Supported by a research grant from the Armenian General Benevolent Union (AGBU), the project aims to “create content towards the preservation of the intangible heritage of Artsakh.”
As AGBU executive director Marina Mkhitaryan notes, this initiative seeks to safeguard the vulnerable Artsakh dialect through the voices of Artsakh’s children. The event, held on February 19, in Yerevan, began with a minute of silence to honor the innocent children lost in the Artsakh wars, and all child victims of conflict worldwide.
“This project is about the childhood of Artsakh’s children—a childhood left behind in Artsakh itself,” said Nelli Baghdasaryan, an associate professor from Artsakh State University and project co-author, at the website’s launch.
Artsakh kids during the blockade, facing hardships yet spending moments of their childhood in the yard (Photo: Nariko Karapetian)
When co-author Vahram Ter-Matevosyan suggested documenting the memories of elders or children, Baghdasaryan was more enthusiastic about the latter. “Children’s memories were overlaid with a thick layer of war and forced displacement. It was important to unearth the bright and luminous reality of Artsakh from beneath it,” Baghdasaryan said.
The project documented and transcribed the stories of 101 children—a number that, according to the co-authors, signifies that there will be 102, 103 and beyond. To ensure the project’s sustainability, they created a website providing unlimited opportunities to collect material, with the goal of not only preserving the dialect, but also forming a network for the children.
For months, researchers, lawyers, dialectologists and translators collaborated, including dialectologist Liana Minasyan. It was crucial for them to adhere to international dialectal transcription methods while remaining as faithful as possible to the Artsakh dialect during the English translation.
Through this project, children from Artsakh share stories of their childhoods: their streets, their longing, their dreams, their personal losses and their hope of returning. “Often, even amidst the most difficult circumstances, the children found glimpses of warmth and affection. For example, Tigran noted that during the blockade, children and adults were kinder to each other,” Baghdasaryan explained. Many children who lost their fathers during the wars were in denial about the reality of their loss.
Anna Yengibaryan (Photo: Narine Karapetyan)
“One day, I put make-up on my father’s face, applied lipstick and glitter to his hair, manicured his fingers and patiently waited for his reaction if he woke up. When my father woke up, he went to the mirror, looked at his make-up, began to laugh and then said, ‘It’s very beautiful.’ I thought he liked my make-up. I miss my dad so much. When I sleep, he comes. When I wake up, he leaves and I don’t see him.” —Anna Yengibaryan, an eight-year-old from Stepanakert, Artsakh
Narine Karapetyan, the project’s photographer and graphic designer, explained in an interview with theWeekly that the children themselves dictated the moment and location of their participation, making it a deeply personal process. According to her, this was a great responsibility, as it involved working with childhood psychology and the inner world. She says the children tried to bypass the bitterness of loss with both unchildlike melancholy and childlike simplicity, and faith in one day returning home.
“Through their stories, we were transported to their childhood, and we found ourselves in our own childhoods, in our grandparents’ homes, in warm corners—as if it were the same scent—the same happy life that they left behind in Artsakh,” she recounts. Karapetyan added that the children’s portraits were taken and visualized at Photo Atelier Marashlyan, a project partner. The children chose which photos would appear on the website, giving them a greater sense of freedom, Karapetyan explained.
Levon Lazaryan, Narine Karapetyan’s son, in their backyard in Stepanakert, Artsakh, during the blockade (Photo: Narine Karapetyan)
“My son, Levon, said that the best summer of his childhood was the summer of 2023, because we were at home and he spent it with his friends.”
The project’s three main photographs were taken in Stepanakert during the blockade. It was important for the photographer to show the children’s joy and carefree nature, even under blockade, as they played in their own yards.
Karapetyan is also the author of the project’s logo, which depicts swallows—themselves children—and their direction is not accidental: towards the east, towards Artsakh.
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Nina Hayrapetyan, a Caucasus scholar and journalist who transcribed the children’s interviews, documented the nuances of the Artsakh dialect and speech: “I thought I would simply be working with recordings, but it has a much deeper meaning. With each story, I remembered my own childhood, and in their voices, I heard myself—someone who has also lost their homeland.” Speaking at the event, she added, “There was an indescribable longing in these stories, but also an unimaginable brightness.”
As the projectArtsakh: My Childhood Street | 101 Stories comes to a close, it leaves behind a powerful message. Before the presentation began, the haunting melody of Charles Aznavour’s “Children of War” filled the air—a choice that was not accidental. Aznavour dedicated this song to those whose childhoods have been marred by conflict, resonating deeply with the project’s core message.
According to Baghdasaryan, the project carries an important message for adults: that childhood, anywhere in the world, must be protected.
Children playing in Artsakh
“I love my village very much. I like to play there, eat village food and help my grandmother to pick cucumbers—they were very tasty. Whenever my grandmother heard that Suren was coming to the village, she always baked zhingyalov hats. Sometimes in my dreams, I see us all going back to Artsakh.” —Suren Garayan, an eight-year-old from Artsakh
Siranush Sargsyan
Siranush Sargsyan
Siranush Sargsyan is a freelance journalist from Stepanakert, Nagorno-Karabakh/Artsakh, now based in Armenia. She covers human rights, politics and women in conflict zones, with work featured in outlets such as the BBC, Newsweek, Open Democracy, IWPR, The Armenian Weekly and other publications. Previously, she was Chief Specialist in Education and Political Science on the standing committee in Artsakh's parliament and taught History at Machkalashen school. Sargsyan holds degrees in History and Political Science and completed the Tavitian Scholar Program at Tufts University, as well as a journalism internship at Taz media.
Siranush Sargsyan
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