Helena Matevossian was not promised a castle in Spain. All she wanted was a job, and she did not even get that. Her long journey out of Armenia ended in the Czech countryside, where she and a group of other Armenians wait at an isolated refugee camp while the authorities decide her fate.
The Bela Jezova camp, located in a densely wooded region more than 150 miles outside Prague, is a former Warsaw Pact military base which once housed hundreds of Soviet troops.
"It is strange that the name of this camp means white, or spitak in Armenian, like the town of Spitak in Armenia which was devastated by the 1988 earthquake. I left my village in the Abovian region of Armenia and now live in Bela Jezova—in Spitak," Helena said, forcing a smile. "This is so ironic."
On the day of my visit to the camp, the iron gates were shut and no visitors were allowed in. The guards explained that the extra security measures were needed because of a fight that day between the camp's Russian and Chechen refugees.
This particular facility, one of dozens across the Czech Republic, houses asylum seekers from a number of countries, including Armenia, Ethiopia, Sri Lanka, Iraq, Iran, Pakistan and many others.
No one knows how long they will stay there. A young Iraqi man said he has been there for three years and still waiting.
"I don't know what will happen to me," Mrs. Matevossian adds. "But I am not going back to Armenia."
Bitter, angry, desperate and sad, she explains why: "I have three children in Armenia. A daughter of 25 who is married, and two boys, ages 23 and 17. My husband is dead. I was a Russian language teacher, but my income was not enough to support my family.
"One of my sons is in the army and the other is unemployed, and so is my son-in-law. I also have four grandchildren. I would not have left if I was not desperate. I miss them all very much, but I had no choice," she said during a brief meeting outside the gates of Bela Jezova.
"Independence did not bring prosperity to Armenia. I understand that and would be a fool to think otherwise. But I also lost all hope. I could not stay any longer... I had to do something to get out of the vicious circle," she said.
Early in 1999, Mrs. Matevossian heard of a an agency in Yerevan which was advertising employment opportunities in Spain as workers in a sewing factory, so she applied—after selling whatever little jewelry she had and borrowing a few hundred dollars to pay for her journey.
She waited for six months, but the job did not materialize. Instead, she was offered a job through the same agency in the Czech Republic.
So in November of 1999, Helena Matevossian and nine other Armenians began their journey. Their first stop was in Minsk, the capital of Belarus, formerly the Soviet Republic of Belorussia.
"We were supposed to be given our visas there, but that did not happen. The people who were supposed to meet us had vanished—gone. We were left there, alone for 20 days," she said.
Losing all hope, the group flew to Moscow where they were met by a representative of the Yerevan employment agency who arranged for them to receive tourist visas for the Czech Republic and promised them jobs once they got to Prague.
"They told us everything would be fine," she said. Once the visa came through, the group boarded a flight to Prague. Their journey, which had started in Yerevan in November 1999, ended in March 2000. But there were no jobs. There was no one to meet them and all they had was the address of a one star hotel and a few hundred U.S. dollars in their possession.
A telephone call to her sister in Yerevan produced the name of a fellow Armenian who took the group in for a week after which Mrs. Matevossian and the other "refugees" surrendered to the Czech authorities.
"I explained my situation to the authorities and told them I have no place to go. They took me in and brought me to this camp. Conditions here are not bad at all. We get food, a small monthly allowance and have an opportunity to study the Czech language. It is the uncertain future which is the most difficult," she said.
Illegal immigrants from Armenia, like most citizens of the other countries of the former Soviet Union, do not qualify as political refugees and existing economic hardships in their home countries are not reason enough to be granted asylum. So they wait.
They are interviewed by aid workers, immigration officers, and the police. They plead their case, but all they can hope for is that the bureaucratic system and red tape will slow things down enough for them to stay on.
As hard, frustrating and lonely as conditions are, Mrs. Matevossian is determined—like all the others in her group—not only determined to stay, but to do everything possible to get her family out of Armenia as well.
"We had hope in the early 1990's. We were full of enthusiasm and energy when the Soviet Union collapsed and we became independent. We suffered through the aftermath of the earthquake, we managed to keep our heads high during the worst years of the blockade, but I could not take it any longer.
"I am not the only one who thinks this way. Thousands after thousands are leaving. I don't know what will happen, but I am not going back," she adds. If anecdotes reflect the mood of a nation, the story told by Helena Matevossian speaks volumes.
"The latest anecdote in Armenia goes like this. "A Russian, a Georgian and an Armenian turn to God for advice.
'Dear God, says the Russian, when are we going to have a good life in Russia?'
'Well, my son,' God replies, 'give it 10 years and things will be just fine. Have patience.'
The Georgian asks God the same question, and God replies, 'give it 15 years. I am sure things will get better.'
The Armenian, looking at heaven, asks the same question. God does not answer, but instead, breaks down in tears and cries. 'Oh God,' says the Armenian, 'why are you crying?'
'Well, my son,' God replies, 'it's because I might not see that day.'"
Matevossian said it was this desperation and the loss of hope that drove her out of Armenia.
"I know of a lot of people who have traded their homes in exchange for two airline tickets out of Armenia to anywhere they can go. People have lost faith in their government, hope for a better future for their children, and the will to struggle for their country. This is the worst calamity that has hit the Armenian nation since the 1915 Genocide when 1.5 million Armenians were killed by the Ottoman Turks."
Official statistics are sketchy, but according to available sources more than one million Armenians have left their country since independence and the "bleeding"—a word often used by Mrs. Matevossian—still continues.
"I love my country, but my country has failed me. It has shattered all my hopes. How can I go back? Why should I go back?" she said.
Matevossian's case is not unique. Thousands of others before her have gone through the same experience, and many more are still leaving Armenia.
