Journey to Undying Love: Embraced by the Heart of Shusha

I rarely attack the computer keyboard unless my inner volcano is awakened. I want to share with you some moments when my inner volcano erupted: the day my father died, when I moved to Georgia with my six-year-old daughter Zara, who was still too young to understand the complexities of the world, and when I set foot in Scandinavia (Norway). The intense emotions of my inner volcano during these moments compelled me to write. This time, after a long hiatus, the volcano erupted again, forcing me to pour my heart out from the very depths of Shusha.

I want to begin by explaining what led me to visit Shusha. Following the tradition established by the United Nations General Assembly in 1950, Azerbaijan, along with many countries, will celebrate International Children's Day on June 1, 2024.

Many activities were planned to entertain the children that day. One event that caught my attention was the international children's creative festival titled "Shusha is the Cultural Pearl of the Union of Turkic States," organized by the Ministry of Science and Education in Shusha on June 1.

"Big thanks" (sarcasm) to the Ministry of Education of the Republic of Azerbaijan and all its employees! The institution I mentioned is holding an event, and I, as a journalist, cannot get information about where, at what time, and under what conditions the event will be held. I asked some employees of the Ministry of Education, informing them that my daughter wanted to participate in the event, and here is the answer I received: "It has already been decided here, children are brought from associations, I don't know exactly where it will be held, it was there last year (referring to Cıdır plain)." However, the event was not held there.

Of course, as a journalist, I did not need their invitation. They should reach out to a journalist to cover the event. Not being lazy, I bought a ticket to Shusha for myself and my daughter, determined that "my daughter should celebrate her holiday in Shusha." The Ministry of Education of the Republic of Azerbaijan hid the festival from me as if to protect it. This is a separate ridiculous topic. I won't dwell here because small talk is not my thing. I tried to show just one example of how our institutions work in our country. Maybe if it wasn't for their actions, I wouldn't have visited Shusha so soon. I did not have the opportunity to visit Karabakh because I was not in Azerbaijan during or after the war. But I always wanted to see those lands I hadn't seen for thirty years, caressing their wounds and saying, "Don't be offended, Karabakh, one day the world will realize that peace is better, painless, and you won't be hurt again!"

I recall the roads to Shusha and the deep, sad moments I experienced then. As We passed the winding roads, my eyes filled with tears, and only one sentence echoed in my mind: "How did those boys, those brave men, cross these roads?!" As the bus swirled, it felt as if blood was seeping from the very tip of my heart. How terrible, majestic, and powerful these roads are! Another thought came to my mind: I wish I had come to Shusha with my father, who always spoke longingly about its beauty and Isa spring, which flows like tears, even though he had been here several times. I looked at the mountains, not catching Zara's hands, but as if I were holding my father's hands. We passed through winding roads, mountains towering above our heads, lush green forests surrounding us.

Our first stop was the Jidir Plain. When we reached the Jidir Plain, "wow," there were no such tall, awe-inspiring mountains in Norway. The peak stretched like an invisible straight line. As we approached the foot of the trail, fear began to overcome us. I, who was afraid of heights, had reached halfway. But we had to stop to witness more of Shusha's beauties.

We ascended as we descended and moved towards the Shusha fortress. As we jumped on the water taps drawn from the spring behind the castle, it felt as if it wasn't little Zara but me. We were all children that day. Zara's voice still echoes in my ears: "Mommy, does this water come from the refrigerator? :) ". I cupped the water in my hands and pour water over my head. The water I drank was so cold and clean, like tears, that it reminded me of the water I drank from the tap in Norway. It felt as if the water had been stored in the refrigerator for years and then given to us through taps.

When we left Jidir plain, they showed us two “kharibulbul” (Ophrys caucasica) planted in the middle of the street and told us we could look at them without touching them. The flowers seemed helpless, bowing before Shusha's beauty. They looked very lifeless. I saw the “kharibulbul”for the first time twenty years ago. When I was in the 9th grade, my classmate from Gakh gave it to me, saying, "Ulviyya, look, I brought you Kharibulbul." "Gunel, after all, this only grows in Shusha, where did you find this?" Until I brought Kharibulbul home, I proudly showed it to everyone in our neighborhood, saying, "Look, it's Kharibulbul, a flower that grows in Shusha." Ever since then, I longed for Shusha in my father's memories, hoping that one day I would see Shusha with him. My father did not see it, but I was looking at Shusha through my father's eyes.

Then we went from Vagif's mausoleum to Isa spring. Along the road, destroyed houses on one side and newly built houses on the other side followed us, as if they were telling me their stories. We walked in the courtyards of houses with bullet holes in the windows and collected honey-smelling flowers from their gardens.

Shusha was like a poem dedicated by Khan to the city of Shusha... My beautiful Shusha with a foggy head, red blouse, and green skirt.

Small, soft, elegant Shusha seemed to me like a world-sized place. Shusha is compassionate and beautiful enough to forgive even those who shot at it. Even though I have been visiting Shusha for years, I am not sure that I will ever get enough. Shusha loves everyone. Shusha is ready to embrace all its admirers with peace, tranquility, and love!