The night of February 25-26, 1992, left an indelible mark on the history of Azerbaijan. The name Khojaly became a symbol not only of a city but also of a great tragedy, loss, and at the same time, pride. For the residents of Khojaly living in liberated territories today, there is an invisible yet very deep connection between the past and the present. Their memories are both painful and proud.
AzEdu.az spoke with Khojaly resident Imani Ruhiyya Malik.
Today, she works as a primary school teacher in her native land – Khojaly Full Secondary School No. 1. Her father heroically perished in the Khojaly tragedy. In the very school where she was once a student, she now instills love for the homeland in future generations. Teacher Ruhiyya is one of the first volunteers to return to Khojaly.
In our conversation with her, we recalled the days of Khojaly and discussed the mixed feelings that come with living in liberated territories.
We present the interview:
- Teacher Ruhiyya, you are a resident of Khojaly who experienced the tragedy in your teenage years, a child of a martyr, and today a teacher working in liberated Khojaly. I would like you to take us back to those years – to the February days of 1992. What remains in the memory of a 14-year-old girl from that day?
- My father was fighting in the defense battalion. He had taken us out of Khojaly two months before the air route was open. However, my father, mother, and other relatives remained there. Both my father and grandfather became martyrs.
On the day the incident occurred, we were at my aunt's place in Barda. My sister, my brother, and I. We were two sisters and one brother. The main sounds that remain in my memory since 1988 are the sounds of bullets and shells. And my father's anxious voice... (gets emotional) He would occasionally come and say: “I'm at the post, you go down to the basement.” I can never forget those words. I was a teenager, and nothing experienced at that age is erased from memory.
While we were at my aunt's, news came that on the night of February 25-26, Armenians had attacked Khojaly. My sister, my brother, and I could not get any news from our father or mother for 12 days. I was the eldest in the house. I gathered them around me, and we waited for our parents for 12 days. The last person found in the forest was my mother…
They brought my mother to the Aghdam mosque. She was alive, but it was impossible to recognize her. That's when we learned that our father had heroically perished in battle. Despite 34 years having passed, my father's p has still not been found. I remember those days with great difficulty. Every year as this date approaches, it's as if I relive those pains.
My mother started talking about the terrible events that happened in the forest years later. Before, she used to be silent.
My father was fighting a little further up from the area where my mother and her relatives were. After he was wounded, my mother stayed with him in the forest for three days. After my father became a martyr, my mother was forcibly removed from there. My mother used to say: “I was sitting and waiting for help to come to us…” It was as if on that day, the earth and sky merged with the groans, cries, and wails of people. (pauses)
My mother lived hidden in the forest for 12 days. To avoid falling captive to the Armenians, they only moved at night. Among those screams, there were also those who cried, “Oh God, kill me”… Most likely, the tortures they endured were so severe that people wished for death.
- During those days, as the eldest in the house, you had to be a support for your siblings. For a 14-year-old teenager, this was a very heavy responsibility. What feelings did those days evoke in you?
- In fact, inside me, there was fear, hopelessness, and confusion. Yes, I was afraid. Because I didn't know if our parents were alive. With each passing day, hope diminished a little more. But alongside all this, a strange strength had also emerged within me. It was as if my destiny was forcing me to stay on my feet. I was no longer just a child – I was both a sister and a support.
Those 12 days taught me that a person can find strength within themselves even in the most difficult moments. Sometimes, you are unaware of the existence of that strength beforehand. I also didn't know then how resilient I could be. Life put me through a severe test and forced me to be strong. Within that strength, there was both fear and a great sense of responsibility.
My mother also told us about another terrible incident related to those days.
- Please.
- They reached an area where there was a well. At that time, there were five of them, and each entered the well. There was a wolf in the area, and sensing human scent, they thought it might come and eat them. My aunt pleaded at that moment for the wolf not to attack them. But my mother said: “Why are you pleading with God? Let the wolf come and eat us, just so we don't fall captive to the Armenians." Imagine, they preferred a predatory animal over the Armenians.
A son grows up for the homeland. We knew that my father was fighting and had been awarded a medal for his bravery by the Great Leader Heydar Aliyev. My mother stayed in the hospital for 3 months, and her toes were amputated. That award certificate was personally presented to my mother.
My mother is at an age where life is fleeting. Currently, what worries my mother, me, and us the most is not that my father became a martyr, but that his p has not been found. There is no grave where I can visit my father...
My mother has already started making her will: “I may not live to see that day, but you must find your father's p.” That is why each of us patiently awaits that day.
- How do you compare your own pain to that experienced by other families who suffered the Khojaly tragedy?
- We frequently visit the cemeteries where martyrs are buried. I have recently started to feel something new within myself: I now envy others' graves. Until now, I couldn't name that feeling, but now I understand that it was a feeling of envy.
There is no Khojaly family that has not had its share of this wound. People sometimes found solace by looking at others based on the number of martyrs. For example, I would say that my father became a martyr, while someone else lost both their father, mother, and brother. Looking at them, I found some comfort, however little. Each of us awaited the return of this land. But there were also people who had already lost hope.
However, those who have given martyrs always have more hope.
- What feelings prevailed within you when you returned to Khojaly for the first time after our lands were liberated from occupation? Joy, or the weight of the losses? How was your mother's return to her native land after years?
(Photo taken in the yard of their destroyed house in Khojaly)
- When I first stepped onto the land, I immediately looked at the location of our house. Only the walls of our house remained intact. For a moment, I vividly imagined how our house was destroyed. It was difficult to think about how much my father had suffered in that house.
A few months after Khojaly was liberated, we obtained permission through the portal and went. My mother could not come at that time because she did not feel strong enough. She was not even able to look at the forest where the incident occurred.
Our greatest solace is that our lands were liberated from occupation. But our only regret is that my father's p has still not been found.
Currently, we live in Khojaly and have been provided with a house. When I go out and walk around, it feels as if 34 years have not passed. If we hadn't suffered losses, perhaps I would have thought I had never left Khojaly.
- Today you live in liberated Khojaly. As you walk the streets and breathe the air of your native land, how do you feel the longing of 34 years? How do the feelings of freedom and loss combine and affect each other within your inner world?
- First of all, let me say that these feelings are mixed: joy, sorrow, excitement…
I can look at one place and cry at the same time, then look at another place, recall some memory from my childhood, and instantly laugh. In fact, it's such a profound feeling that perhaps I hadn't experienced such an impactful emotion when I was 14-15 years old. I still feel the trauma I experienced there. There have been times when I suffered because of this, and I even consulted a doctor and a psychologist.
They asked me: “Have you experienced any trauma in your early childhood?” Doctors immediately detect this. Perhaps the traces of the difficult days I went through are now surfacing.
I am proud of our martyrs and the sons who reclaimed the land. Most importantly, I am proud of my father. I believe I also have the right to feel pride for this land.
- What feelings did you experience when you first heard that Khojaly had been liberated from occupation?
- When we received this news, we all congratulated each other. We were very sensitive towards the families of martyrs, because we didn't know what we could say at that moment to alleviate their sorrow. But despite all this, we all comforted each other.
My mother was very moved when she first came towards Khojaly. She said: “I looked again and we had reached Khojaly, but I didn't realize how quickly we had arrived.” Yes, we experienced beautiful feelings at that moment. But many of those who lived with the longing for Khojaly, who wished to see the land, could not witness it. One of them was my aunt, my uncle.
When our land was liberated and we returned, it felt as if my father had also returned, as if he was with us again.
- You are also a teacher at the school where you were once a student...
- On the first day of school, I was getting acquainted with my students, but neither they knew me well, nor did I know them. Among them were children of military personnel, and teaching in front of them required double responsibility. The parents of these students were participants in anti-terror operations, and I contacted them to get information.
First, I looked into the children's eyes, and suddenly tears started flowing from my own. I saw several children crying too. I asked: “Why are you crying?” They said: “Teacher, you are crying, that's why our eyes are also filling with tears.”
Then I started teaching my students what homeland means and how sacred the land is. I also spoke to them about Khojaly. I told them that I am not saying these things to scare you, but simply that a teacher who is a living witness to the event stands before you. If I have lived through those days and loved my land, then the feeling of love for the homeland should never diminish.
Because each of our martyrs rests in this land.
- How do you convey to your students the importance of not forgetting the past and appreciating freedom?
- There is a saying: “Those who forget their past have no future.” I also tell my students not to forget their past. But also appreciate the freedom gained and definitely hold onto it. 44 days is a short period, but when you consider that we have given thousands of martyrs and what happened there has become history, the meaning of this period becomes clearer. Perhaps 10 books could be written about each martyr. In the 44-day Patriotic War, we gained freedom, but we must live in such a way that this freedom remains in our hands even after 144 years.
To protect this freedom, physical strength alone is not enough; one must be educated and intelligent. Thanks to the farsighted policy of our President, lands were liberated from occupation even without a single bullet being fired. We are grateful for this day. May Allah have mercy on our martyrs.
