Previously we left Daniel learning to live with ‘Tyfoid fever’

FROM DANIEL’S DIARY

59- ‘I become “Number 10”.

‘In 1918 the British entered Aintab and one of the first things they did was to collect into an orphanage the Armenian children who were in Moslem homes or were homeless. I was in an Armenian family and was therefore not entitled to join them, but I realized that those children would be in school. They would be taught to read and write, a thing, for which I was very anxious because of early childhood conditioning, I suppose.

When I mentioned my wish to my master, he was very upset and made all sorts of promises to me. He said that he considered me his son, that I was to have my full share of his wealth, that he would see that I was married into a decent family etc. I believed every word he said but nothing was good enough for me to keep me away from school. In later years only, I realized that he wanted to keep a hardworking laborer without pay. So, one day as I was gazing out of the gate of Barmaksiz’s house, I saw a group of boys collected from Moslem houses being marched to the orphanage. I just walked out and joined the group. Some boys who seemed to recognize me told the leader that I was (already) in an Armenian family. I begged them to keep quiet and the leader of the group either did not hear them or paid no attention to what they were saying. Thus, I left the Barmaksiz home and bakery and entered the orphanage, where we were given each a number, my number being 10. I came to be known by that number from 1918 to 1924. That number appeared on every thing I possessed, my clothes (underwear, handkerchiefs), my bedding, my books, copy books and my little box in Jebeil’.

59- ‘The insatiable greed of my master’

‘It must have been 2-3 weeks after I was at the orphanage, that I went back to visit my master in the bakery, everybody was glad to see me, now that I was dressed in regular western clothes. I was no longer the exhausted dirty boy in rags. I was now nine years old and had already put on some weight.

Of the many things that were mentioned between me and the employees at the bakery one thing remains in my memory, the thing that shocked me at the time.
I was now wearing corduroy trousers on which was fixed the eyes of my master. At last he said “Daniel, can’t you give those trousers to me. I will give you some money if you can bring some others like it from the orphanage”.

I was surprised that a rich Armenian should encourage a little orphan boy to steal from his benefactors, a person who had been accumulating a fortune while all his compatriots were starving and were being massacred’.

60- “Can’t believe you are still alive”.

‘Around July 1916 mother and I had parted from each other at the Aintab quarry. She was taken or driven in the direction of Deir-Zor, the final and principal center of massacres, while I was taken to Aintab with other children. We remained away from each other until about October 1918, without ever hearing of each other’s whereabouts. Later on, I’ll write what happened to her.

After the British occupation Armenian refugees began to move about freely and families began to gather scattered members. From some people who went from Aintab to Birejik, my mother learned that I was alone in Aintab. (In fact a distant relative Mrs. Ovsanna Klanian sent her word with Brother Kaloust who was going to Birejik to find his nephew who had been taken by a Turkish family).

Mother came to Aintab with Brother Kaloust and found me. She had no close relatives and therefore lived with the Klanians.

One day an acquaintance (Mrs. Archelian) from Zeitun visited the Klanians and was surprised to see mother alive.

Daniel and his mother

She said: are you Gadar, the wife of Stepan Effendi, daughter of Paboujian Ghazar?
– Yes.
– So you are still alive!!
– Yes, thank God. I was in Birejik for over two years, and came to Aintab a few days ago to join my son.
– Is your son alive too?
– Yes, a thousand thanks to God.
– So you are both alive. How strange!

In fact it was most unexpected and strange that a weak woman and her son of 6 should come out of that holocaust alive, while the rich, strong and clever people with friends and connections had perished, about 1½ million of them’.

My father used to say that one is either born lucky or born unlucky. In Arabic we have a saying: Maktoub. It means, written. Our destiny is written before we are born. Our luck is written before we are welcomed on earth. But can this really be true? What are the odds that a weak woman and a six year old boy survived the horrors of genocide when other stronger people died? And why? In English there is another saying: There by the grace of God go I. When I was young I used to believe in destiny but as I grew older, I guess I became more cynical and pragmatic. Though now and again I have a niggling doubt that perhaps luck and destiny do play a part in all our lives and sometimes we feel it clearly. While writing this blog I have certainly felt the hand of destiny and boy did if feel heavy at times on my shoulders. About twenty years ago I discovered Daniel’s diary and agonized on and off about how to bring this wonderful story to a wider public. To tell the tale of an Armenian Huckleberry Finn and a cast of characters who seem to have walked out of the pages of a Dickens novel. Having achieved this, I am leaving you here, at the point where Daniel is reunited with his mother. The miracle of that reunification and what happened to him during his years in the orphanage and his struggle to make a life for himself is a tale which will come to you in another medium. I made myself a promise to honour my grandfather’s survival and to tell the tale of an ordinary boy who experienced extraordinary things and survived so my next adventure is to publish Daniel’s full diary. I have many wonderful ideas for this project and will always appreciate any input from you.

As you know journeys of any kind are always better, deeper and richer when they are shared and I am very grateful to have shared this blogging adventure with my friend Mouna Mounayer and for all the technical and moral help I received from Omar Abu Safieh and Shant Demirdjian. Thank you.

This blog is only the beginning of my journey.

To be continued..
Menak Parov….. See you sooner than you think.