I
was watching how Bibi was cooking one of the Azerbaijani national dishes, dovga, while in the background the TV was on. 20 January. It was one of the 365 days in a year for many people all around the world, but not for Azerbaijanis. That day, Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev ordered the troops into Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan, to suppress an independence rebellion. About 170 civilians were killed and approximately 800 were injured. The man on TV was telling frightening stories of that night. For the whole day there were no other programs on any other channels besides. It was a pain that united Azerbaijani people: those who suffered, were killed or injured that night, those who lost their family members or friends, as much as those who lived in other parts of Azerbaijan and knew about it only from news. Even today, when Azerbaijan became one of the richest and the most developed countries of post-Soviet Union, they remember those tremendous events from the past that the nation had to go through to become independent. For two years, from 1918 till 1920, after the collapse of the Russian Empire and before The Red Army entering Baku and Azerbaijan becoming a part of the Soviet Union, Azerbaijan was independent and was called Azerbaijan Democratic Republic. It was the first democratic republic in the Muslim world, who granted equal political rights for women and men. The reason why Soviet Russia was so interested in Azerbaijan becoming part of Soviet Union was Baku oil. For the whole period of time the Soviet Union was using Azerbaijan to feed mainly Soviet Russia, which never was a secret, while in Azerbaijan people were living pretty poorly, being told that there was no history of
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independent Azerbaijan and there is no such nation as Azerbaijani people. Of course, it was an absurd that Azerbaijani people didn’t want to deal with anymore. So, in 1989-1990 Azerbaijan was one the first countries who started fighting for its own independence against the Soviet Union. My Bibi was in mourning like many other Azerbaijanis that day. I called her Bibi, because it was Azerbaijani word for “aunt from father’s side”, but her name was Letafet. It is a very unusual name for English speakers, although very well known in Azerbaijan, as well as in Turkey, and it means “elegant”. She was a pure reflection of elegance. The way she was acting and doing such simple things as cooking, walking, looking at people with kindness and a little sorrow in her eyes, the way she was talking; it all showed the graciousness of the Caucasus woman. Suddenly, I was distracted by Bibi’s voice. “Your uncle, he hasn’t been here for more than twenty years.” “Yes, I know,” I said with sadness in my voice. It wasn’t the first time when she was talking about my uncle. She missed him a lot. Even though they kept in touch and called each other few times a week, still she was waiting for him to come back to Azerbaijan. “How can one be so careless and not want to come back to his motherland? Just for a few weeks, is it so hard, Leila? To be with people who love him, his brothers and me, his only sister.” “Well, you know he is busy…”