Angela03 May 2010
by Mary Sharoyan
We were on a walk in the dormitory yard looking for new people. At that time a boy approached us and invited us over to his house. We happily agreed to go.
The boy's house was on the third floor of the dormitory. His family's room was very different from the other rooms. It was so well furnished, with carpets hanging from the walls. The boy introduced us to his mother, Angela. She told us Hajn is full of problems; for instance, she didn't have a job. "Now everyone is insolvent. If there was any opportunity I'd get away from here." My attention was caught by her date palm that was growing quite healthily.
Angela, noticing that I was looking at her tree, said that there wasn't a tree like it in Armenia and that her brother had brought it from Africa. She was weaving very skillfully.
"Are you going to sell what you weave?"
"No. I just weave for myself."
Angela has lived in this dormitory almost all of her life. She offered us coffee.
"In the evening the boys play games with their friends in the house," Angela told us, "and during that time I prepare our meals on the stove in the common hall."
12 years old