Flowers for Spiridon

The Diary of a Ministry Section Head

Story by Artavazd Yeghiazaryan
Translated by Nazareth Seferian
Illustration by William Karapetyan
In cooperation with the European Union Delegation to Armenia

February 18

Okay, so I’m starting a diary. What I really wanted to do was post an angry status message on Facebook, but Gagik Gurgenich at our section suggested starting a diary instead. I said, a diary? What do you think I am, a schoolkid? He said, this way you get to speak out without creating any unnecessary noise. So here goes, I’m writing in a 200-dram notebook, let’s see if it helps.

***

So, Dear Diary, I had a hectic morning. First off, I turned 38. Then I arrived at work to start my first day in my new position. After the meeting, the head of our department called me to his office and told me that I was going to Germany for training. I barely had time to register my surprise (Training? At my age? What new things could I possibly learn at this point in my life?) as I went to pick up a cup of coffee from the vending machine before… they arrived! Three “journalists” — the kind that you can only talk about within quotation marks. One of them was a guy with a ponytail (I can’t take men with ponytails seriously, I just can’t do it), the other two were females of the species… Full of self-satisfaction, they attacked me with relish asking questions like why did you get promoted to section head, in your opinion? I said, please let me drink my coffee, this is not the right time for an interview… But I couldn’t shake them off, they asked the same question again. And Mr. Ponytail asked, do you think your promotion is related to the fact that the big businessman Zurnachyan is your brother-in-law? I said, young man, I’ve been employed in the system for twelve years, working with my nose to the grindstone all that time — old Armenia, new Armenia, none of it mattered, I just kept working. But were they listening to anything I was saying? No way! “Aren’t the corruption risks obvious here, Mr. Spiridonyan?” one of the girls said. I had had enough. I began to shout and said something about Soros and agents of foreign powers having ulterior motives in Armenia…

The worst part is that my work really has nothing to do with all that stuff. But they’d got me so worked up that I just blurted it out. And then I thought that the best thing to do would be to just get out of there. I almost ran to the entrance and slipped near the staircase, ending up on the floor, hitting my knee quite hard. They took pictures, of course… The head of department came out into the corridor at that moment and they finally left me in peace and threw themselves at him. But they had a few words to say about me in the evening editions of their filthy newspapers, and that photo had been printed for everyone to see.

They ruined my birthday. This scandal will probably put an end to the trip to Germany too.

February 21

I’m still sticking to this diary, I suppose it’ll be helpful.

A couple of days after that news story, the head of department called me over. I thought he was going to reprimand me for sure. But no, he said that I should have learned long ago not to let such things bother me. And the training programme was still set to proceed. The European Union had a designeated programme to provide Armenian public officials for training and study visits to the EU. So, I’m going to go and see for myself what this training is all about. After all, why not?

February 28

Spiridon bit my finger! I almost bashed his head in right there. I’m not sure what fun there is in keeping a pet hamster (I remember reading somewhere that the word “hamster” is Germanic in origin, but I should look it up again in the dictionary someday), especially one that eats flowers instead of grass. I mean, we’re barely able to put enough food on our own table, you know? Armenian families shouldn’t tolerate these sorts of activities. But, of course, I can’t tell Hasmik to dump the creature outside the house somewhere, she’s really grown attached to that thing. And she’s already 14 years old. God, how did my daughter manage to grow up so fast? I was packing my suitcase and she came up to me and said, Dad, you don’t have to bring me anything with you, but could you come back with a cool German flower for Spiridon to eat? She cares a lot for that animal, my little rascal.

My knee still hurts.

Okay, Gagik just called and said he’s here to take me to the airport. Isn’t it good when your job title comes with a car and driver?

March 1

Dear Diary, what should I write today? I started the spring season in an airplane. I have to fly for a few hours, I can’t sleep when I’m sitting, and I have nothing to do. There’s a family with a small child in the row behind me who keeps kicking the back of my chair from time to time. The person next to me is the quintessential labour migrant. He’s taken off his shoes, closed his eyes, and is snoring up a storm. Before falling asleep, he complained to me about how he still has some stuff in Frankfurt that he needs to sell, and then he’ll move back to Armenia for good. It would be good if all of them did the same thing.

But the thing that really bothered me was that there is a team of female football players from Armenia on our flight who are headed to a tournament in Berlin. Young, pretty female students! Why are they bothering to kick a ball around? I mean, this is getting quite absurd. And you should have seen the coach! Happy and proud, an Armenian from Italy, one of those Diasporans. We exchanged a couple of words in the security check area, and he gave me a ticket to the game, saying, come and cheer for our team! Doesn’t he realize that the values of one country do not necessarily work in another? I mean, I don’t know, maybe I’ve grown too old for all these new-fangled developments.

March 3

We had our first meeting yesterday. We all got together at some government building in Berlin or the other. The building was two hundred years old for sure — it was ancient, uncomfortable, with creaking floors. They said that the flooring had been done before World War I, and this was why they weren’t changing it. But that is exactly the reason why I would change it — I mean, what’s the point of clinging to the past like that?

Anyway, we got together and they gathered us in a room — there was me and a few other people from Eastern Europe, each of them employed in their own government structure. The person running the meeting, Clara, asked each of us what our biggest challenges were. I raised my hand and said irritating journalists and pointless meetings. My English seemed good enough, that made me happy. The people sitting next to me laughed — it looked like everyone had the same problem! So Clara suggested that we focus on that topic today. She talked for about half an hour about how important it was for government officials like us to be open to the public. The participant from Georgia said that the public was one thing, but filthy journalists were something else (and he was right on point). But Clara objected, “All of us need journalists to interact with the public. So we all need to speak calmly, without avoiding any controversial questions, and remain open.” But I said that they didn’t even listed to our responses — what were we supposed to do then? She said, “You have to remain calm anyway. You have to build relationships with journalists and find common ground sooner or later.” Wow! They really have no idea about the realilty in which we work back home.

March 4

Dear Diary, I had another culture shock today. I was supposed to take a bus back to the hotel. And you know what? There was nobody on the bus checking passengers’ tickets! You can travel without buying a ticket, the driver won’t get on your case. I mean, people trust each other here. How can that be? Can you imagine public transport working that way in Armenia, and the drivers not smoking? It’s not bad, I definitely need to tell my friends in City Hall about this — maybe they can do something about it, or perhaps they can come over for a training session and see it for themsleves. It’s SO good when your job title comes with a car and driver!

March 6

I decided to take a walk this evening. It’s the first time I’m so far way from Armenia, after all, I wanted to take a look around and see what life was like here. And you know what? It’s like a smorgasbord of people — tourists, locals, pretty girls, ugly girls, black, white and yellow people, some of them having red-blue-green hair, guys who look like girls, girls who look like guys. And none of them see anything unusual in all this, none of them stare at the others. But me? My eyes were wide open like I’m from another planet! At first I said, no, this training session is not for me! I can’t imagine how people live in this so-called European Union. I have no idea what we could possibly have in common with them.

But then I told myself that I guess the point was to come over like this and see things with one’s own eyes, get a feel for it, and try to understand. That was why Clara kept saying during our session today, “Your jobs are such that you meet all kinds of people who believe that you have superhuman powers, you represent the state, you can solve their problems. Citizens sometimes don’t understand how complicated your work can be from time to time. But you also need to undertand how complicated people’s situations can be when they come to you with their issues.” I smirked at that moment and thought, what are we, complete novices? We already knew all this! After all, what were your people up to when we already had theatre and literature in Ancient Armenia? But then I reminded myself who was the trainer here and who was being trained, and I ended up biting my tongue…

Basically, its wrong to lock yourself up within your own four walls and not look around in the rooms around you. That’s why I’m examining everything around me very carefully. At one point, I was sitting and looking at the remains of the Berlin Wall, lost in thought. Suddenly, I saw some twenty-thirty young people walking around and handing out flowers to people. I couldn’t figure out what the occasion was, perhaps it was a national holiday, or perhaps they didn’t need an excuse to get themselves into a festive mood. Anyway, I ended up with a small bunch of wildflowers.

I guess I’ll hold on to them and take them home to Spiridon. I’m sure he’ll appreciate munching on some German flowers for dinner.

March 7

It’s our penultimate day here and they gave us a big tour through their ministries. How well organised everything was! Large numbers of staff members, citizens coming and going with all kinds of issues, something was happening every second. But it was calm, smoothly organised — no commotion, no arguments. They showed us their internal electronic system and how the various departments in different buildings communicated instantaneously to solve problems. I recalled how I’ve often had to spend hours searching for Mrs. Alvard from the department next to ours, and how sometimes a twenty-minute job would take four days — I mean, why would citizens like us, given all that?

When I mentioned this to our hosts, a German official said, “Do you think they’re crazy about us? The only difference is that they know what to ask, and we know our responsibilities.” I wanted to ask them something, but I forgot what it was because I saw one of the female public officials in another corner of the room holding her small baby in one hand and rocking it, while using her computer’s mouse with the other. She was working while holding her baby! Wouldn’t it have been better for her to stay at home and raise her child properly? Couldn’t her work have waited for a while? Or was I missing something here? Try to explain this one to me, Dear Diary. Sigh!

March 8

I wanted to buy my family some presents from here, but it turns out that you can’t find an open shop on Saturdays or Sundays! That really surprised me and I asked around — it turns out they have a law against it! On non-working days, everybody rests. Everyone manages to arrange their shopping around this schedule. I couldn’t buy anything, but the rest of the training participants and I went out to get some beer. We were sitting there, toasting to various things, each of us inviting the others to visit us in our countries (Armenia, Georgia, Moldova, Belarus…), when I suddenly remembered that our girls’ football team was supposed to play today. I checked my watch and saw that I still had time. I invited everyone to come along, all of us got excited and off we went to the stadium! And what a stadium it was! Almost at the level and scale of the ones that host Champions League games. It was an international tournament featuring girls’ football teams from the European Union Eastern Partnership countries. There were a large number of journalists, fans, celebrities (Klinsmann and Köpke were sitting just a few benches away from us — I almost ran up to them and asked for a photograph, but I was too embarassed to go through with it).

And suddenly, I felt a surge of such pride! I was actually surprised at how I’d felt back on the plane. Was it something in the air, or my surroundings, perhaps? Was it the effect of everything I’d seen so far? Suddenly, I saw nothing unusual in how the girls were kicking the ball around with energy and enthusiasm, engrossed in their game. Yes, our team lost in the end, but they fought till the very end, they held nothing back, Dear Diary. In any case, I’m sure they would never lose to Gibraltar, like a certain men’s team we both know.

***

I called home a little while ago to wish everyone a happy Women’s Day. I asked my daughter if ever considered playing football… She laughed and said, “I’d have told you a long time ago if I did” but she added that she’d happily start going to capoeira classes. Something inside me said, “That’s all you needed — a daughter who’s into karate!” but then another one objected –“Everyone’s free in New Armenia.” I said, if that’s what you want, why not?

March 9

Today was our last day. During the morning session, Clara surprised me by congratulating me on the previous day’s game. At first, I had no idea what she meant, but then she added that our girls had left a very good impression on everyone — they were impressed, and she was very happy that girls from Armenia were managing to scale such heights. Apparently, this tournament was so important that even this important female official was well aware of the results. Anyway, I told her I wished the German team success in the other European tournaments. A few hours before the flight we went to the Reichstag. Who would’ve thought? I didn’t dance the kochari there, it wouldn’t have been appropriate. But I did recall my grandfather’s wartime photos and thought about how fascinating it was, how much had changed over time. And these few days had changed me too — quietly, unnoticed. But I guess it’s better that way then ending up rigid and unchanged, stuck in the same, old ways.

I picked up the flowers I had kept for Spiridon (German flowers for a creature with a Germanic name). I had watered and taken care of them for several days, finally wrapping them in some paper. I left for the airport. I printed my bus ticket at a machine, validated it on the bus, thinking — the state has put its trust in me, I shouldn’t let it down. I arrived right on time — everything happens right on time here, which is like something out of a fairy tale for me.

I’m on the plane now. Trained and study visited, I’m on my way back to Armenia.

March 10

Spiridon liked the flowers from Berlin. He chewed and gnawed on one of them, and used the other to decorate his nest. What a European-minded creature!

Hasmik was overjoyed too; I’d managed at the last minute to buy her a coffeetable book about graffiti on the Berlin Wall. My daughter’s mother (a.k.a. my soulmate and dearest wife) and I enjoyed a bottle of schnapps. We decided that the three of us would finally take a trip together next year.

March 13

There was an announcement today that the training programme was going to continue, and that people from other departments would also be sent to European countries for that purpose. It was a very important piece of news — we all need to learn new things and change, so that we can improve the situation in Armenia.

I left the Ministry building only to see the journalist with the ponytail standing close to the entrance. He was smoking and seemed to be tired. It looked like he’d wasted his day near the entrance and had not managed to get any useful material. I thought that this was a good time to engage in some dialogue. I remembered what Clara had said — “calmly, without avoiding any controversial questions, build a relationship.” I said goodbye to Movsisyan, walked up to him, and invited him to join me for a cup of coffee. He looked at me in surprise and maybe even a little fear. He probably thought, what’s all this about? I said I was ready to answer any questions. But they needed to be questions, not accusations. He dragged on his cigarette as he pondered this, and then he nodded his head yes. We probably spent two hours at the café nearby, and we talked about everything. I answered all his questions — some of them several times — so that he had a clear understanding of everything I was saying. In the end (the poor guy had run out of cigarettes) he said, “If you can answer questions decently like this, why don’t you do it more often? Why don’t you tell the people what they need to hear?” I said that I was doing whatever was within my own power and was certain that the others would act the same way.

We shook hands and parted ways. I feel much better and more at peace now.

That’s how it is, Dear Diary. Thank you for all the help you’ve given me.