On my flight from Moscow to the capital of the Russian province of Dagestan, Makhachkala a young and attractive woman Naida sitting next to me offered me chocolate. ‘I can’t wait to get home’ she says. ‘I like Moscow, but it’s just not the same. Home is home’.
As soon as you step off the plane, the scene is immediately eclectic. In Makhachkala airport old Zhiguli are lined up next to brand new Porsche Cayenne, while in a distance I can see a few cows munching on the airfield grass.
The city is made up of old historic corners, construction sites as well as brand new cinemas and shopping centres. It’s autumn but even through the grey misty air one can imagine the beauty of this place once the spring arrives. It lies between the Caspian Sea and the beautiful Greater Caucasus mountains. Almost every kind of fruit and flower grows here. People are kind and welcoming and it’s an ancient tradition of the North Caucasus to treat guests like kings. Literally. When I was invited to a famous poet’s house for lunch, so much thought went into the preparation of the meal to ensure I enjoyed it and so much fuss was made of my arrival that I didn’t know how to react. And then I was showered with gifts.
The amount of destruction the republic of Dagestan has suffered is the sad result of the chaos of the 90s and years of military campaign in the region. In 1999 they resisted and forced away a large army of Chechen rebels, who came to fight Russians and establish or rather impose shariat law in their republic. Along the route of the Russian troops many Dagestan women gave soldiers bread, meat and fruit as a manifest of support. Dagestanees see it as a great misfortune that they share 600 km border with Chechnya. This border lies across mountains, which Chechen rebels arrogantly use for training, hideouts, storing weapons etc. They also frequently venture into the city to recruit new members, get supplies and ambush Russian troops. Escaping from anti-terrorist squads these Islamic terrorists or freedom fighters, whatever you preference, often break into private homes and create a standoff, in which the anti-terrorist squad invariably comes out on top. People from the nearby homes and offices watch from their windows as the house with the rebels is pounded by grenade launchers and raided with armoured personnel carriers. One must keep in mind that this is happening practically in Moscow’s front yard, a mere two-hour flight away from the capital. This is a shorter distance than Miami is from NYC. Luckily, America doesn’t have this same problem and England doesn’t fight potential terrorists in full-blown combat operations on its own territory. Russia does. This reality to some degree explains the presence of a security guard with a heavy-duty machine gun in the hallway of my Makhachlkala hotel.
Dagestan is a predominately Muslim republic, especially now that most Russians have left, not wanting to live in a ‘zone of an ongoing antiterrorist operation’. Majority of people in Dagestan are what we like to call moderate Muslims. Older generation has, for the most part, never really become very involved in religion. This is largely because of the lack of any religion (except communism) in the soviet Russia. I personally praise them for not adapting alarmingly quickly to the new (to them) notions in the new era. I feel it is more sincere. Some of the important positions in the region are still held by hard core communists, now in their 60s and 70s. They reminisce about the past when, as one of them put it to me, ‘no one asked where you were from and no one cared’. As for the young, they drink and party, wear latest fashions and behave like any other carefree brood.
On the backdrop of building sites and fruit markets and just a few blocks from the recently destroyed terrorist safe house, there are… theatres. There are five in this city. The night I went to the Russian dramatic theatre named after Maxim Gorky, a huge solid building with impressive 800-seat auditorium and long history, they were playing Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya. It is truly very sad. This in every way grand theatre barely has enough actors, as no thespians want to come here to work. Actually no one wants to travel here, period. This place has so much potential as a tourist destination yet there isn’t a single tourist. On the contrary there are very few jobs for the young here and many end up leaving.
This is a budget republic. There are thirty-seven ethnic groups in Dagestan and the same number of languages, but the official and widely spoken language here is Russian. I’ve rarely met as many people in one place so patriotic about Russia as I did here. Yet, I can’t help but feel that Russia treats Dagestan like an adopted child who, although a really good kid, ends up at the police station way too often. But a kid that wants to be loved, and the worst thing you can do is look at him with irritation or ignore him.
On my flight back a girl sitting next to me was again called Naida. It was her first time on the plane and she was travelling to Moscow to work in a department store. Unlike my first Naida, she is moving away from home to try to find a better life.
As I got into a taxi at Povelezky train station the driver asked me where I travelled. When I told him he responded with a shocked ‘My God! there is a lot of trouble there. I explained that people are still trying to have a life out there and that they are optimistic that everything will work out. ‘Lets hope so’, he said, ‘they are our people after all.
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