I turned out here by accident; I was never interested in aviation. I was interested in marine navigation but I was under pressure that it’s not a woman’s profession. I always liked math and decided to study finances. At first, it seemed interesting, but then I realized how boring sitting all day long and doing a desk job would be. I pictured myself doing it for years and I realized that I wouldn’t be able to, physically and psychologically. At this time, one of my friends sent me a vacancy from Georgian Air Navigation. I liked the job description and thought by myself, why not, I should try and send my resume. There were no special requirements – only English skills, a high sense of responsibility, etc. Experience in aviation wasn’t necessary. 

The main thing was to learn the profession when sent for training and to be able to coordinate several things at once. As the first step, they checked our English language level, then we took an IQ test in aviation. I had never seen a radar before. We underwent a little training there and I had to work on the radar with little description. The Czech Aviation University, where I was going to study, conducted this exam. From 2000 people, only 30 were chosen for the interviews. Specialists came from the Czech Republic – observers and a human resource specialist. They interviewed us and chose 12 people in total, from which three were girls. I studied at the Czech Aviation University for 4 months with an accelerated method. I worked for a month and a half on the simulator. The load was increasing slowly. At first, there were 5 flights a day, then we had 20 flights in every half hour. You have to pay attention to several things at the same time. The transport on the airdrome is waiting for our instructions, they don’t know your plans for them or which airplane has to leave and where; they are waiting for permission to start moving. You also have to control their movements, otherwise, it may cause a chain reaction and a deadlock.

In the beginning, I wasn’t permitted to approach the radar, I could only observe it. To this day I’m very happy when I have to sit by the radar and talk to pilots, people I’ve never seen and most likely will never see in my life. The feeling of coordination and cooperation is palpable. Both sides have vested interest for everything to go as discussed. In Batumi, we have a quite difficult situation because of the mountains. We can’t let two airplanes take off at the same time since takeoffs can only happen from one side of the airport.

As usual, if there are 2-3 flights an hour, airplanes can fly freely, they won’t interfere with each other and the work is anything but stressful. But there are cases when I have to handle 5-6 flights and you can’t make the pilot wait for long. Otherwise, they’ll get angry since they have their own timetables and they have to be in another airport at a specific time. You make these decisions together with another observer to avoid causing problems in other spaces. When you finish your task and stop for a while, you feel how tense you’ve been. There are situations when several planes come at the same time. Each of them asks for the same information and accordingly, you have to give them small briefs, then call another to get the information you need, then give it to another board: the board has to read it back ti you and you have to check if they understood it correctly, at the same time you have to give them flying directions and coordinate it all with the people working on the ground. There is a term in the aviation called the ”Swiss cheese model”. I may make a mistake, but if the pilot realizes it and doesn’t do what I said, nothing will happen. Or maybe the pilot makes a mistake but I see it and fix the problem. Multiple “holes” must occur at the same time to lead us to a catastrophe. We are very safe because of that. 

The biggest problem while taking off is the birds. Batumi airport is near the sea, where there are a lot of seagulls. I love the story of ,,Jonathan Livingston Seagull”, but these seagulls are nothing like him, they act in opposite and are fools. For example, when spades hear the aircraft sound, they fly in the other direction, while seagulls try to race with the plane. We see that in the binoculars and we send help. Sometimes loud sounds are playing, or there are fireworks to try and throw them out. But sometimes there are only two minutes left before landing and they suddenly return from nowhere. The plane is flying at a very high speed and even a pebble can cause a crash. Very often the seagulls damage the board with the radar, or they get stuck in the engine. Then an engineer must come down to check, but time keeps running out and the whole schedule has to be changed. 

Basically, professions and jobs that have night shifts and are technically difficult are not considered a woman’s job. There are 130 aviation observers in Georgia, ten of which are women and they work at different altitudes in Batumi, Kutaisi, and Tbilisi. People’s attitude is positive. There were situations when they asked me by whom was I recommended for this job – implying nepotism. They were interested when would be the contest for the job announced, so they could also take part. They wondered if women can get in. Aviation seems mystical and somehow elevated to people. They don’t know much about it so they think it’s difficult. There wasn’t a case of someone telling me I can’t do it because I’m a girl, but sometimes even unfamiliar people asked me if it was hard to work in night shifts. Would anybody ask a man that? Nobody in my family told me it was a man’s profession. I warned my mother beforehand, it was a bit unexpected for her but there weren’t any negative emotions. 

I studied math, physics, chemistry, and biology very well. Because of that, I sometimes got a ”compliment” that I got a boy’s brain. Back then I thought it was a very good thing and I felt talented and clever. When I remember it now I feel ashamed. I’m a woman and have a woman’s brain. Women also have the ability to learn physics, chemistry, and similar subjects very well. Gender has nothing to do with it”. 

Author: Nino Gamisonia
Photo: Salome Tsopurashvili

The post Natia Gagadze, 23 years old, Batumi appeared first on WomenOfGeorgia.

When I got out of prison I had nothing. They took everything I had and I started my life over. Nowadays I live in Urekhi’s temporary shelter.  The building is in the City Hall’s subordination and is divided into two parts – one part for the beneficiaries who only come to sleep and the other is where we live with four other families. We came here five years ago when I was without a roof with my little baby. I have three children and the youngest was 8 months old. We lived in a rented house in extreme poverty. I didn’t have any income but somehow, we weren’t able to receive social vulnerability status. I was breastfeeding the baby, but since I didn’t have any food I couldn’t feed the child. I went to the City Hall with my baby and explained my situation, that I didn’t have anything to even eat and that I had actually written the statement to receive the social status many times, and they refused. There was a program for socially vulnerable children up to one year to receive food and that was the main reason I wanted to receive the status to get food for my child. They told me it was out of their competence and rejected it again. Then one of the social agents helped me and even though I didn’t receive the status, they saw my poverty and brought food and medicine for the baby. I couldn’t pay the rent and we were evicted, so we had to move from one rented house to another. I went to City Hall one more time and asked them to let us live in the shelter. I knew about the building and that there were free rooms. They refused again. I called TV reporters to come and talk about it. We had a serious fight. One of the City Hall employees told me that reporters couldn’t do anything. Then they offered me money for 2-3 months to rent a flat and until that I could make another request for the social status and they would help me. That was more than enough for me. I was there with my baby, telling them he was dying from hunger and asked for help and they answered that it was out of their competence. I told them, that now I didn’t want their money or help. I wanted to get a room which I requested. After all of this fight and discussions, we have been moved here. 

Seven of us have been moved on the third floor in nine square meters: my husband, three children, my brother-in-law, and my mother-in-law. They restrict you in every possible way to avoid you staying there. But if you have to choose between living on the street or here, you’d agree to live in a four-square-meter room. There were two beds, one for my mother-in-law and my eldest daughter and another for me and the baby. The rest of us were sleeping on the floor on mattresses. If I had to get up at night, I had to be very careful not to wake up someone. But at the same time, it was a paradise for me. We had a roof over our heads. They saw that I was still not leaving, and eventually, they understood that I really didn’t have anywhere to go, so they gave a separate room to my mother-in-law. 

There is also another room, it was a library before. It’s absolutely free. I have been struggling for a very long time to get this room so that kids have their own space to study and sleep. My daughter will be 16 soon and my son is 12 years old. Moreover, they are not planning to give that room to anybody else. I told them if it happens and you will need that room for somebody, there’s no need to even tell me, I’ll vacate the room immediately and let them live there. I know exactly how it is to be living on the streets and I will never choose my comfort over someone being outside. They tell me that I’m trying to expand. It’s an empty room, why is it locked? I understand why they are doing that, they want me to leave. I would never stay here if I had the possibility to pay for rent. If I left, I’d be in the same state as I was before. 

Our problem is that after summer my husband and I were left without our jobs. On the season, I work as a waitress, or if someone needs a cleaner. Two years ago, I worked as a manager in a bar. I don’t choose jobs, I do anything I can as soon as something appears. Last year I opened a cafe in front of our house and after the New Years, I had to close it. There are a lot of hungry people and it became more charity than business. When you know, people are hungry and when you see them walking on the street and staring at food, it’s impossible not to feed them.

After I left jail, the first to support and help me was the ”Institute of Democracy”. I got all kinds of encouragement from them. I learned to handcraft in prison. After some time, my work got better and better. Some of the Ideas I took from the internet and some of them I did with my own imagination and I started to work on handmade things. They financed me and I had some kind of income from it. We got an exhibition too. Although they have finished working with me and I’m no longer their beneficiary, they still help me. 

I worked in the charity center ”Ialkani”. It’s a center where there’s homeless and socially vulnerable children coming every day, children whose parents are working and they are left without any supervision all day long. My children were also beneficiaries of this center and I found out that there are some volunteer teachers who teach children English language, music, dancing, etc. I talked to the director of the center and asked for permission to teach children handcrafting. They agreed and I was there 3 times a week. Unfortunately, I’m out of materials and can’t do that anymore. This material was bought by the ”Institute of Democracy” and by the Center of Crime Prevention. We were working with beads, making some necklaces, flowers, trees. I worked more than a year as a volunteer, we had exhibitions in Boulevard and invitations on the events. Then the crisis has started and our sales decreased. 

I hate the unfairness of injustice. Poverty is a very sensitive topic for me and I always have to fight and argue about it. I’m disappointed by people’s attitude. I didn’t have a happy life either, but I didn’t become mean. You always see injustice, poor people who are hungry and they are taking the last bite of them. Here in the shelter, beneficiaries didn’t get what they were entitled to, food provided to them was always less than it should have been. 

People brought many things here as a charity, but poor people didn’t even receive a quarter of it. I was always having fights about it. I’ve been told it was none of my business. Of course, it was my business. When you see that kind of poverty every day, if you have something inside your heart, you can’t turn a blind eye to it. Beneficiaries didn’t raise their voices and you can’t judge them. They don’t have any other choice. If they complained, they’ll be thrown out. In fear of returning to the streets, they don’t say anything. Finally, we got a new director, who has an amazing personality; he’s doing everything he can and the situation is much better now.”

Author: Nino Gamisonia

Photo: Nino Baidauri

The post Miranda Mazmanova, 38 years old, Batumi appeared first on WomenOfGeorgia.

I was 13 years old when I fell in love with an Adjarian Muslim boy. Back then I didn’t realize that it could be a challenge. I didn’t recognize the two different beliefs in our culture could cause confrontation.

The first time I asked myself that question was when I was a student. I was already a strong Orthodox Christian. Once he visited me in Tbilisi and we took a walk to Narikala church. He said he didn’t want to come inside and he’d wait outside instead. It was the first time when I realized something was unusual and I was scared. I wasn’t angry, just nervous since I knew we would get married soon, I’d have to live in a Muslim family, and I couldn’t see the whole picture of how our life would be together. Our love was strong and we didn’t consider religion as something to worry about. We weren’t annoyed by each other’s beliefs. The important thing was that people around us would understand our differences and we could avoid social pressure.

My parents didn’t go to church regularly and weren’t very religious, so they didn’t resist much. But I remember my grandmother’s reproaches. I don’t know how, but she found Zaza’s friend, a girl from the same village, who told us that a girl with ”self-respect” wouldn’t marry him and live in “those Muslims'” family. My grandmother warned me it would be hard for me to get used to their traditions. Society, of course, has some influence. There were times when I was ashamed to tell my friends that my boyfriend was a Muslim. Then Zaza told them himself about his religion and I remember the shocked looks on my friends’ faces.
My priest confronted my decision at the beginning. But when he saw that I wouldn’t refuse to love him, he advised that I had to take everything I saw there calmly and without objection.

I loved Zaza so much that I couldn’t imagine giving him up. I couldn’t give up my religion either and I was sure I would never have to choose between those two.

My husband also met some resistance from his family – they said a Christian girl would not be able to get used to their traditions, putting our new family in jeopardy.

When I finished my sophomore year, we galloped without telling anyone. I remember Easter was on the 5th of May and it was exactly the day I entered Zaza’s family. Zaza’s parents are deeply religious Muslims. The house was full of Muslim shrines: Arabic prayers from the Quran hanging on the wall, Muslim symbols everywhere, the shelves full of old Muslim books. According to the Muslim tradition, a new daughter-in-law has to look through a sieve and has to drink special sweetened water made for the occasion. For the first three days, I was so exhausted from the cultural shock that I couldn’t get out of the bed. My father-in-law sat by my pillow praying. He didn’t leave the place until I get up.
The first year was a year of adaptation to life in the two different cultures and religions. Every day I realized more and more how many misconceptions people have against Muslims. Under these labels, I discovered educated, kind and delightful people.

Just once did my mother-in-law tell me that they were a bunch and I couldn’t change them and maybe it would reasonable to think about accepting their faith. I replied that since I was happy to be a part of their family and their faith didn’t bother me, it should be the same for them. I even carried my cross openly. She agreed and after that, we never had that conversation again.

My father-in-law, by tradition, prayed loudly every morning. As a gesture of respect, I never refused to cook Muslim meals on their Bahram and I helped them set the table. With great respect, I cleaned the dust from their religious books and before the prayer I changed the water. I believe that there are not many Gods; God is one and we have different forms of expression and if we don’t respect these forms, we’ll lose first God, then ourselves.

At the same time, I had a corner with Orthodox icons where I prayed. At every Easter, my mother-in-law honored my traditions by painting eggs red and baking Paska (Georgian traditional sweet bread prepared for Easter). Despite their traditions, they never asked me to wear special clothes. While I was continuing my studies and caring about my career progression, I didn’t get any objections from them. I always congratulated them to Bairam and they did the same when it was my Orthodox holidays. It was how we broke stereotypes and opened a door to a new world.

I was heartbroken sometimes, not from the family but from society. I often heard our neighbors talking about me in Turkish, rebukes about Gurji(Georgian) daughter-in-law. As if I was different because of that. Also, I have been heartbroken when my relatives visited me and mocked me for the Arabian aesthetics at home. Later, when I started working in the educational system, I had some conflicts with teachers when they talked about the differences between Georgian and Adjarian people. The narrative is well known that if you are Adjarian, then your appearance, cultural and social levels are low. I said loudly that yes, my children and my husband are from the Muslim Adjarian family, but we have to look beyond peoples beliefs, look deep inside and only see them as they are, nothing else.

Zaza and I initially agreed that we would allow our children to choose their faith, but after some time my husband and his brothers and sisters were baptized as orthodox. Nowadays most of the family members are orthodox Christians. Zaza’s mother is very worried about it, but she never mentioned anything in our conversations. She is suffering silently. Because of finances, we had to move to Bolnisi. Zaza and I are both working here. I’m the school deputy and I teach Georgian language and literature. We visit Adjara at least 4 times a year. Our children know that some of their family members are Muslims and it’s not a shame for them. They know that they have to respect other religions, just as they want their own to be respected.

Author: Maiko Chitaia
Photo: Nino Baidauri
Translation: Mariam Kajrishvili

The post Nino Devnozashvili-Shainidze, 36 years old, Bolnisi/Zemo Adjara appeared first on WomenOfGeorgia.

Many of my family members are seamen, including my father, my brother and my uncles. My dad has not served on a ship ever since the death of my uncles caused by the sinking of the ship Memed Abashidze. Growing up, I always dreamed of embarking on an epic sailing journey. The idea of traveling around the world and visiting foreign countries always fascinated me. Besides, working as a sailor is one of the highest paid jobs, yet the field is mainly dominated by men. I thought to myself: why can’t I take that opportunity, too?
So I decided to pursue sailing.

In the vessel management faculty of the maritime academy I was the only female among 121 students, showing up for every morning formation properly dressed in a uniform. I remember a lot of people pointing their fingers at me – filled with astonishment and disapproval of a girl who chose to pursue a path of a sailor. Female sailors are so uncommon that the sailor’s uniform only fits men, implying that dresses do not belong here. One time my English lecturer told me: “You are a nice girl, a talented student, but there’s no doubt that 4 years from now, once you complete your studies, you will rather get married and find a job in your hometown, Batumi.”

In exactly 4 years I was chosen amongst 6 most successful students for an interview with Columbia – a marine agency – that was looking for new employees – sea cadets – for the upcoming international trip. I passed the test successfully but one of the East European examiners told me: “You will be rejected because of your gender. You are a woman”.

I was terribly upset even though it did not affect my determination to continue fighting till the end. I managed to fully demonstrate my knowledge in the next stage of the selection, during a Skype interview. Surprisingly, one of the interviewers was a female employee of the agency. 15 minutes after the interview was over, I received a phone call from the agency congratulating me on getting the new job on their ship.

That was the first successful fight I had won against the cultural and social restrictions set for women. My high qualifications and my knowledge in the field of navigation has also been proven by the fact that I was chosen as a staff member for a nautical vessel with a width of 365 meters and with a height of 68 meters, loaded with up to 14,000 units of shipping containers filled with new cars. This was a huge responsibility.

I remember a book I read when I was a student called Sea and Four Daughters”. Sadly, most people don’t even know that the first sailor from Georgia achieving a high-grade marine position in the beginning of the 20th century (even though she was not able to claim the Captain’s title) was a woman from Batumi named Julia Phailodze. By some extraordinary coincidence Julia lived in the same house as I do, and worked in the same library where I found the book that inspires me so much. Certain barriers kept Julia from reaching the Captain’s position. After exactly a century, here I am, the second Georgian female sailor, eventually to become the first female Sea Captain from my country.

I worked as a cadet for the first six months and was the only female member of the crew. Usually, after 6 months of service sailors prefer to return to their homes, since it is so hard to deal with the deep sentiments arising in an open sea. However, I decided to prolong my contract for up to 8 months. This would give me the chance to grow professionally and to apply for the position of a 3rd assistant to the Captain. I would be able to work on my self-esteem and realize that I was able to handle challenging tasks independently. The Captain, curious about my decision, approached me and asked whether I was completely sure about staying on the ship for additional 2 months. I had already made up my mind.

Several months later I was actually promoted and was I managing the ship’s manoeuvre from its bridge independently as a 3rd officer. Now I’m mostly responsible for the ship’s safety management and technical maintenance. In the evenings when everyone is resting I’m in charge of the ship’s manoeuvre from the sea cabin. Once, one of my fellow Ukrainian sailors confessed to me that he began praying for survival the night after he saw that I, a 22-year-old young woman, was in charge of the ship’s navigation.

Even though the crew members of the ships I serve on are mostly from Europe and have worked with fellow female sailors, I still have to deal with gender stereotypes. For example, once my male colleagues made a bet that I would get sick during a storm and would not be able to eat food. Guess what actually happened – they got sick and I ate a double portion.

Gender stereotypes in Georgia are even worse. People believe that a sailor’s job is not only inappropriate for a woman, but women in general belong in the kitchen. I was on a ship when I first read the Facebook comments on a post about me. I was being criticized. By whom? Mostly women! That was very devastating for me but I decided not to respond to any of the negative feedback. I believe that I perform very effectively in my job, and that serving on a ship is equally safe or unsafe for women and men, especially during storms. I care for my career advancements and the improvement of my financial state. My family and friends are highly supportive of me, so the criticism is just a matter of underdevelopment.

The sad thing is that I have already been celebrating holidays like my birthday or New Year on the ship for three years now. Sailors are leading the ship in the silence while everyone’s having fun ashore. But you get used to it. Now I’m 24 years old and I think I don’t have time to complain. I’ll definitely become a sea Captain one day.”

Author: Maiko Chitaia
The Women of Georgia project gives a special thanks to Mamuka Chkhikvadze for taking photos and for his support for the project.
Translation: Natia Kuprava

The post Natia Labadze, 24 years old, from Batumi appeared first on WomenOfGeorgia.

“Every morning before I go to school to give a lesson, I sit on the beach, observe the movement of waves and think about the dreams I have achieved and the dreams I will definitely achieve in the future.”

“They Got Me Engaged When I was 13”

“Our family moved from Khulo to Tsalka due to a landslide. A day wouldn’t pass without a “matchmaker” coming to our house to ask my hand in marriage. I was no longer able to leave the house. My father got me engaged to the oldest and the most dignified man for my own safety. At first, I liked it when people came to my house with sweets and new clothes. I was in 9th grade at that point. It was in 10th grade when my mother forbade me to read books – this was when I actually realized that early marriage would do me no good. “You’d better learn to do household chores”, she said, “Don’t make me ashamed of you when you go to a new family”. Daddy was a teacher and the only person in our family who supported me getting an education. When he was at home I was allowed to sit like a queen and read books. Even my fiancé told me once that I was wasting my time and books would not do any good in the household. Of course, I protested my engagement because I could feel the threat of losing my freedom with this person. However, my protest proved to be powerless. I was in 11th grade when my fiancé kidnapped me for marriage. I remember daddy’s cousin, the head of the police department at that time, coming to us the day after. I was hoping that they would return me home. Instead he advised me not to upset my father and not to ask him to take me back. He said my father would be crestfallen for the rest of his life because of me; he would have a daughter under his roof who returned home after being kidnapped for marriage. This man had such a strong effect on me that I could not utter another word and I told my father that I was staying there out of my own will. That’s how I got married.”

“I realized that life without education would be hard for me”

“After graduating from high school, I intended to continue my studies. I spent a whole year studying hard and preparing for the university entry exams. However, in the final days I was confronted with resistance from my husband’s family; they thought I should have postponed exams for the following year since I was pregnant at that time. My parents had already moved back to Adjara. I remember daddy calling me to say hello shortly after that. I told him I wasn’t taking the exams that year because of my pregnancy. I was crying quietly on the phone. I knew there would be no such thing as “next year”, the child would be born, I would become involved in a new routine and I would not be able to continue my studies. Soon the bridge near Choloki was blown up. Daddy came to see me in Tsalka the next day. Turns out he crossed Choloki on foot to take me to Tbilisi for the entry exams. We could not make it in time for the exams. It was my father again who contacted the Ministry of Education, explained my situation to them and they rescheduled the exam just for me. That’s how I became a student at the faculty of pedagogy at the Ilia Chavchavadze State University. “

In the Herd

“After graduation I started to teach civic education and geography in Gumbati, a village in Tsalka. I already had two children at that time and we were starting to have financial difficulties. My parents-in-law were both ill, my husband was unemployed and my salary wasn’t enough for anything. That’s why we decided to herd the village cows, about 500-600 of them, for additional income. We had to move to the mountains with tents. Imagine me living in a tent for months – I was the first to wake up in the morning, I took care of the elderly, milked the cows, made cheese, made dinner, took care of the children, went to school and went herding once a week. I used to take kids with me to herd. In addition to that, I had to go to the village, which was 8 kilometres away from our tents, every day to take care of the household. I had to learn to ride a horse to get faster to unpaved places. I used to ride a horse to school as well – I tied it near the house, changed, attended teacher council meetings and then went back on horse. I lived like that for 3 years. “

In the Beehive

“During the time we lived in the mountains, we got a new neighbour – a beekeeper who came up there with his beehives. That was when I first got interested in beekeeping. I got the chance to spend 2-3 hours a day in a beehive to learn everything, obviously, with the help of our new neighbour. I spent two years mastering this new pursuit in practice. This experience made me realize that I had to start a new business – beekeeping.

One day there was a meeting in Tsalka of the representatives of Ministry of Agriculture on the matters of cooperatives. I heard about it by chance and jumped on my horse immediately to get to Tsalka in time for the meeting. That’s where I spoke about my new business idea for the first time –in order to bring it to life it was necessary to create a cooperative of beekeepers. I attended a training session in Tbilisi, got to know the legislation and the system of bee-keeping and started looking for members of the cooperative. I had my mind made up from the start: I wanted women to join. My heart aches for the women from rural areas who get especially oppressed. Unfortunately, they don’t even know that they have countless opportunities. If you ask them what they do they will say that they do nothing when in reality they do so much work on a daily basis… Being secondary human beings and depending on their husbands is so deeply imprinted on women’s consciousness that they don’t believe in their own abilities. At first, the cooperative consisted of 3 women – my mother, my childhood friend and me. We received 50 beehives and 20% was co-funded. I kept empty beehives in my yard for a year. That’s how I established a business-oriented beekeeping cooperative.

At first they laugh at you, Then they acknowledge you

Villagers and family members used to make fun of me and criticize me. They said women had no place in business. They looked at empty beehives and made fun of me… I slowly started writing projects while I also studied developing business plans and we won several projects in a year: we purchased bee families, inventory, and started to expand. There currently are 19 women who are members of our cooperative. There are women from Samtredia, Marneuli, and Batumi among them. We have 405 bee families in total and we produce honey according to the same standard. We also received a quality certificate from Estonia. We try to produce organic honey. I developed an experimental project within which I manufacture a plant-based medicine against bee diseases and test them. I’m currently testing a particular kind of a plant-based medicine. We went through two seasons with it successfully and if it goes well this winter I am going to make the recipe public.”

A new stage – living alone

“I left Tsalka and went back to my parents in Adjara. After 15 years I realized that I had not created anything valuable while being with my husband. I always knew I could do more but unfortunately, I had no support from him. I matured and developed significantly. I helped local farmers with writing business plans, I won grants, I was looking to export and he didn’t stand by me in any of these endeavours, on the contrary, he was always an obstacle. We had no shared interests or dreams any more. That’s why I decided to take care of myself and my children independently and move forward.

I would never have managed to leave my family without my formal education. My father thinks he made a huge mistake when he got me engaged at an early age. He worries a lot about it and tries to fix his mistakes by standing by my side and helping me to move forward.

Apart from giving lessons in civic education in two schools of Batumi, I get additional income from writing projects and I also give private lessons in geography. I was enrolled in a master’s program this year. I will study oenology (wine production). I developed a technology to produce wine from honey and I plan to produce honey-based wine for export in the future.
Not long ago I got invited to teach beekeeping at Batumi University. To me this was a big acknowledgement of my work.

The more successful I am, the more I can do for my children. I will have more means to support their education, development, and they won’t have to go through what I went through.”

Author: Maiko Chitaia
Photo: Nino Baidauri
Translation: Ani Gogberashvili

The post Manana Bolkvadze, 31, Batumi/Tsalka appeared first on WomenOfGeorgia.

I was studying in Germany, and I had already reached a stage where I was able to take my child with me (she had been staying with her grandmother in Batumi until she was 2), and I had already found a job. At that time, the so-called Rose Revolution broke out in Georgia. Not long afterwards, Abashidze’s 13-year regime, the burden of which my family was unable to evade, was also overthrown, and this was exceedingly important to me. I always wanted to study abroad; I was enjoying my stay there, but I was still constantly thinking about returning home. Hence, as soon as my “revolutionary” friends contacted me, and as soon as I was convinced that these changes called for everyone with a profession and expertise to return to Georgia and support their country, I made up my mind to go back to Batumi. This was my idealistic view back then. I sincerely believed, or that’s how it seemed from afar, that from then on, the country would develop properly. It was with this same sincerity that I engaged into politics – I became a member of Adjara’s Supreme Council, a legislative body.

I cannot say that I could fully grasp the political issues, nor did I have relevant experience for serving as an MP. However, I wanted very much to contribute to this new process of development. This is how I perceived my role, I believed I could change many things. However, I was terribly disappointed – no governance style, no openness, no citizen engagement. I soon realized how superficial everything was and moved to the opposition. I could see that here the truth was spoken, bold truth against the ruling majority’s popular but false claims. In 2005 I joined the Republican Party – a party where people have been loyal to the ideas for decades.

Out of the thirty members of the Supreme Council, only five were women. I was a young woman, a newcomer in politics. It was then that I first understood what it means to be a minority – a young female politician in a male-dominated space. Unsolicited compliments, vague comments, inappropriate, sometimes indecent jokes – this is what we as women sometimes cannot cope with, because of a inexperience or awkwardness. No one teaches us to resist this – that’s how they raise us. For some reason, our society thinks that this is how it should be.
I frequently experienced discomfort – eventually also a feeling of protest; however, I didn’t know what to do. Having gone through all this, I always say that girls should be taught from an early age how to react in these situations; that this discomfort is not their fault and that this is where discrimination starts. I myself didn’t know that. Once I was giving a speech and I was harshly interrupted by a male MP – he pointed to the time limit (although he failed to restrict the male speaker before me). I did not back down and asked for the reason why the time constraints only came to mind when I was the one speaking. After the session, the MP publicly told me with a grin – ‘Do you really want to know what comes to mind when I see you near the microphone?’. I did not like the joke. And then he added that he could whisper it in my ear.

Never before had I experienced such an intense feeling of protest. Nevertheless, I did not know how to conduct myself around a man of my father’s age whom I had always addressed with respect. I left enraged, feeling a surge of protest, discomfort, questioning whether or not it was my fault or why this happened. No one told me that this was discrimination against women and that I had to fight back, not only to protect yourself, but to protect every woman! Naturally it was a woman who defended me. I complained to my mother, who, along with freedom, taught me modesty, but this time she advised me not to pay attention to age or rank, that it was not my fault, rather, it was the fault of the society we lived in, and that a stern response was my next step. Unfortunately, I had experienced this kind of treatment not only from elderly men, but also from my peers – ambiguous, sarcastic questions about my husband’s return from Germany, or interjections at protest rallies like – “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a child to take care of at home?”. Discrimination has no age, but the timing of when we teach boys and girls what discrimination is has a lot to do with age – in kindergarten, at school and in the family – this needs be taught thoroughly.

My harsh responses, loud self-defense, attacks to guard my position, were followed by new labels – “bitch”, “an aggressive woman”, etc. Behavior that is absolutely normal for a man “does not suit” a woman and she becomes an outsider, infringing upon the limits of established norms. This is the fate of women in male-dominated politics. But the situation is changing and I think that we, too, are encouraging this process – women in politics, as well as forward-thinking men without complexes who understand that there can be no development without equality. I was lucky to have found myself a member of such a party and to have had progressive parents and friends. This is a privilege, which many women in this country do not have and it is for their sake that we must not spare neither energy, nor time, nor efforts to empower them, to enable them to believe in themselves.

When I started working at the Heinrich Boell Foundation, where I was the Gender Programme Coordinator, everything started to make sense – I could finally put a label on everything around me. The protest that was part of my political work and every step that I took in life – including the way I raised my daughter, Salome – was what feminists experienced. I had always been a feminist without realizing it. Nowadays, I meet a lot of people like that, who have not yet thought about this. That is also true for the members of the party. I myself only realized that I was in fact a feminist at the age of 32. Stereotypes about feminism have yet to be broken and I am trying very hard to accomplish that.

Another stereotype which must not only be shattered but acknowledged by the Government as the result of its actions – the stigma of a single mother. A single woman who gives birth to a child, or a divorced mother raising children alone faces a multitude of problems – societal perceptions that set particular standards, and in everyday life, where it is two-three times as difficult to overcome this plethora of barriers. Our state has no support programs that assist single mothers in the development of their professional careers, that provide financial support or inner strength.

I had no need of such support when I moved to Tbilisi with my 9-year-old Salome. I had a job and I found a school where students could stay until 6 pm. Being single also defines your choices – what school to enroll your child in, where to rent an apartment, what activities to involve your child in, how much time to devote to friends. I used to cook at night and spend time with Salome or my friends after work. On the weekends, I tried to pay quick visits to the party office so as not to lose touch with fellow party-members. I craved the company of like-minded people. I managed to accomplish all these things with the help and support of my friends and parents, and I am proud of my achievements. However, I can’t stress this enough: there are a lot of single mothers, and there is so much that we should be doing for them, including the government. Unfortunately, it is not a priority for the authorities. And unless humanity is central, it is very difficult to talk about the protection of one particular vulnerable group.

Women have no obstacles in the Republican Party. I say this based on my personal experience. However, while serving as a Chairwoman, I discovered that it is far more difficult to persuade women than men to run for positions within the party. While voting in the party’s committee, especially in the regions, I quickly noticed that women refrained from nominating themselves or other women for key positions, and the men also refrained from nominating female candidates. At times like this, I always remember Heinrich Boell’s phrase: “Meddling is desirable”. And thus, we meddled and openly demanded the proactive nomination of women as candidates; we started holding conferences for women, befriending progressive men, more and more frequently encouraging female participation. There was resistance, attitudes such as – “You have no obstacles, why do we need special measures?”, or “They’ve started up with this gender thing again”, but as it happens, when you are loyal to an idea and do not let hard work wear you down, and if you are not alone in your struggle, you start to gradually see results. Now we have already agreed on gender quotas within the party. The discussion and debates on the subject within the party’s main body, the National Committee, were very interesting. It was one of the most memorable and emotional discussions.

It should not be considered a privilege or a source of pride for a woman to have independently achieved so much in male-dominated politics, that she is “the only one” among the numerous men. I have heard plenty of such rhetoric. The problem often lies within us women. As long as we believe that being the one and only in this field is a privilege, nothing will change. On the contrary, we have to see this as a problem, make others see it as a problem, and loudly defend our right to be just as numerous as men, to be equal, since equality is essential for making the right decisions. We, as women, have to raise the curtain on women’s problems. We have to stand in solidarity with each other, so that women and girls, for whom we set an example, feel the power of this support and believe in themselves through our encouragement and energy. Let us repeatedly tell the girls and the women around us – “You can do it!”, these words have great power, I can say this based on my own experience.”

Author: Nino Gamisonia
Photo: Nino Baidauri
Translation: Nino Nadaraia

The post Khatuna Samnidze, 38, Batumi/Tbilisi appeared first on WomenOfGeorgia.

“Surname
———
I’d like to start telling my story by stating that I am a feminist. It hasn’t been long since I identified myself as a feminist. My surname attests to that – my surname and that of my diseased husband speak of my being a feminist and also the evolution I’ve been through. I have often been asked, especially recently, if I would change my surname, to which I answer: “No”. Back then, when we registered our marriage, changing of the surname seemed like a great adventure and I did not think there was anything wrong with it. Today, I wouldn’t do the same, obviously, but now it is part of my identity and history so I am not going to erase it.

A widow
———-
I’d like to use this platform to talk about my experience as a widow. This may be important for other women, because I think that widowed women are a special social group.

My husband lost his life in an accident and due to a delayed emergency care at the Goderdzi Ski Resort in January this year. Temuri had never been ill and I had never thought that I would lose him some day. So I was not prepared either emotionally or financially.

Rather than talking about emotions, I’d like to focus on the attitudes that my new experience brought into my life. My personality as an independent woman had been shaping for years. Temuri had never restricted my independence while we lived together. After his death I found out that it was not only husband that I had lost. I lost my independence in a sense that I became a person who had to be pitied and urged to be strong every single time, because the only thing that was expected from me was weakness. It was hard for me to face the fact that along with losing Temuri I was losing my identity – in the eyes of other people.

I’ll give you an example: Temuri and I lived together with our child and I wanted us to remain in that house after his death. Everyone around me considered this was a bad idea. They expected me to move to my or Temuri’s parents’ home. One neighbor would keep asking me: “So, you are here most of the time?”

During our first three meeting I politely answered: “yes”. And when I was asked the same for the fourth time, I replied in an irritated tone: “Yes, I am here most of the time, because this is where I live.” Had I died, my husband would never have been seen as weak and helpless who cannot live alone. For men, even in mourning, expectations and requirements are different. Temuri might have received offers of help in childcare – something that I will never receive, because it is my job anyway. He would have received many calls offering help in cooking a meal or cleaning the house, etc. While in my case the main problem was that it was not “entirely proper” for a widowed woman to live alone.

Black
——
Another critical issue is getting rid of black clothes. I know women who have worn black for a long time and I do not judge them. For some, wearing black may be a relief and they, as part of this culture, may think it is respect to the memory of the diseased. I believe dressing a widowed woman in black is a tool of controlling women. In our culture, widowed women wear black for the longest period of time, only exceeded by mourning mothers. A widow clad in black is wearing a uniform, which restricts her, reminds her that if she deviates from the cultural norms, she will be punished. I took off black very soon. To say that I was not subject to criticism, would not be true. However, it is important that criticism did not come from my family. They did not interfere in what I wore or how it would affect my reputation. “Apparently she did not love him very much”, “She’s not that hurt”, “He’s the one to be pitied, she’s fine. She’ll get married and take care of herself.” – such judgment mostly came from the people who were complete outsiders, and had nothing to do with my life.

If the contrary had happened, Temuri would have been advised that he had to get married soon, because the child needed a mother. A woman will NOT be told that in our culture. Besides, I am at such an age that I will not be spared – told it is time to stop mourning and live on. My observation is that only very young girls are allowed to take off black and re-marry after a certain period of time. This permission comes from someone else, obviously. In my case, my unfavorable age is coupled with the fact that I have a son. In this culture, a boy’s mother must not get married and raise her son with another man.

Because it such attitudes, my friends advised me to wear black a little longer. I refused to follow their advice, because I was sure I would be frowned upon anyway when I took off black – after one year or three years, it didn’t matter. People need to get used to the idea that black is not the only way of showing respect. And, generally, my experience has taught me that if you stay alive, you need to live on. Widowed women are deprived of this right in our culture. Unlike many other women, I am very fortunate that my family acknowledge my freedom. Most of these women, after being widowed, stay with the parents of their husband or their own parents, where they are devoid of any private space.

Sexuality
——————
I am well aware of and prepared for the next stage, which is full control of my sexuality. I have to live under constant scrutiny – who I go out with, who I talk with… I have never lived behind locked doors and I am certainly not going to live like that today, because I need to communicate with people now more than ever. My son needs human relationships, that is why, we can often be found in crowded places, where people are having fun. My conduct is definitely going to be judged as badly as my clothes. If we draw another comparison with a widowed man, his mingling with crowd, drinking and having fun would be attributed to his trying to cope with sorrow. Nobody is ever going to say the same about me, if I’m seen drinking. Right?

After Temuri’s death, my friends advised me to get away from here if I wanted to keep living. I could not have a private life free of control. On the one hand, I agree that it is like stepping on red-hot coals and, if not impossible, it is very difficult to keep walking. However, on the other hand, I don’t think running away and hiding is a way out. By staying, we give other people power to fight.
Expectations to sexuality of a widowed woman is very much like that of a virgin girl, i.e. she, just like a virgin, should not and must not have sex. If a virgin girl is obliged “to keep virginity” for her future man, I had a similar obligation to my past and my son. I try to see the lighter side of things but the truth is that it is very stressful to live in the environment where, along with losing your beloved, you have to deal with further restricted freedom.

Son
———
If you are not mourning ostentatiously, they may easily decide that you don’t care. They can’t wait to see you falling apart. This is especially obvious when it comes to children. They keep telling me that Sandro is young so he will get over it more easily. Those who say it know nothing about child psychology. He, certainly, has his way of expressing sorrow but it does not mean that since he’s young he cannot feel anything. My main objective was to make sure that Sandro knew he was not going to lose me too.

I am often asked if I will make a real man out of my son for Temuri’s sake – a real man who will stand up for himself. They seem to be sorry for Sandro that he is left with only his mother. I reply that Temuri had always wanted a kind and hardworking son, and I am going to honor his wish. And by the way, I always stand up for myself too.”

(By Ida Bakhturidze)

The post Natso Beridze-Gabaidze, 33, Batumi appeared first on WomenOfGeorgia.

Recently I’ve been known more as Natia, and I approve of it. I feared that I had been too lost in Frida. People close to me warn me not to seek resemblance with her; she was a tragic, adventurous woman, they say. I think, considering the reality of Georgia, I could qualify as a rebel on par with Frida. Working in a café in Adjara is not easy at all. They think I am not educated and from a low social class. My café is special because I am not only the owner but also a host, meeting the clients, serving and sometimes going in the kitchen to prepare orders. Some people are not used to such down-to-earth treatment. Once a politician told me: “I heard that Trotsky has been your guest”. He hinted that as a girl from Batumi, working in a café, I might not have known anything about Frida.

My family comprises women only – my mother and three sisters. Only our cat is male. My mother is a true rebel. She became a widower in a difficult time. You need to be a rebel to open a groceries booth beside a road from Batumi to Gonio in the dark 90s and involve your teenage girls in the business. We put up a wallpaper and decorative tiles in the booth and scribbled poems all over it. We had one battered tape recorder with two cassette tapes. We would light fire in the wood burning stove and make coffee. The whole neighborhood would gather there. That booth was the only light in those dark times and I think it helped us all to survive. This is how we started out as business-women. Now I have my Rakushkas. My life is like a movie, I see and hear so many stories and so many people visit my café that if I was a decent writer, I would publish a book.

In my café, everything is made with my hands. I have preserved its simplicity and decorated it with interesting and colorful hand-made items. A few years ago, I hung a mirror that still bears the scrawl “Show me my tan”. It is fun watching clients posing before that mirror. The menu for the café is feminist too. All the dishes are named after women. Only one table carries a male name – I converted a sewing machine into a table and called it Shukri, after my grandfather.

It is impossible to run business from an office. If you don’t know what it’s like to work as a waiter or a cook you will never be successful. You will often find me behind the counter. I made a symbolic window to create a barrier between the sea and me. You might not believe me but I have not stepped into the sea for years. I can’t even swim. When I don’t feel like watching the sea, I draw the curtain down, and when I miss it, I just have to open the window…

As the café is a seasonal business, my major occupation is working at school. I teach arts to young children – together we paint, sculpt and have fun. Once, in late spring, when we were all sick of endless rain, I went into the class and told the kids to draw a wild spring. Some of them drew the Sun in a colorful dress like the one I wore, some drew an evil monster that had swallowed the Sun. Children develop through fantasies that is why I enjoy my work as an arts teacher.

I am not thinking of getting married. The independence I have obtained is very dear to me. In our culture, men tend to try to make you dependent on them, so getting married is risky. By the way, men seem to fear independent women, they must be thinking that they cannot control such a woman, so their masculinity is threatened. I think if obedience is not an inherent trait of yours, you will never be able to pretend. Sometimes I decide to become tender, agreeable lady, or pretend that I am scared of spiders. It doesn’t work, I am NOT scared of spiders.

I have to do something like a homework now. The summer season is approaching so I am preparing new conceptual decorations for the café. If you happen to be passing by, drop in. Natia-Frida will be there.“

The post Natia (Frida) Bolkvadze, 36, Batumi appeared first on WomenOfGeorgia.

I started thinking about feminist movement and gender equality at the age of 13-14. In hindsight, I can remember a few instances when I clearly felt I was being treated more unfairly than boys were. In the third or the fourth year at school, our teacher banned girls from wearing trousers. I revolted against this decision, I felt mistreated compared to boys and demanded a restriction for the boys too. Even though I loved dresses and often wore them, and even though I was intimidated by the teacher, I deliberately wore trousers for the next few days. My protest came as a surprise because I had always been an excellent student, the teacher’s favorite.

It affected my relationship with my mother as she was a teacher too and I had put her in an awkward position. The winter was harsh so they had to abolish the ban soon. However I remember this incident as my first realization that I was discriminated, and my first objection to it.

My sense of protest intensified when I started reading stuff and watching TV shows about feminism. The breakthrough, however, came when a girl in my class got married when we were in the 9th form. I was a student of the media-school of the newspaper “Batumelebi” then and we were asked to choose and cover controversial issues prevalent in our region. When I mentioned the problem of early marriage in my group, it turned out that many of those who went to the media-school together with me, had heard of similar cases. It turned out to be an extremely big problem in our region. The Adjara region is next to last in the ranking of Georgian regions according to the early marriage statistics. This realization worked like a trigger for me.

I can only share what I know from my practical experience. I was a member of “Batumi Youth Center”, where we held awareness trainings in various parts of Adjara for schoolchildren, most of them of my age. My topic was gender equality and girls’ education. I always meticulously prepared for these meetings because this topic usually caused a heated debate. We were frequently told: “You come here (Khulo, Shuakhevi, or Keda) from the city and teach us gender equality but we have our rules here!” The attitude was often rather hostile to me personally. I told them I lived in the village, I lived right there next to them, but they were unyielding.

Probably because I was very young I did not realize the early marriage problems, but after my classmate’s marriage, I started to pay a closer attention to it. Every year, a few girls get married at an early age from my village. Even the statistics of my village alone are alarming. Frequently, the girls are not forced into marriage. The parents decide that “the boy is decent” and the girls agree to marriage. The biggest problem is that the girls don’t want to study and, through marriage, they get a nice pretext to abandon studies, and the parents are happy for it. The girls marry on their own accord and the parents encourage them to do so.

My family has been another extreme. Studying has always been a priority. My parents made me put aside everything else and focus on studying. I could always get away on the pretext of studying and be idle at home all day long. My friends, I think have household chores to do when they get home, some work in the garden or the field. It is their daily routine. For me, there was no such obligation and if I did anything, I did it voluntarily. On the contrary, the parents would scold me to study for exams.

A few years ago, a new project “Dad, read me a book!” appeared. I am happily following it. It is a very sensitive issue because, as usual, we are short of caring dads. When I was reading fathers’ letters, I realized that I had never had this problem. My father had always read books to me. What drove me to learn something, to read a book, was the expectation that I would discuss it later with dad. I guess I was lucky.

I was an exception from my friends when we were planning a trip or an event together. They had to worry if their fathers would let them go. They were usually close to their mothers. I used to wonder why mothers told them to “go ask dad”. It was unaccepted that mothers downplayed their own authority like that. I have never had a problem with dad. Mom was more of a conservative. If I needed parents’ approval of something, dad was usually the first I went to.

My father may not understand and accept what I do or used to do but he knows that I must make my own decisions. He also understands that I am a different individual, I have different goals, a different taste and he respects that.

I believe school is one of the main institutions that reinforces gender stereotypes. I’ve always got into trouble at school for differing from my teachers’ viewpoints. However, as my mother was a teacher too, I tried to tone down my attitude a little. At the age of 13-14, when I became more active, I realized that my village did not offer enough opportunities to actualize my potential. I started visiting Batumi and participating in various activities. I came home late. The village found it “suspicious”. In the beginning, I was anxious about public opinion and annoyed at being asked all the time where I had been all day. I used to tell them that I went to see my aunt. Telling them the truth – that I was going to a training in an organization – meant thousand more questions like “What organization?”, “What training?” I was reluctant to explain it all because I could not find a common language with them anyway. They told my mother I may not return home one fine day, that I would put clothes instead of books in my bag and leave forever. They thought I went on a date. Even if I had gone on a date, so what? Why was that a problem? Gradually, I got used to it, but having everyone talking and gossiping about me was harsh to bear in the beginning. Having watched me for four years lead this lifestyle, they finally left me alone.

I have always tried to discuss my reaction to various issues to the people of my age, to explain things, to listen to their opinion, to debate but I have given up. On the village bus, where I’ve often faced sexist attitude, I have thought reacting was in vain. My peers would laugh in my face when they heard the words “feminism” and “gender”; however, after a while they all knew that I was a feminist. They would come up to me and ask: “How do you see it as a feminist? What does it look like from a feminist point of view?” Yet, most people sneered. Only a few of my friends were respectful of my choice.

I want to emphasize distinction of books in bookshops based on gender. There are departments for “Books for Girls” and “Books for Boys”. How could anyone assume that there is a book for girls and there is a book for boys? The girls’ department is full of books in pink covers – “How to Dress Princesses”, and others. I am living with my cousin at the moment and I have to explain to her little children on a daily basis that pink is not necessarily a “girl” color, that a girl can become a pilot, that a boy can iron clothes, etc. They ask why I think I know better than the authors of those books. “It’s written in the book, how can it be wrong?!” I’m not sure if I know any better than the authors of those books but I believe it to be an important problem and it bothers me very much.”

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