19.10.11
DRC has been working in Abkhazia since 2005, primarily providing shelter rehabilitation and livelihood support. In 2008, DRC began to work in the education sector, and now runs a School Drop-out Prevention programme to support children’s education amongst the most vulnerable families.
“Good morning, good afternoon, good evening”, Amanda recites with a smile. Like children the world over, this blonde-haired eleven year old is learning English at school. But her enthusiasm is unusual. Understanding more than she can speak, she translates our questions to her family before our interpreter gets a chance. What does she want to be when she grows up? “An English teacher”, she beams.
In Gali, a district in eastern Abkhazia largely populated by Mingrelians (ethnic Georgians), not everyone plans so far ahead. Amanda’s parents, Eka and Gourge, were amongst the 250,000 or so people who fled Georgia’s war in Abkhazia in the early 1990s. Roughly 200,000 people remain displaced in the rest of Georgia, where after many years the government is now helping them to integrate locally. But Amanda’s family went back to Gali, the only part of Abkhazia where return is possible.
The dynamics of a frozen conflict still shape life there. UNHCR argues that the 47,000 Mingrelians in Gali continue to live in “an IDP-like situation” – even though some of them returned in 1994. Are they in independent Abkhazia, as Sukhumi claims? Or still in Georgia, as the Georgian government, like most of the international community, insists? Then there is the question of their status. Are they seasonal workers who travel back and forth from west Georgia to till their land, as Tbilisi asserts? Or permanent returnees, as Sukhumi contends? In fact, most families defy easy categories. Some prefer to keep a foot in the rest of Georgia, while others – like Amanda’s family - have rebuilt their lives in Gali. Yet almost all of them need to travel back and forth, not least to withdraw the social welfare payments that all displaced people in Georgia receive.
To the visitor, daily life in Gali appears quiet, but security can never be taken for granted. For years, the UN Mission in Georgia (UNOMIG) helped maintain a sense of stability until a Russian veto ended its mandate in June 2009. Gali residents have complained of theft (sometimes at the barrel of a gun), kidnappings for ransom, and extortion. In June 2010, following the death of an Abkhazian border guard near the boundary line, an ethnic Georgian village was attacked and several houses were burnt down. The perpetrators remain at large.
A recent Human Rights Watch report also highlights problems in the education sector. Teaching in Georgian language is only provided in half of Gali’s schools (including Amanda’s). Most teaching is done in Russian, and with few qualified Russian-speaking teachers in Gali, the quality of education suffers. Thousands of Russian border guards and their families are due to move to Gali town soon, in line with Russia’s agreement to man the dividing line with (the rest of) Georgia. Some fear that Georgian will disappear as a language of instruction altogether.
The local authorities deny that this will happen, and have recently increased the amount of Georgian lessons in the Russian-language schools. Indeed, there has been an element of change in the air over recent months. For years, the infrastructure was left to decay. Now, contractors have fixed the road to Sukhumi and the town’s water supply. Lawlessness is declining, while plans to improve the town’s roads and hospital are in the pipeline. Gali has known many setbacks in recent years, so it is too early to say how long this spirit will last. But in a region that has long suffered neglect, these improvements are welcome.
Amanda’s parents do everything they can to support their children’s education. That means providing clothes, books and lunch money. The family subsists on what they can grow: hazelnuts, grapes and figs, while their cow provides milk. A month ago, Gourge lost his job at a petrol station, so Georgian social welfare provides a vital source of cash – especially since the hazelnut harvest this year rotted in the heavy rain.
Despite her parents’ efforts, Amanda and her siblings sometimes missed school, particularly on cold winter days. Fortunately, the school director referred their case to DRC, which provided winter jackets, shoes, stationery and school bags. Now, they go more regularly, but it’s still difficult: Amanda has to catch up on classes she missed.
The needs in Gali far outweigh the resources of organizations like DRC. That is one reason why DRC aims to effect change at the policy level - typically, through combination of advocacy and “capacity building”. In theory, this would mean working more closely with the Abkhazian authorities. Although not recognized as an independent state by most of the world’s governments, they have effective control over the territory of Abkhazia. In the eyes of international law, they are bound by the same human rights standards as states the world over.
Yet capacity building in Abkhazia would be controversial. Donor governments do not recognize Sukhumi’s claims to independence; that makes them reluctant to legitimise the de facto authorities by providing them with technical support.
Meanwhile, Amanda’s parents have modest hopes for the future: educational opportunities for their children, good health and a new job for Gourge. DRC also helped to rehabilitate the family house, giving Amanda and her sister a decent, dry bedroom and a place to study. Outside of school work, though, there’s not a lot to do, and few other children live on her street. “I stay at home, playing with my sister Teona and fighting with my brother Goga,” Amanda says with a grin.
