Qarbajak Bebo (A memoir)
Movses Karabajakian (Nicknamed
“Qarbajak”) was my maternal grand father and I have fond memories of him. My
paternal grand mother Martha, died before I was born, and I have very faint
memory of my paternal grand father Nshan, who passed away when I was very
young. Fortunately that loss was more than compensated by my loving and caring
maternal grand parents, Movses and Sara Karabajakian that we in Kessab dialect
called Bebo, (Grandfather) and Nanar, (Grandmother).
Bebo was a loner and none
conformist type of a person. My mother use to say her father use to be a very
social person but changed dramatically after he lost his only son and the
youngest child, Stepan, to malnutrition and disease during the 1915 Armenian
Genocide “Mahajelek”.
Prior to the “Mahajelek” in
1915, Kessab leadership had discussed the possibility to resist the
deportation, retreat to the mountain close to the sea, and defend themselves,
but they decided in favor of complying with the deportation order. My mother
used to say her father was in favor of resistance. May be Bebo thought if they
defied the deportation order his son might have survived and thus stopped
socializing with the “establishment” people who had decided to obey the
deportation order. Who knows?.
I have never seen Bebo in public
events or even in church despite the fact that, his wife our angle like Nanar
was a very pious person and attended every church service. So did also my
mother and her two sisters Manushag and Anna “moorkors” (aunts).
My mother use to say when they
returned from “Mahajelek” local Latin priest, Sabatino, distributed flour to
the people attending the church and Bebo attended one church service and got
one bag of flour and never went back again. When father Sabatino saw Bebo and
asked why he did not come to church again he replied. “Oon beety dean beety”.
(Flour finished faith finished).
The memory of Stepan was
always with Bebo. He named one of his most fertile land as “Stepanain badoruh”
(Stepan’ lot) in “Dusaghaj” district and gave it his utmost care and whenever
possible engaged me and my older brother Nshan to help him to cultivate it. He
specially made sure we also harvested the fruits and the vegetable.
He also had named a huge
“Geslu dsor” (Bayleaf tree) in “Ooshnok” district as “Stepanain Gaislain”.
(Stepan’ Bayleaf tree) that stood majestically all by itself away from the
cluster of bayleaf trees that was like a forest. It was my and my brother’ duty
to harvest the black olives “gaislu bdogh” from that tree. (The oil produced
from that black olive was called “gaislu tset” (Bayleaf oil) and used mainly to
make soap). Bebo also named an ever flowing fountain at his “Dsmog” property as
“Staipanain aghpoyru” (Stepan’ fountain).
Bebo never attended school and
could not read or write but he was an excellent story teller. His stories were
all about imaginary legends, heroes, kings, princes, vezirs, that used all
kinds of hand weapons, rode flying horses, fought against evil creatures,
dragons, etc. Needless to say, heroes always won. As any good story teller,
Bebo made these stories really come alive and believable, specially for us the
young children.
Bebo had made a deal with us
that he will tel us stories only if we read him books that we borrowed from
“Qratkhana” (Library). We use to sit in front of the fireplace, Bebo to the
right side, and me to the left, while my brother sitting in the middle will
read books mostly by Raffi one of the most famous Armenian novelist. Bebo use
to listen with full attention and amazement while I enjoyed watching the “dancing”
flames of the fire that was mesmerizing.
After may brother left to
study in Antelias Seminary in Beirut Lebanon, it was my turn to read. I recall
reading the Khachaqoghy Hishadagaranuh (The Diary of the Cross Thief) also by
Raffi. Once when I read one of the characters in the book say he does not
believe in destiny “jagadaqir”, Bebo ever attentive listener, interrupted and
said “I do not believe in jagadaqir either, and added “you make your own
jagadaqir”. Considering the village “conventional wisdom” that “every thing
that happens to someone is written on his/her forehead”, this statement sounded
like a brave statement that defied the norm, and got etched in my memory.
One of Bebo’ most joyous time
other than spending time with us, his grandchildren, was when his best friend
Hassan Agha, came to visit him once or twice a year.
Hassan Agha spoke Turkish and
most probably was a Syrian with Turkish origin and lived midway between Kessab
and Latakia. He seemed to be a wealthy person and brought us many gifts. He
came with his wife his daughter and grand son younger than me and my brother.
They stayed overnight and did some shopping from Kessab merchants. (My mother
use to say during the deportation Hassan Agha had offered to shelter them, but
her father had decided to be with the rest of the deportees).
During that two day visit
there was a joyful and festive mood. There were plenty food and drinks and some
other people from Kessab stopped by, and greeted Hassan Agha in Turkish
Language. Among them was also Ovsia Saghdjian “Kara dayen” the legendary hero
of Kessab. (I wrote a story about Kara Dayee and Garo Konyalian of Montreal,
posted it on KessabHeritage.blogspot.ca and I think on Kessab Facebook as well)
Bebo specially enjoyed and
cherished the occasional visits of Kara Dayee. At the time, Kara Dayee was a
well built and dignified old man with a dark complexion and thick white hair.
He will sit on a chair with both hands on his walking cane “baston” (that was
like a revers J) as a support, and have a coffee and some intimate
talk with Bebo, who also was a dignified but more frail looking old man with
dark complexion and almost balding hair that looked more like Gandhi. Both men
were soft spoken, brave, loving, caring, and altruistic people. God Bless their
Soul. Աստուած հոգիները լուսաւորէ.
Zohrab Bebo Sarkissian.
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