Ayna Magomedova was born in Grozny in 1941. She was deported from Dachu-Barzoy to Northern Kazakhstan.
“Of course I don’t remember the deportation itself, or the early years that followed. I wasn’t even four then. But the few episodes that I recall of my childhood, I will never forget…
“I was the youngest of three sisters. We had already been living in Kazakhstan, when the military came and took our father away. They put him in a lorry and drove away leaving us, three infant girls, alone. Crying, we ran after the lorry long after it had vanished from sight. Some time later, we met our father one last time. I remember him sitting me on his lap and kissing me goodbye. He thrust a three-rouble note into my pocket. It was a lot of money then. My sisters and I bought many cedar nuts, candies and other sweets with it…
“Then, later on, we came to be in a children’s home (an orphanage). I vividly remember the cold winters we had to pass in that dull and unfriendly institution. The children there were always half-starved. The yellow shaded porridge, or whatever they were feeding us, was completely inedible. I don’t know what it was made of, but the disgusting and bitter taste it would leave in your mouth wasn’t forgotten by anyone who ever tried it…
“I remember one rainy autumn day some children ran up to me and started shouting, “You’re having visitors! You’re having visitors!” I was surprised and I thought, “who could it be?” The visitors were my two elder sisters: Zalpa and Zalpato. I hadn’t even realised they were at the same children’s home with me, only in a different building. It seemed to me I have never been so happy as I was at that moment.
“My sisters brought two huge fire-baked potatoes for me. The potatoes were so hot that they were burning my hands. I can’t imagine how my sisters managed to bring them in their bosoms. They sat beside me until I finished one of the potatoes. I still remember its taste; it was half-baked. And I will never ever forget the day when our mother came to collect us from the home.”