Day Two: Nelly
Part of the series Tbilisi: Beyond the Courtyard Gate - Day Two of Seven
My journey began with the courtyard next door. My hotel was located right in the center of old Tbilisi, in the Chugureti district, not far from Rustaveli Avenue.
I was born and raised in Russia, in Saint Petersburg, where I lived for twenty-eight years before emigrating to America. Communal living was not something I knew only from stories. Many of my friends grew up in communal apartments. They shared kitchens, toilets, and hallways with several other families, while an entire family often had to fit its life into a single room.
So when I stepped into those courtyards, something in me shifted. Memories came back with such force that for a moment it felt as if I had fallen through a crack in time and landed somewhere inside my own childhood.
That was where I met Nelly.
Of all the courtyards I saw on that trip, hers was, without question, the most beautiful.
Huge glassed-in verandas formed the outer wall of the house. They were sunrooms, really — a buffer between the apartments and the punishing summer heat.
Do you know what is hardest about being a photojournalist? It is not finding a story. It is finding trust. It is the quiet, fragile moment when the person you have chosen begins to believe you, lets you step into their life for a while, tells you their story, and shares something deeply personal.
Nelly is one hundred and three years old. When we step into her apartment, she briskly leads me into the kitchen, starts making coffee, and brings out her best things for guests — fruit and pastries. We sit down at the table, and she begins to tell me her story.
Not everything stays in her memory now. Some moments slip away, some details vanish, and her thoughts often jump from one subject to another.
She lost one of her two sons, and two years ago she also lost her husband, who went missing. Now she lives with her other son and his family. In Georgia, it is not unusual for families to live together like this. Mothers, their sons, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren often share one home, helping and caring for one another. Nelly, for example, still cooks for the whole family at the age of 103, tidies the room, and keeps everything clean and in order.
We say goodbye to each other. She writes down my phone number and my name. There is something so touching about the way people still do this by hand, and something especially tender about seeing your own name on a small piece of squared paper.
As I leave Nelli’s courtyard, I think about how life seems to stretch when someone still needs you.
