Translated material
"She was one of the last to be identified." Mother - about the death of her daughter in Beslan
Today marks the 20th anniversary of the storming of school No. 1 in Beslan. On September 1, 2004, terrorists took more than 1,200 people hostage at a school. Two days later, during the storming of the school by special forces, 334 people died on the spot or later died from injuries, 186 of them were children.
Photojournalist Dmitry Belyakov worked in Beslan in September 2004 during the seizure of school No. 1. Years later, he returned to Beslan to talk to mothers who had lost their children in the attack.
Present Time publishes the memoirs of Dina Kargieva, whose 11-year-old daughter Zarina died during the terrorist attack. The interview with Dina was recorded in 2013.
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0:00 0:09:28“On September 1, 2004, I, along with my children Zarina and Alan, went to school for a festive assembly. It was supposed to start at 10 a.m. I don’t remember the capture itself well. Everything happened very quickly, in a matter of minutes. I remember how they started shooting, how people in uniform with machine guns came running from different directions, how they surrounded us and began to push us with rifle butts into the gym. Panic, shots, screams...
If we do not obey, the entire gym will be blown up along with us
The children and I climbed into the gym through the window. It was already filled with people. It was very scary... Scary for the children: they [the terrorists] threatened that if we did not obey their orders, the entire gym would be blown up along with us. They demanded silence and complete submission.
With me were my daughter Zarina, son Alan, niece Lisa, several neighbor children - they were without parents. I planted them around me... Naturally, the children were afraid, they kept asking: what will happen next, will they really kill us? I reassured him as best I could; They say they won’t kill anyone, now the adults will come to an agreement. So we sat and waited to see what would happen.
There was a rumor that they would now take the children out and leave the adults behind. The children began to get ready: they put on their things; those who were without shoes began to look for their shoes. There was hope that at least the children would be taken out and released. The terrorists were very nervous. They were in such an excited state, running from corner to corner, constantly demanding one thing or another. All this and the heat made me feel very bad, I lost consciousness. It was impossibly hot.
Zarina took care of me as best she could. She fanned me with a piece of cardboard (and where did she get it?), found some kind of wet towel (I still don’t know where she got it from), and began squeezing it into my mouth so that at least a drop of water would be mine. She begged water for me from the terrorists. I heard how she tried to shout to one militant: “Young man, young man!”
At that moment I saw that my daughter had grown up before my eyes.
While Alan could shed a tear there, she did not, she held on steadfastly. She didn’t leave my side, she was afraid for me. She told me: “Mom, be patient a little longer.” At that moment I saw that my daughter had matured before my eyes.
I heard an explosion. I was thrown away by the blast wave. Everything was already in smoke, nothing was visible. I remember next to me Alan, Lisa and Borik, neighbor’s children and a pile of corpses. There are dead bodies all around. I started looking among them, but I couldn’t find my daughter. After the explosion, a hole appeared in one of the walls, and I shouted to the children: “Run there quickly!” Lisa ran away, and the boys both returned to me, lay down next to me, grabbed my hands and did not let me go until the last.
Suddenly one of the militants tells us: run to the dining room, now the fire will break out and the ceiling will collapse. The boys and I ran to the dining room. At this time, a shootout suddenly began, and we ran into the trainer’s room to take cover. One of the terrorists flew in there with a machine gun, and our physical education teacher Ivan Kanidi attacked him. They began to fight. Canidi was already holding his machine gun tightly by the barrel. The terrorist pulled out a gun and shot him in the face. I saw. It was so terrible. He also shot at him. I remember I turned away so as not to look.
There were militants in the corridor. One of them, in Arabic clothes, all in black, long hair, a turban, a long beard, with such a smooth hand gesture showed us that everyone should move to the dining room.
There were a lot of us there - adults and children, all in one heap, and I remember there were cooking pots there. They were full of water, they were soaked before cleaning, and there were some pieces of food and detergent foam floating on the surface. And we pounced on this water. We drank. The poor children snatched it from each other, greedily, by the handful... I have never drank such sweet water!
A battle began between the terrorists and the special forces. And we lay on the floor and waited for the outcome. The terrorists forced people to stand on window sills, wave white rags, and give signals so that the special forces would not shoot. At some point I saw an opportunity to push the children out of the window. There, near the window, stood a desk. I jumped onto the lid with the children. I pushed out the neighbor's boy Borik first, and then I started pushing out my Alan. At that moment, one of the terrorists began shooting. I pushed Alan out, but the terrorist hit him (the boy was wounded in the right lung and his shoulder was damaged). Another boy, who jumped out after Alan, did not have time - he was killed, shot in the back.
I jumped back and lay down on the floor again. She lay there and waited for her moment. I thought, I was sure, this was the end. I waited: well, now, now... But after the next explosion or shot, I was still alive. I thought: when will all this end?! Then there was silence. I lay there and lay there, then carefully raised my eyes and saw right in front of me a man in a uniform and high soldier boots. And he looks me in the eyes and shows with his hand: get up, they say. And he put his index finger to his lips... I don’t even remember how I fell out of that window and found myself in the hands of the special forces.
All of us, all the relatives, were looking for Zarina. Day and night. On October 6th, we received a call and were told that my daughter had been identified based on the results of a DNA test in the Rostov 124th laboratory. Zarina was identified as one of the very last. On the eighth there was a funeral. On October 13, we had already done 40 days.
She saved herself, but did not save the child
I didn’t want to live after all this. I couldn't imagine what to do next. Firstly, it’s terribly painful that I couldn’t save my child. She saved herself, but did not save the child. After all, this is the most important thing - this is what parental duty consists of. I also had bad thoughts. Were. I couldn't come to terms with the fact that I didn't have my girl. What stopped me? Firstly, my relatives did not leave me alone at all; they tried to somehow distract me from all these difficult thoughts. They went with me everywhere.
Losing my child is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Losing your child is very difficult. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I understood that in my case there was only one salvation. I seriously thought: should I give birth again? Then all of us [women who lost a child as a result of a terrorist attack – NV] were offered to carry out the “replantation” procedure – in vitro fertilization – free of charge. I was ready for this, despite my age - I was already 44 years old then. What can I say... For some reason this did not happen. And then in February, Gala, my former student, came to me to express her condolences (she was unable to attend the funeral). She worked in a city maternity hospital. And I asked her: aren’t there cases of child abandonment?
Gala called me in March and asked if my offer was still valid? I was terribly confused... Gala said so openly: a girl was born, a very good, healthy child, without pathologies. That a physically healthy, normal woman gave birth. That she left the child...
By midnight we were already at the maternity hospital. The head doctor was somehow sympathetic to our appearance at night, although we did not pretend to see the child right away. I just wanted to talk. The head doctor told us that this is not allowed, but, having entered into our situation, she will show us the newborn. I was completely confused. To be honest, I was afraid of this meeting with the child. Too fast. In general, they brought out our baby, I took her in my hands, I wasn’t myself, and it seemed to me that I was holding her so clumsily... Yes, my hands were shaking!
Then it started... I came to see the child almost every day, and suddenly they began to tell me that the child had intrauterine asphyxia, that the consequences could be very different, even mental disability. I was going crazy. I looked at her. They brought her out to me wrapped in some gray, government-issued sheets, and in them she seemed somehow strange to me. The staff kept reminding me about asphyxia. Think about it, they say... I later realized that there were more people interested in this girl, and they definitely had someone working in this maternity hospital, but I “fell out of the sky,” and my only advantage was that I was the very first to arrive.
One way or another, I started to think. The fear arose that I would not be able to love her as my own child. I doubted how Alan would perceive her, would he be jealous? Fortunately, Alan was immediately receptive to my decision and accompanied me on trips to the maternity hospital.
In general, the mother of my close friend said: take this child home, feed her, wrap her in your warmth, you will be with her, she will hear your voice. Hold her close to you. This child will become completely different before your eyes.
Probably all this was dictated by my egoism, but this girl pulled me out. She gave me the opportunity to believe in life, to believe that everything can be solved somehow. She is, of course, a difficult child. She is hyperactive. He asks a lot of questions all the time. It can be very difficult with her... But it doesn’t bother me. She gives me some kind of charge and constantly feeds me with it. This is my child! I can’t even imagine what it’s like if I didn’t have it?!
Of course, “good people” came to me with “good advice”... They asked why I didn’t name the girl Zarina. They condemned... They say it was necessary in the name of her dead daughter. But I didn’t want to do that... Maybe out of superstition, maybe for some other reason. I chose a different name. My grandmother's sister's name was Fariza. And she lived a very happy and long life - 96 years. I thought: maybe my Fariza will get at least a piece of happiness from my grandmother’s sister?”