Ikorta Studio

After being forced to leave Akhalgori in August 2008, we faced an uncertain future. The country was in chaos, society was divided, and we had t adapt to new problems, new people, and a new environment. I found that I needed to learn joy, happiness, and how to fight from scratch.

Up to 8,000 people who miraculously escaped from the war started living in the Tserovani IDP Settlement. They had lost their loved ones, faced physical and mental injury, and on a daily basis they had to deal with the consequences of war. The new environment was very stressful.  At the beginning, we unwittingly waited for help, which was destroying me. I felt very insulted if someone pitied me. I cannot wait for or depend on someone. My friends used to call me and offer help but I didn’t need any. I just needed a job; it didn’t really matter what kind of job it was. I needed to work in order to get my confidence back.  But at the same time, all my dreams, plans and ideas were connected to Akhalgori.

One day, I attended a training about developing social enterprises, and I was inspired to implement it in our IDP settlement. That was the start of Ikorta.

Despite our efforts to distance ourselves from the shadow of war, our surroundings and past serve as constant reminders that we are not considered “normal.” The echoes of war reverberate through society’s stereotypes, our political standing, and the labels imposed upon us. We can’t escape it.

Yet, there comes a realization that despite our attempts to forget the past, it remains firmly rooted. This truth presents us with a choice: to hang our heads in defeat or to stand tall, proud of our experiences and minor victories, and try to change others’ perceptions.

To me, Ikorta serves as a tool, through which I can narrate Ana’s story on my terms, free from the shackles of politics and prejudice. In Ikorta, therefore the echoes of war, I find strength. It is here that I refuse to be defined by the scars of the past, instead choosing to shape my own narrative, and perhaps, in doing so, influencing the narratives of others.

I was 7 years old when the war started in Akhalgori. In fleeing our home, I had to change schools and adapt to new environments many times. It became hard to feel “at home” anywhere as I felt lost everywhere. My childhood was stolen from me, and I struggle to remember a happy memory from it.

Settling in Tserovani brought relief to everyone. Although we still have a long journey ahead of us, it was the first important sense of hope for everyone in a world filled with hopelessness. Working at Ikorta has changed my life. I am beyond grateful for our team for restoring my confidence and motivation to make a difference in the world.

I was 7 years old in 2008, going to second grade, when we were informed that the Russian army was approaching and we would have to leave. The concept of losing everything and starting anew, with no certainty or expectations, was entirely foreign and inconceivable at that young age.

Despite losing everything, the hope of returning never faded. It’s likely that no one among us can claim to have never uttered the words, “When we return to Akhalgori…” By 2009, every student from Akhalgori had changed schools at least three times, eventually completing our studies in the resettlement village of Tserovani. Sometimes, I ponder what life would have been like had I remained in Akhalgori.

The Ikorta enamel workshop offered an opportunity for growth, and not only brought happiness to many but also served as a means to preserve our history. Today, my life feels incomplete without Ikorta.