Salam and greetings to you from us, the Chechens living in Constantinople. We have been living in Istanbul for two years now, and although there are not many of us here, we live as only Chechens can— we stay together and help one another. Although no one helps us, we still manage to live quite well: some of us work, while others do not.
We believe that our elders may have already forgotten those who left their villages for Russia to save the homeland from the Cossacks, to put an end to the fire that burned down our best villages on the plains. But now, by the will of the great Allah, we have found ourselves in Turkey, and we see that our friends and brothers have forgotten us. But what can we do? We must go on living.
Of course, living in a foreign land is not easy, as you yourselves know.
But this is true for everyone, not just for us, and so, even though our hearts ache, we endure.
At first, we hoped that at least one person among our people would remember us and write to us, at least to ask how we were living. But it seems no one is interested in that. Many left home, but now only a few of us remain here: many have returned home, and many are living in France.
Although we took good care of one another, Allah is great, and His will is mighty: there were those among us who were killed, and those who passed away. But all of this is by the will of the great Allah.
We have heard that you have little bread, that there was no harvest, and that life is hard for you. Our hearts ache at these rumors, and we are only waiting for the time when we can see you again. We have seen many people and many cities during this time, but now we know that there is no one better than our own people anywhere.
We hope to return soon and to see all of you alive and well.
We ask you to write to us and tell us how you are living, what you are doing, and all the news there must have been a lot of it in our absence. Send your letter to Vakha Matsiyev, and he will pass it on to us. I also want to write to you about the following: You know that among us, there are many young ones who know nothing and find it hard to survive. At least think about these people and do something so they can return home.
If we were at home as you are now, we would have found a way to bring our sons back home. And if you had wanted to arrange this, you could have done so long ago.
Now, however, we ourselves are thinking of returning home.
Salam and greetings to the elders we feel sorry for them.
We do not pity ourselves, but we always think about how they are living and feel sorrow that we cannot
see them.
lam writing this letter, Denil Abakhazhiev. June 24, 1922, Constantinople.