But the ship never reached Istanbul.
Because of a technical problem, it stopped instead at the nearest port: Poti, on the Black Sea coast of Georgia.
My grandfather was the oldest child, only nine years old. His younger sister and brother were with him. When the ship stopped, he assumed this must be the first stop their mother had mentioned. The name of the place sounded unfamiliar, but he led the children off the ship.
They waited for their mother for three days.
They had brought food for three days. After that, they had nothing left.
When their mother did not come, my grandfather took the jewels and gold their mother had given them and went to find the director of the port. He placed everything they had on the table and said simply: this is all we have, and we are hungry.
The first Georgian words my grandfather ever heard were:“ Do you want bread?”
The port director took the children in. He fed them and raised them as his own. With the money the children had brought, he built them a home and gave them a life.
Eighteen years later, their mother finally found them.
32