Last year, not during the day, but at night—more like around midnight—the special forces unleashed such an unimaginable amount of gas that it wasn’t even enough for them, and they started chasing people street by street. Residents of Mtatsminda opened their doors to protesters, offering shelter. I, too, went wherever there was an opening and ended up with the most wonderful people, in the Japanese Language and Culture Center.

My family called: “Where are you?”
I said, “I’m at the Japanese Language Center.”
They didn’t quite understand—they thought I had found the calmest place, imagining a peaceful Japan.

The next day, the same thing happened again, and once more we had to escape. On Besiki Street, along with many others, I ended up in whatever open building I could find.
Again, my family called:
“Where are you?”
I looked around and realized I was in the place where, in better times, I would get my British visa.
I said, “I’m at the British Consulate.”

Nika listened to me for two days, and finally said, “Nino, I still don’t understand. Here they’re saying on TV they’re storming Parliament, and I’ll stay calm, while you, as I can see, are busy with your visa.”