In Azerbaijan, these stories are often shared through hushed voices. Secrets linger in the shadows.

I vividly recall a childhood event that etched itself into my memory. Around the family table, freewheeling discussions suddenly shifted to whispers. Curious, I wondered what was being said. It was then that one of my mother's friends shared a profound experience: her child had been taken from her by force and given to a relative. This happened because that relative had been trying for years to conceive without success. The surprise and concern I felt that day never left me, and from that moment on, the seed was planted for my photo project on the complexities of Azerbaijani family dynamics.

During my research, I encountered around 10 individuals with similar stories. For various reasons, only six agreed to be interviewed. As I immersed myself in the project, conversations with those around me revealed that such incidents were not rare and happened in many families. This deeply significant yet hidden facet of Azerbaijani society remains largely unspoken, shrouded in secrecy.

Through interviews, patterns began to emerge, providing insight into the reasons behind this practice. It became evident that biological parents never wished to give away their own kids; however, they felt compelled to succumb to societal and familial pressures. The weight of tradition and the decisions made by elders within the household played a significant role in these heart-wrenching choices.

As my project progressed, I was struck by another intriguing aspect—the phenomenal importance given to blood ties in Azerbaijani culture, contrasted with the hesitancy to consider sponsoring children from orphanages.

In this photo project, I unveil the long-kept secrets of Azerbaijani families. Through the lens of my camera, I strive to bring these untold narratives to light, encouraging introspection and dialogue about the intricate threads that weave together the very fabric of family life in our society.

My name is Zuleykha, I am a 46-year-old housewife. I got married in 1993, and my husband is the main breadwinner for our family of four. We have three daughters and one son. However, when my third daughter, Gunesh, was born in 1998, my brother-in-law, who had been childless for 18 years, asked me to allow him to adopt her. Reluctantly, I succumbed to pressure and handed her over, even though I was deeply attached to her.

The decision was made without consulting me directly; my husband and mother-in-law played a pivotal role. She said, “Your third child is a girl anyway, give it to them, your brother-in-law does not have any children, do not force him to get a kid from a stranger.” They persuaded me, arguing that it was for the best, and some relatives consoled me by saying it was temporary. My mother even threatened to make her milk “haram” for me [ to never forgive me] if I didn't comply.

On the last night before parting, I couldn't bear the thought of being without my child and clung to her, but my brother-in-law's wife intervened. The next morning, amidst tears, I handed her over, heartbroken.

Afterwards, I became depressed and traveled to Russia a month later, where my daughter was living. However, she had already grown distant from me because her adoptive mother taught her to act that way. 

One day, a stranger told my daughter at school “You are not Namig's daughter, you are Ramil's daughter.” A complete stranger. After that, we lost contact.

When we eventually reunited, my daughter referred to me as "aunt," not "mama." Though she has a family of her own now, I still miss her deeply. My other daughters blame me for the decision. Giving up my child remains one of the heaviest burdens I've ever faced. I wouldn't wish such pain upon any mother.

My name is Elshan, and I am 36. 

I was told that my uncle’s family struggled with infertility for nine years, seeking various treatments without success. The doctors even told them they would never have children. Eventually, they made the decision to adopt a child.

My father came from a large family, with four brothers and one sister, and my grandmother's words carried great weight in our household. She once told my father that when he had a second child, he should give the child to his little brother, so they wouldn't need to adopt from an orphanage.

Although they were initially planning to adopt my future sister, they chose me instead, explaining that they were attached to me and thought I was a sweet kid. I grew up thinking it was normal to have two mothers and two fathers, despite the offensive questions from society if I was adopted.

I have vivid memories of my mother crying when I was brought back to my birth parents for visits, and they didn't want to let me go. This continued for about two years until my second mother became pregnant and had two more children after me.

As a child, I couldn't comprehend the complexities of the situation, being only three or four years old. Our extended family was warm and friendly, often gathering at my grandmother's house on weekends.

Currently, I am closer to my adoptive mother, as she understands and supports me better. I think that in the 21st century, there is no need to adopt children from relatives. Instead, it is more appropriate to consider adopting from orphanages and changing a child's life for the better.

My name is Aybeniz, and I am a 64-year-old cardiologist. I got married in 1982 to my husband, whom I have known since the first grade. However, we faced nine years of infertility, leading to societal blame. Despite seeking treatment in Russia, we were told we wouldn't have children.

In 1987, our nephew was born, and we cared for him from birth, growing deeply attached. My mother-in-law suggested adopting him, emphasizing the importance of family ties and knowing the child's genes and family tree.

Eventually, we agreed to adopt our nephew, Nadir. His biological mother loved him a lot, and it was a difficult decision for her. However, a miracle happened two years later, I became pregnant. Now they were happy, but we were sad as we didn't want to part with our adopted son.

Today, I am blessed with three sons, and our relationships with each of them are strong and positive.

My name is Gulzar, and I am a 61-year-old teacher. The story of adoption in my family began with my grandfather, who gave his daughter to his childless sister. This pattern of childlessness extended to other family members: my uncle from father's side and my aunt from mother’s side married each other due to their shared infertility.

When my mother was pregnant with my elder brother, my uncle took him without asking for permission. They returned him temporarily but later took him again. My parents suffered greatly because it was their own siblings who took my brother.

As I grew up, I couldn't openly tell my brother that I was his sister, as we lived separately. Despite this, he treated us well, but his adoptive parents kept a distance between us, fearing he might leave them to return to his biological family.

When he turned 16, he began to suspect he was adopted due to his lack of a birth certificate but the topic was never discussed. He was angry with my mother, but he continued to care for her. One day when I was not at home, and the two had a fight. "I am your mother, why do you treat me like this?" My brother got a little angry and said: "I have a mother, you are not my mother."

Over the years, my brother referred to his biological parents by their names, until one day when my father was sick, and he referred to him as "my father," which deeply touched my father.

Though I have a good relationship with my brother now, we have never openly discussed the topic of his adoption.

My name is Aysun, and I am 23. My aunt got married at 16 and moved to Russia with her family. As they were unable to conceive a child for ten years, they decided to take me in when I was just 40 days old. I grew up calling my aunt "Mama" and her husband "Dad." Two years after I was adopted, my adoptive mother gave birth to my sister, and we eventually moved to Baku while my biological family was living elsewhere. 

During summer vacations, I would visit my biological family, but I noticed that they treated me differently from my aunt's own daughter. They referred to me as "Samira’s [biological mother’s name] daughter" and this caused confusion and tensions between me and my sister. When I went to a wedding there, they always said “She was Samira’s daughter.” 

My uncle's daughter [cousin] started to hear about this topic from time to time and she came and talked to us. After that, we started to have a little bit of trouble. I was studying in the 3rd grade, and it was not possible for me to accept it. 

When I reached the 7th grade, I had a heated argument with my grandmother, and my mom took my grandmother's side as usual. I deliberately turned to my mother and said “I already know you are not my mother.” I was already studying in the 7th grade. I wanted to hurt her, so she would understand how she hurt me. After that, this topic was never discussed so openly.

Even if my biological mother brought me into this world, she is not my mother. She did not raise me, she did not take care of me, she was not by my side when I got sick or had problems. To this day, I don't call her mom. I used to call her Samira anyway.

The warmth and love I receive from my adoptive mother are not present with my biological family. 

All photos and videos related to me, until I was adopted, were hidden. As far as I remember, we were already grown up, we understood, we knew when one of my aunts showed those photos to us. What was the point of supposedly hiding them? If we look, what would happen to us?

My name is Ilkin, and I am 32. 

When my parents fell in love, their families opposed the union. 

My father's involvement in criminal activities and my mother's mixed blood (she had Jewish ancestry) complicated the situation. They decided to elope, and during this time, my mother became pregnant with me. 

However, my father's illegal activities put my mother in danger, so my father hid my mother in different places. During the last months of my mother's pregnancy, my father started coming home less often, and because my mother was afraid, she returned to her father's house. My [maternal] grandfather then kicked my mother out of the house, but my grandmother did not let her go. She eventually had to part ways with me under difficult circumstances. My [maternal] grandparents took me in, and for years, I was told that the woman who was my mother was really my elder sister, working in Turkey. I grew up believing my grandmother was my mother, and my aunts and uncles were my siblings. 

At the age of 13, I stumbled upon old photo albums, and my uncle revealed the truth: my older sister was actually my biological mother, and there were also photos of my father. This revelation shattered my world, and my grandmother knew it was time to tell me the truth. My mother was happy about it, and she quickly returned to be a part of my life. However, it was a challenging time, as I had to choose between my biological mother and the grandmother who had raised me as her own. Ultimately, I decided to stay with my grandmother (whom I considered my mother) until I turned 25. Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with severe cancer. In her final months, she always apologized to me: "Forgive me, I ruined your life." After her death, I began reconnecting with my biological mother. Initially, it was challenging for both of us, not knowing where to start, but now we are slowly becoming friends.

As this project is anonymous, all names have been changed.

This photo story was prepared with support from the Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung (FES) South Caucasus Regional Office. All opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of FES.