We went to go meet my Grandfathers sister in the late 1980s when I was in my teens. She ended up in Troy after the Armenian genocide.

After walking through the desert from Istanbul to Baghdad both kids were sold into slavery to Arabs and separated. A while later my Grandfather helped a stranger passing through town by giving him food, the stranger asked his name, figured out he was Armenian, thanked him and moved on. A few towns away drinking in a bar, he told people of this nice boy and his name, my Grandfathers uncle heard his name, asked what town it was, gathered up the local law enforcement and rescued my family from the people that owned them. He went to Canada, and evetually Detroit. She wound up in Troy, NY.