Original subtitles

Hello. I'm Tamuna Museridze, though that's not my real name.

Unfortunately, I don't know the real one.

If this video ever reaches you and you end up watching it,

above all, I want to say, thank you.

First, for giving birth to me.

Second, for blessing two people who couldn't have a child of their own.

Third, if we ever meet, I'll be able to say it to you in person.

"Hello, I'm contacting you from Gori.

Today, I came across your post and it raised my suspicions.

My grandma gave birth to a boy in Mejvriskhevi,

a village in the Gori district, around 1980.

Three days after the birth, she was told that the baby died.

They let my grandpa see the body, but they kept it.

I need your advice on how to determine whether my doubts are reasonable."

"After giving birth, my mother was told that her baby died.

It happened at Maternity Hospital Number One.

The body wasn't released to the parents for burial.

Please guide me, if you can."

My name is Tamuna Museridze. I'm 39, and I'm a journalist.

We have evidence that tens of thousands of mothers

are searching for their children today.

We're talking about up to a hundred thousand women

who don't know what really happened to their children.

I grew up with a sense that someone who should've been by my side

was missing from my life.

I was a weird kid

because I saw things that no one else did.

I had no idea

whether that was normal or not.

It led to my mental health issues

because as a child,

I was accompanied by a little girl,

a friend who was always right behind me.

I'd tell other kids,

"Look, someone's standing right here,

talking to me just like you are.

"She's my friend."

My name is Tamar Khvitia, but they call me Tako or Amy.

I'm 21 years old.

I was raised in Zugdidi.

You could say my childhood was happy.

I had everything I needed.

My mom was good to me.

I'd even say she was a better mom than I could've expected.

She did all she could to make me happy

so I wouldn't feel deprived of anything in my life.

My name is Ano Sartania. I'm 21 years old.

My parents are refugees from Abkhazia.

After the war, they started from scratch, but they made sure I never felt it.

I think I was a happy child in a perfect family.

In my eyes, my mom and dad were the best at that time.

The first thing that comes to my mind is how much they loved me.

Around the clock, every single day,

they both did everything for me.

Our paths crossed for the first time

when I took part in a dance contest in Zugdidi.

One of my fellow competitors and her mom were constantly checking in on me.

They offered me water, asked if I was hungry.

I couldn't comprehend why a rival would give me so much attention.

Later on, I looked up that girl's social media profile.

I saw that my competitor posted a photo.

I thought the person in it was me.

I was wondering when we took that photo together.

Then I read the caption, "Me and my cousin."

When I was nine or ten, my family and I saw her on a TV show.

Hi there, kids!

- Introduce yourselves. - I'm Ano Sartania.

- What will you be showing us? - Jive dancing.

Our relatives and friends called us

to ask my mom why I, Tamara,

was performing on TV under a different name.

A few years after that incident,

I got my eyebrow pierced.

The person who did my piercing posted it on TikTok.

One of Ano's friends saw that video.

That friend reached out and sent me a screenshot showing a girl

who looked a lot like me.

I don't know what got into me,

but I forwarded that photo to my college classmates,

asking them,

"Hey, I dyed my hair and got a piercing. Do you think it's a good look for me?"

A friend who had been at the piercing studio with me,

sent me a message,

"Some girl is sharing your photo saying it's her,

"but I know it's you."

So I asked her who that person was.

And that's how we first got in touch.

We both wrote at the same time,

"I've been looking for you for so long."

"Me too."

My childhood was fantastic.

I had all the means and possibilities, everything I wanted.

I traveled abroad back when Georgia was still part of the Soviet Union.

I had the opportunity to join many extra activities.

I received a solid education.

I never planned to be a journalist.

That wasn't my goal at all.

I always wanted to be a detective,

but my parents considered it a bad idea.

They believed that certain professions were strictly for men,

and others, for women.

Then I decided to apply to an acting school

and become an actress.

But that turned out to be a problem too

because my parents didn't want me to become a public figure.

In the end, without telling my parents,

I took the entrance exams for journalism.

You're doing an important job.

I meant to say that too. I follow you and I'm impressed.

I've been working in television for 16 years,

since my first year at university.

My first job was in public television.

I hosted a student show.

Then I worked for the Pirveli Stereo channel.

I hosted the evening show there.

After that, I moved to Imedi TV

to host the "Bell of Luck" show.

I also hosted a morning show for seven years.

On top of that,

I was a live broadcast host for Eurovision two times.

Welcome to the live Eurovision broadcast here on Channel One.

Tamuna and Sandro.

How did you two meet?

At a wedding.

She caught my eye the moment I stepped inside.

Her hair, appearance and style made her stand out.

She was incredibly beautiful.

She still is.

She captivated me in that moment,

and her charm hasn't faded to this day.

There's so much chemistry between us,

I sometimes worry we might just explode.

So far, we're trying to control it.

Many people have said that our relationship is inspiring.

They praise us for our infectious energy.

Everything changed in 2016.

My father passed in 2006, and my mom ten years later.

After my mom's death, I started sorting through her documents.

That's when I came across my birth certificate.

I had never seen it before.

The date of birth was different

than the one I had known my whole life.

It was August 10th

instead of October 10th.

I went to the Office of Vital Records,

but they couldn't find any document confirming my mom's delivery.

So I went to the maternity hospital I was born in.

Unfortunately, this is all that's left of that hospital.

I won't be able to check anything here.

Since the hospital no longer exists,

I had to turn to the archives.

I wrote a request for access to the files.

I received information

that no Marina Kukhianidze gave birth there in 1984.

We met in person after three days.

When I saw her,

I exclaimed, "Wow!" We both did.

I said, "Go away! Who are you?

"I can't even look at you. Get lost!"

It was an amazing meeting.

I thought I was looking in the mirror.

We had a similar tone and manner of speaking.

Absolutely everything was similar. Everything.

Our whole bodies looked the same. Even our nails.

The voice, the looks, the behavior.

I felt like I was looking at myself.

Only our style was different, but we've sorted it out.

For the first few days, we couldn't stop talking.

We slept five hours a day

and spent the rest of the time texting and keeping in touch.

At one point, she mentioned that she was born in Chkhorotsku.

Or maybe I was first, I can't remember. I said, "I was born in Chkhorotsku too."

Later on, it turned out that we have the same genetic condition,

a type of dysplasia that occurs in one out of 1,000 cases.

We became suspicious.

One in 1,000 children,

and there are two identical people

who, in addition, were born in the same place and year.

We had to find an explanation.

The possibility that I was born in a different hospital

and the lack of any record of my mother giving birth

wasn't enough for me to prove that I could've been adopted.

I was sure that it was a clerical error.

I might have been born somewhere else.

That's why I began

calling my relatives.

I wanted to figure out which hospital I was born in.

The response to my questions felt off and inadequate.

Instead of answering,

they became aggressive and avoided contact.

They told me not to visit them and insisted that I stop digging

into that case.

After a few months of trying, I decided to go all in.

I set up a meeting

with the daughter of my mom's friend.

I pretended I already knew the whole truth.

I wanted to find out what she knew on the matter.

She told me that at my mom's funeral,

when I said out loud that I needed to get checked

since the aneurysm that killed her was hereditary,

my mom's friends said,

"What aneurysm? Poor Tamuna. She doesn't know she's adopted."

At that moment, I remembered all the people

who have ever suggested I might've been adopted.

I looked at my husband,

and he was sitting with his hands over his face like this.

During the funeral ceremony,

a friend of Tamuna's mother pulled me aside

and told me that Tamuna was adopted.

It's very hard to reveal a truth like that,

especially when it concerns your loved one

in such a difficult moment of loss and tears.

How do I tell her that her own mom, who has just passed,

wasn't her biological mother?

My name is Sophio Kereselidze and I'm Tamuna's cousin.

Tamuna and I grew up together.

I'm eight years older than her

and I've known her since she was born and came into our home.

I knew about Tamuna's adoption.

Everyone did. The family, relatives, friends...

We were convinced that a child should never be told they were adopted.

It was considered wrong.

That's just our mentality.

A few months after her mother's death,

Tamuna called me to ask if I knew she was adopted.

I denied it.

I told her it was just gossip and someone lied.

To which she replied, "No one's lying. I found the documents."

There was no point in denying it anymore.

I told her everything.

For the first few days of contact with Tako,

I couldn't recognize my mom.

She didn't talk to me, she would just sit like a stone.

I asked my grandma and she went,

"Your mom couldn't get pregnant..."

I stopped listening.

My mother's friend called me. I told her I couldn't take it anymore.

I was sitting there crying, feeling miserable.

I just wanted someone to tell me the truth.

And then she admitted that I was adopted.

Millions of images and thoughts ran through my head.

On one hand, it was cool to find a sister.

But on the other hand,

it's sad that we didn't grow up together.

It's hard to process. It's a kind of trauma.

Not only are you adopted,

but it also turns out you have a sister you hadn't met for 19 years.

I resented the fact that people

who had been in my life for 19 years

were strangers to me, biologically speaking.

I resented the fact

that it wasn't my mother who gave birth to me,

but some other woman.

Tamuna's family

was very wealthy for that time.

Her father, Shota, was probably one of the top ten richest people in Georgia.

Tamuna's mother was a doctor.

She came from a well-educated and wealthy family.

Tamuna's parents had been married for a few years

but, unfortunately, still hadn't had a child.

My mother knew a nurse who was involved in the child adoption process.

She acted as an intermediary

between those who put children up for adoption

and those who adopted them.

She took care of almost every part of the process.

She was responsible for the financial side as well as the paperwork.

She didn't hide the fact that she was facilitating adoptions.

It was a business to her.

One day, she called us.

She told my mom that a very pretty, healthy baby had been born.

Tamuna's aunts went to the hospital to see the baby's mother.

They found her appearance acceptable.

I called my aunt to have a chat.

She said she couldn't recall my birth date,

but she remembered that I came from Samegrelo.

She also remembered some details.

For example, that a smiling girl was pointed out to them in the corridor.

She had a prominent chin and they didn't like it very much,

but the baby was healthy, so they took it.

Healthy and pretty children were more expensive

and the demand for them was so high

that the parents had to use their connections

to get to adopt the pretty and healthy little Tamuna.

They paid more than anyone else was willing to offer for her.

It was a huge shock. My whole world collapsed.

The fairy tale I grew up in suddenly ended in a drastic way.

My name is Salome Chichinadze.

I used to work in the department that oversaw orphanages

and educational care facilities in Georgia.

In Georgian tradition,

a newly married couple is meant to have a child as soon as possible.

That's what society expects.

If the woman doesn't get pregnant quickly,

it creates a lot of tension and stress.

Both for the couple and the rest of the family.

Back in those days, there were no healthy children in the orphanages.

The only healthy ones often had parents

who didn't want to put them up for adoption.

That's why adoptions from orphanages were very rare.

The problem was a large number of prospective adoptive parents

and a relatively small number of children eligible for adoption.

That was the main reason why certain adoptive parents

who couldn't find a child to adopt or were pressed for time

ended up participating in the illegal scheme.

I would like to meet my biological mother.

I have questions for her

that have been bothering me for the last ten months.

If you're watching this video

wondering whether I'm the person you think I am,

don't hesitate to reach out to me discreetly.

died before Tamuna learned about the adoption.

I created VEDZEB group to make contact with other adopted children,

to share our stories and feelings.

I started getting messages

from many people who were looking for their biological families

just like me.

One day,

a boy posted in the group that his adoptive parent told him

that he had been sold by an ob-gyn from Maternity Hospital Number One.

We found that doctor

and he admitted to lying to the biological parents

that their baby died.

He sold the baby to one of his acquaintances.

I published his story for the group to see and it triggered a wave.

A shocking infant trafficking scheme has just been uncovered.

It ran in Georgia from the Soviet period until 2005.

Hundreds of thousands of children may have been sold.

After three days, they'd say that the baby died

and would be buried at the hospital cemetery.

Women whose children were sold can't even prove that they were pregnant,

because there's no record of it in the central registry or hospital files.

The children were falsely registered as deceased.

Not only doctors were involved,

but also officials and influential figures who covered up the scheme.

The primary targets were twins.

The mothers were told they'd been pregnant with just one child.

"In 1990,

our twins were born in Gori, a boy and a girl.

We were told that the girl passed. We never saw her."

"On April 29, 1974, we had a healthy baby.

"Three days later, they told us that our child was dead."

"I'm looking for my biological parents. I was born in Tbilisi in 1983.

"I was taken up for adoption straight from the delivery room."

Families are trying to reconnect through the VEDZEB social media platform

set up by the journalist Tamuna Museridze,

who's also looking for her biological parents.

In just a few months,

the group has reached more than 83 thousand members.

Parents, children and siblings with a similar story

are looking for each other.

In 28 days,

there were more than 21 thousand posts and comments in our group.

And in 28 days,

there were more than two million viewers of the group.

Scandals like this have erupted in many countries,

but in Georgia, the scale is appalling.

Out of a population of 3.7 million,

as many as 100,000 families may have been affected by this situation.

My name is Irakli Khvadagiani. I'm a historian.

Since 2010, I've been working at the Soviet Past Research Laboratory.

Georgia was under Soviet totalitarian rule for 70 years.

At the time,

there was nothing that couldn't be solved with a bribe or connections.

As a result, everything from everyday items to human life

could become subject to illicit trade and corruption.

Newborn trafficking emerged as one of the most common patterns.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union,

the society had very high hopes

of achieving prosperity quickly.

Unfortunately, due to multiple factors

the country was plunged

into further tragedies and crises,

and our state virtually fell apart.

The old communist elite returned to power,

creating perfect conditions

for the continuation of criminal activities,

such as illicit newborn trafficking.

We're going to Gori.

It's a city in Georgia,

and we're visiting the mothers who were told that their children died,

and they never saw the bodies of the children.

The last time I was there, they called the police

and the police took us to the station.

And the staff of the maternity hospital was so rude. They were aggressive,

they were screaming, they were shouting

and asking the mothers, "Well, you gave birth in 1990,

"and you're looking for the child now? here have you been?

"Why weren't you looking for your child before?"

Good morning, how are you?

- I'm so happy to see you! - Hello!

- Did you all give birth here? - Yes.

- Are your stories the same? - Some details are different.

- I gave birth in 2005. - Me, in 2006.

And me, in 1979.

- In 1991. - In 1984.

After three days, they came and said it was a premature birth

so they had to put the baby in an incubator.

I was surprised because my child was healthy, no issues whatsoever.

I was breastfeeding.

After being discharged from the hospital,

I went back there in the evening with my mom to see the baby.

Then they said my child was dead.

I gave birth to a healthy, normal, big boy with black hair.

They weighed and measured him, put an ID band on him...

After three days, I asked about the baby.

They told me he had died.

Since then, I've been heartbroken.

A mother's instinct tells me that he's alive.

I'm begging you, help me find my son.

The operation scheme had a few variations.

In one of them, the woman went to the hospital

and three days later, she was told that her baby passed

because of respiratory failure.

The family wasn't allowed to bury the body.

It had to be done at the hospital cemetery.

My husband requested our child's body

and heard that it had already been buried together with several others,

so it was impossible to find it.

Have any of you been to the hospital to talk about the cemetery's location?

- Yes. - So, where is it?

They won't tell us.

I spent a whole month running around the area,

looking for that grave on my own.

It's nowhere to be found.

There's no cemetery here, and they're not saying anything.

- And what's in the files? - Nothing.

We asked for them.

They said everything got flooded, or that there was a fire...

Did any of you get your child's body from the hospital?

They gave me a coffin. I opened it, and it was empty.

I was being hospitalized.

My mother-in-law was shown the body in a freezer, alongside others.

- Did you see your child? - No, I didn't.

The parents paid for their child's funeral,

believing in the existence of the hospital cemetery.

However, we dug into the scheme.

We discovered that no maternity ward in Georgia had a cemetery beside it.

What's more, until 2005,

no maternity hospital had an arrangement with a funeral parlor.

It's a tough topic,

but they had prepared frozen bodies of children

in case a family strongly demanded the release for burial.

The newborn didn't stay with its mother. The parent didn't see their child.

Nobody knew what happened on the first day or night, or the second, or the third.

A woman who had just given birth

was in a fragile mental and emotional state.

After being told that her baby was dead,

she lacked the strength

to focus on pursuing the truth.

She saw it as a tragedy, regarded it as a loss,

and focused on coping with the trauma.

Moreover, a doctor was like a god.

His word was gospel.

My name is Tsinari Paatashvili.

Since 1995, I've been working as a nurse at the Telavi Maternity Hospital.

After birth,

the initial care was always provided in the delivery room,

in the mother's presence.

After that,

the newborns were transferred to the neonatal ward.

During visiting hours, each child was brought individually

to a special room separated by glass.

They could be seen, but only from a distance.

Getting close to a newborn was impossible.

Everything was done in line with legal requirements.

It wasn't our idea. There was no other way.

Tamuna, the police is here.

In a totalitarian state,

a citizen had no chance to conduct an independent investigation.

They had no recourse to institutions.

People were afraid that asking too many questions

and being overly active could turn against them and cause problems.

That's why not many risked opposing the system.

Who organized this gathering?

- I did. What's the problem? - Follow me, please.

- What should I call you? - Tamuna.

- I must warn you, we're recording this. - Okay, then so are we.

- Can you come with us? - Okay.

Hey up there!

They won't let the mothers in or provide the documents.

They say everything was destroyed in the fire.

We'd like to see a confirmation on paper.

We have the right to public information.

Only one person can come in, not all of you.

Then I'll go.

I'd like to speak to someone who can tell me

where the hospital cemetery was located.

No one like that works here.

Are you serious?

There's no one left from the previous staff?

All staff are new.

No, there are employees who previously worked with Jumber Gogiashvili

who sold those children off like piglets at the market.

Last time I came here, he was in his office and snuck out.

Take a look. The saliva without foam has to reach the black line.

Since there's no DNA database in Georgia,

you send your sample to a lab in the US.

You're entered into the global database.

If anyone in the world takes the DNA test

and turns out to be your relative,

you'll receive a direct email with the confirmation of kinship,

as well as that person's full name.

My name is Mari Murtskhvaladze. I'm a professor at Ilia State University.

The DNA contains the genetic information of every living organism.

Our eye color, nose shape, skin tone, etc.

That information is inherited. Passed from parents to children,

from children to their offspring, and so on.

DNA testing is the only method

that can confirm with 100% certainty

whether two people are mother and child.

Georgia is not a big country in terms of demography.

We have about 3.5 million people.

In such a small state, where many children have been adopted

by different families under unclear circumstances,

there is a real concern

that nobody knows what their future holds.

It turns out

we're facing the risk of incestuous relationships.

Two people with close genetic ties may unknowingly start a family together.

We had a case where two adopted people took a DNA test

and it turned out they were related.

The BBC reported that the identical twins

came together again after finding each other on TikTok.

After confronting the seemingly mysterious...

As for the twins, we did a TV special on their case.

After it aired, a girl reached out to us.

She wrote that her mother had a similar story.

She gave birth to two children that same year and in the same hospital.

But she fell into a coma.

When she woke up, they said that the children had died.

We put the girls in touch with each other, ran a DNA test,

and look how it went.

Our biological mother,

if I'm not mistaken, is 48 years old.

She's been living and working in Germany for years.

Despite the fact that all those years I wanted to see her and talk to her,

in that moment, I realized I didn't really want to meet her.

I wasn't ready yet.

I hadn't come to terms with my feelings back then.

I wasn't ready to see that woman at all.

But for my sister's sake, I agreed to visit her.

I said, "Fine, let's go there together."

Meeting her was very emotional for me.

How shall I put it?

Her scent, her heartbeat, her touch.

It all felt familiar.

Biology did its part.

My sister cried.

Everyone cried.

But not me. I didn't shed a tear.

I don't know why. Everyone has their way of coping.

But I understood

that I don't feel love towards that person at all.

Our biological mother told us

that she couldn't regain consciousness for three days after giving birth.

She was in a coma

so she doesn't really know what happened at that time.

The only ones who know are her relatives

who recounted everything to us.

Our father told our mother and her family that the children had died.

The truth is,

we were stolen.

The only difference is that in other cases

it was the doctors who stole children from their parents.

I wasn't stolen by a doctor.

The initiative came directly from my biological father.

Ta-dah!

Hello everyone!

I'm here with two girls: Ano and Tako.

Let's start by talking about why you two were put up for adoption.

When our mother was pregnant, our father didn't believe we were his children.

He beat her and kept her in a constant state of stress.

- Why? - Because it wasn't his...

Exactly, he was pathologically jealous.

That's why he decided to get rid of both of us.

From what I've heard, she left your father afterward.

After her husband, our father, made the accusation

that none of the kids were his.

So our mother didn't choose to leave.

The people in the village forced her to leave her house.

She was labeled as a slut.

Twenty years later, we're here proving that she didn't cheat on him.

If I may jump in, have you talked to your father?

- No. - No, and we're not going to.

Hello?

Given that we've met with the twins and spoke with them,

we're interested in hearing your version of the story.

I'm not interested in this topic.

You need to know she's not a woman, but a whore.

I'm telling you, she hadn't lived with me for eight months.

I didn't even know she was pregnant.

They brought her to me barely alive, looking sick.

She hadn't lived with me for eight months.

I took her to the hospital, and that's what happened.

Those kids were born.

Why couldn't they just die that day?

Did you see the children afterwards?

I don't care about them. They're dead to me.

So they aren't yours?

I don't know.

Though they look a bit like me.

But even if they're mine, I don't care because they've insulted me in public.

Why didn't they ask me,

"How did it all go down, daddy?"

If they think I'm trash, they're trash to me, too.

They go out there and say I made five thousand dollars.

So what do they think I did with that cash?

Kind regards to the one who took that money.

And stop insulting me!

Good evening!

You're watching "I'm searching,"

and I'm Tamuna Museridze.

Perhaps the first TV host in history

to speak openly about being adopted.

That's what prompted me to start this show.

But I also want to find the person who brought me into this world.

I want to help those who are searching for their biological parents

or children sold in Georgia and beyond.

I'm searching...

For my sister and brother.

For my sister and brother.

For my mother, sister and the truth.

Our program will showcase the extraordinary stories of those people,

but first, I decided to be the protagonist of the opening episode.

I asked an illustrator I know

to make a composite sketch of my mother based on my family's descriptions.

One of the main sources of information for this portrait

was my godmother who remembers my biological mother well.

The DNA test revealed

that I should look for my relatives in the region of Samegrelo.

The closest match was Diana.

It was a girl whose family was from Zugdidi

and I went to Samegrelo.

I asked her relatives to take DNA tests.

The most important thing

is to do the tests and confirm kinship.

At least one surname.

It will be a clue for us, and a step forward.

Good morning, sir!

Hello!

We went from door to door looking for traces of my mother.

We drove across nearly all of western Georgia.

Hello.

Hi, Tamuna! Hi from Cyprus.

Hi!

This is the story of an adopted boy

who ended up in Cyprus.

Right after birth, Panagiotis was taken from the delivery room

to a babysitter's house, where he spent about a year.

The notary confirmed that his biological parents,

Nona and Shota Rukhadze, gave up their parental rights.

But in reality, Nona and Shota Rukhadze don't even exist.

I'm 20 years old. My father...

My parents traveled to Georgia in 2004 for my adoption.

They were staying there for one week.

They were staying at the Vere Inn Hotel.

As far as I know from my parents, that building was not like a hotel.

It looked like a home

and even outside it didn't say it was a hotel or something.

My name is Khatuti Kavteladze.

I was the manager of the hotel that was located in the building behind me,

from 2003 to 2008.

We weren't involved in that personally.

We didn't know what was going on, of course.

We just provided service to our guests.

Other than that, our knowledge was limited to the fact

that parents would come to adopt children.

The parents would stay at our hotel

until all the paperwork was ready.

Then the person who handled the preparation of documents would come

to speak with the adoptive parents.

It was a woman,

but I can't remember her name.

Well, there was an organization,

a "foundation,"

and there was a woman named Zia Gelashvili,

and she had a friend whose name was Arnold.

They were making false birth certificates, notary documents,

lawyer's documents, court documents.

And they were selling the children abroad.

As far as I can remember, there were several children from Georgia

who were also adopted into Cyprus.

Not only Cyprus. Especially into the USA.

You know, this organization...

had representatives in every country.

For example, in our country, it was that woman; in the other, someone else.

We found emails in which those people were saying,

"We take care of these children."

The children they were planning to send to Cyprus, me and my friends.

But they were also talking about another 15 children.

That they were waiting for application from the United States.

And do you know how much they paid for your adoption?

At the beginning, they were like, "We have the child here,

"so if you're interested in this child,

"you have to send money to us every month.

"And we will send the child to a babysitter.

"Until you're able to adopt the child."

They paid for the court, they paid for the lawyer,

for the babysitter and...

And approximately how much?

It was around 20,000 dollars for the adoption, or more.

In Georgia, a boy was worth 1,500 rubles, and a girl, 1,000.

To compare with other prices at the time, a good car was worth 4,000 rubles.

But the price for the boys and girls sold abroad was equal.

Between 20 and 30 thousand dollars.

Everyone was involved in that scheme.

From hospital cleaning staff to high-ranking government officials.

Unfortunately, in connection with this case,

we sometimes get messages and calls

that fall into the category of intimidation.

I'm not sure if I should call them threats.

We're fully aware that not all the feelings and impressions

evoked by this case are positive.

- Go say hi to mommy. - Come here!

Come!

- It's wet. - All soaked and dirty.

Come on, quick.

Chop-chop!

There are occasional threats

toward me and my family.

The gynecologists' relatives call my husband

to warn him that I'll get shot if I go to a specific place.

They call my husband to make him pressure me

to stop doing what I do.

But I'm not intimidated by those threats.

Not because nobody can hurt me. That's not it, of course.

It's because the mothers are already searching for their children.

Even if something happens to me, nothing can stop them now.

Hello?

My name is Giorgi Matiashvili.

I am a lawyer and a lecturer at several universities.

I've been working on the issue of human trafficking and associated crimes,

both in theory and practice, for a long time.

It's harder to conduct the investigation and find evidence today.

First of all,

people who were involved in those practices 20-30 years ago

might be dead by now.

Many hospitals have been closed or demolished.

There are no files in the archives that could provide us with evidence.

Even if the evidence confirms

that human trafficking took place in the 1970s and 1980s,

it's clear that people who were responsible for that

can't be held criminally liable.

That's because the statute of limitations has expired,

or due to the fact

that no adequate regulations existed at that time.

We're excited because I've just received the DNA results

of the person I suspect is the child of my biological mother's sister.

We're checking the results.

If they say that I'm her cousin,

then that woman must be my mother.

You've got to be kidding!

The first generational line.

We've found my mother.

Today is the day I've decided to call my biological mother

and talk to her.

I finally broke through and wrote to her.

The whole story adds up, so I won't drag it out.

I'll just call her now.

- Hello, good evening, Mrs. Madona. - Hello.

Here's the situation: I need your help.

- Mine? - Yes.

I was born in Tbilisi,

at Maternity Hospital Number Two, in September 1984.

Okay, go on.

After ten days, I was put up for adoption.

It was October second, to be exact.

I see. And...?

My godmother was the one who handled the whole thing.

I understand, but why are you telling me all this?

Because I know that you had a baby on September 22nd, 1984.

- Me? - Yes.

What are you talking about?

- Maybe you've got the wrong person? - No.

I don't know where you got these details or what this is about.

I'd like to know if you're my mother.

- Excuse me? - I need to know if you're my mother.

I'm sure I'd be happy if you were my daughter,

but the chances are slim.

This doesn't ring a bell.

What do you mean I gave birth then?

No such thing happened.

- You must be thinking of someone else. - So you didn't give birth that day?

- No, I didn't. - No?

No. I was pregnant but had a miscarriage at seven months.

The next time I called her, I heard that she did give birth.

The baby was weak, so they took it to an incubator.

Did you see your baby's body?

No, I didn't.

I was told my baby had died. They made up some cause,

but I don't remember it now. It was long ago.

I think they said the baby had been suffocated by the umbilical cord.

The new feelings toward my biological mother sent me on a guilt trip.

I think that's because adopted children feel social pressure

to believe that their mother is the one who raised them,

and they shouldn't look for their biological parents.

Despite all the weight this story carries,

despite how difficult all of this is,

it also brings me happiness.

I know I have a family who would do anything for me.

I have a mother who fights, struggles, and lives for me.

You woke up, my sunshine.

Tako came into my life when I was 44.

So that was...

pretty late.

But the day I became her mother,

I instantly felt young and happy.

My friend brought the child straight to my door.

She worked at a clinic.

The only thing she told me

was that the mother had said she couldn't afford raising her baby.

And that she was crying

when she left the newborn. That's all I knew.

Times were different.

Today, the state is involved in all matters

concerning adoption and upbringing of a child.

In the past,

there was no oversight.

From what my mother told me, they knew they had to pay.

They also knew that the papers needed to be arranged.

But they didn't realize that it was all illegal.

That it was part of a scheme orchestrated by doctors

who took children to place them for adoption.

I'm grateful that she responded the way she did.

She didn't make a big deal out of the fact

that I didn't give birth to her.

She said, "Thank you, Mom."

You're my real mother, and it makes me very happy.

- What do you have up there? - Candy.

I tried to keep her engaged with lots of activities.

She did ice skating,

played the piano and violin, and painted.

I did everything I could to create good conditions for her

and raise her the right way.

I did all of that in case she ever found out

I was her adoptive mother,

so she wouldn't resent me for anything she might've lacked.

- What about Ano's cats? - Don't even start.

I think her cats are wonderful.

Ano and I are besties.

She's so nice! She calls me.

Okay, now I'm jealous.

No, sweetheart.

You're both my girls, but you come first. Period.

Pick up, Nino!

- Hello, my dear! - Hi, Nino!

Ano's adoptive mom's name is Nino.

I have a very good relationship with Nino

because she says she considers both girls her daughters.

earlier today, I told my mom that she and Ano are more alike,

and I'm more like you.

Totally.

Mom disagrees.

You and Ano have similar personalities. You stand up for yourselves.

Amy and I are more composed.

- That's why Ano is jealous. - Right?

She was even more jealous in the beginning.

She has eased up a bit.

Say hi to Ano for me.

Sure, but you can call her yourself

since she's your best friend.

I've really bonded with Ano's mother.

If we had known about it all,

we would've raised the girls together

to spare them the trauma.

Hello?

I'm out of breath because I just walked up the stairs and I'm exhausted.

I need to tell you something before I let you speak.

Please do.

Had I known from the start the kind of buzz you'd stir up around me...

I wouldn't have spoken to you at all.

But if I hadn't stirred it up,

I would've never known that you're my biological parent.

Hold on. Let me say something, please.

- I don't want anything to do with you. - Mrs. Madona, let me finish.

- Why are you yelling at me? - I'm not!

- Please, listen to me. - Why?

Because you're my biological parent. I'm calling you to...

- But I'm praying it's not true! - I get that. I did, too.

But I did the DNA tests.

Say what? Who did you test?

One of your relatives. She'll tell you herself.

- Just let me say one thing, Mrs. Madona. - You're going to be the death of me!

What are you talking about, lady? You sold me at the hospital!

- I sold you? - Yes! That's exactly right.

If I'm being honest,

that made me feel really bad.

But I'm still hoping something changes once we meet face to face.

Tamuna's biological mother reveals the identity of the father.

My biological father lives in Zugdidi, in the Samegrelo region.

After we found out who the biological father of Tamuna is,

we couldn't find peace.

To be honest, we didn't sleep that whole week.

We didn't know who to expect.

I typed "Gurgen Khorava" into Facebook

and it turned out I had him in my friends list.

As soon as I saw his photo,

I had no doubt he was my father.

I was just standing, looking around,

and I couldn't say anything because I was so shocked.

And then everybody was asking,

"Have you drunk some medicine? Why are you so calm?"

And I was saying I was in shock.

I got emotional.

Must be the old age.

The tears just started flowing.

It's really hard

when you don't know you have a child,

and all of a sudden, you get a call from an adult person,

a grown, 40-year-old woman

who refers to you as...

Dad.

My biological father is a very well-known choreographer.

Despite being 72 years old, he still teaches dance to kids.

My biological father's wife passed away from cancer 20 years ago,

leaving him with two children.

- Try on this costume. - I've just put one on.

- Khevsuruli. - No idea which one it is.

- I think it's too small for me. - No, it's perfect.

Go ahead. This part first, and then that one.

Sandro, come help her get dressed up.

He's a dancer and choreographer like my husband,

who's an actor of Rustaveli National Theatre in Georgia.

It's unbelievable.

- Don't embarrass me. - Now what?

Now, another dance.

I've thought about the fact

that women tend to look for men who resemble their fathers.

But how come I married one

who resembles the father I'd never met before?

Jump up a bit.

This is my last group.

Come see their performance. What year was that?

I don't remember.

It was when I went to Ukraine with the older students.

I've always dreamed of an in-law like him.

And I'm very glad that we've met.

I really hope this relationship keeps growing.

But what brings me the most joy

is seeing how happy Tamuna is.

I have been searching for him for 8 years.

But he wasn't searching for me

because he didn't even know that my biological mother was pregnant.

And it was...

a big shock for him.

Back in my day,

there was an actor called Alain Delon.

Everyone had a crush on him.

All women were crazy about him.

I can't say I was like Delon,

but women were drawn to me too, and I made the most of it.

I don't often get angry,

but I'm really upset

that I didn't know anything for 40 years.

I don't want to speak ill of her biological mother,

but I wish I had known about it all from the beginning.

I came here with Sandro to hear my mother's version of the story.

To understand what really happened.

I heard about Tamuna three months ago,

when she called us for the first time and said that she was probably our cousin.

At first, all of us had mixed feelings about it.

But it also made us happy

because I have just one aunt,

and I had no idea that she might've had a child.

Tamuna's mother is going through a tough time now.

Both with her health and her emotions.

Many things from her past have come to light

and various feelings hit her all at once.

Due to her health issues,

we're planning to get together with her tomorrow in a close family circle.

Let's drink to this moment of happiness.

- Do you think Tamuna's mother sold her? - No, her grandma.

- So why are you calling Madona out? - Because they took the money.

Grandma didn't take any money. What are you talking about, guys?

They definitely didn't leave empty-handed.

Maybe they got some gifts from Tbilisi?

You think my dad gave them chocolate boxes in a bag?

- I have a problem. - What's wrong?

- They're making a big fuss. - Who?

Madona with her nephews and nieces

who were acting so dramatic at the restaurant yesterday,

that the entire Vienna was stunned.

What's their deal?

They argue that Madona is innocent,

that it was the hospital staff or her mother who sold or stole her baby.

They ask me why I don't want to believe that.

Not in a normal voice, but full-on yelling.

Go there, have a calm conversation with her

and see what happens.

If she gets hysterical, just stand up, say thank you, and leave.

After all, you didn't go there for the drama.

You just want to talk like normal people do.

From the day I spoke to her and she said that she was...

She was...

praying that I wasn't her daughter

and she was ashamed of me,

I didn't want to meet her and didn't want to see her,

but all of my friends and my father and my husband

say that I have to go. So let's go.

Let's see what happens.

- What's wrong? Are you nervous? - No, why would I be?

Exactly.

Are you cold? Want my jacket?

I have something to tell you.

To me, family is, and always has been, the most important thing.

But you're not included.

My God, I didn't break up a man's family 40 years ago,

and now it's backfiring on me.

- Did you love him? - Love? What are you talking about?

That was out of the question. We were very good friends.

I was in tech school, and he taught dance.

He asked if I had time and invited me over a few times.

That was it.

It only happened once, on the spur of the moment.

I never met him since.

My whole life fell apart in that moment.

Do you know what it means for a 20-year-old girl to get such news?

In a small community?

What would people say?

- Were you in Samegrelo at the time? - No, I left for Tbilisi right away.

I swear on my mother's grave. I spent the whole summer there.

- Did you go with your mother? - Yes.

The woman went mad when she found out I was pregnant.

Five days after the birth, two women came to me.

I remember one of them.

She was tall and had a dark complexion.

They told me that unfortunately, my daughter had passed.

They made me sign something.

They said they had a cemetery for babies and they would bury her.

Or I could take the body if I wanted to.

I'm not a stolen child, do you understand me?

My grandmother said she'd feel more at ease

if the baby ended up with a good family instead of being left at the hospital.

- Who said that? - My grandma. Those were her words.

You're not allowed to mention my mother. I mean it.

They told me the baby died, and that's it.

This is our first and last conversation.

I don't feel a thing. No emotions at all.

I'm glad it happened.

She gave me an ultimatum: either I lie, or our relationship is over.

I replied that our relationship was over 40 years ago.

I stood up and left.

What hurt me the most was her answer to one of my questions.

It broke my heart.

I asked her how she had intended to name the baby. And she said she hadn't.

"How come you hadn't?"

You must've had some thoughts and feelings during those eight months.

Because every pregnant woman is thinking of a name for the baby.

She said she didn't think about it at all.

Tamuna Museridze is one of the strongest women

I've ever met.

And, as fate would have it,

it turned out I'm related to Musera, as I like to call her.

We're distant family. We're just related by blood.

- Any updates on your case? - With my biological mother?

You've never met such a sweet and kind person. She's just lovely.

Sounds like our daddy.

They're family, after all.

- I blocked her. - What did she do to upset you that much?

She doesn't think she did anything wrong.

She feels innocent.

She spoke to me from a distance.

She didn't even stand up to greet me when I came in.

She just pointed at a seat.

Some things were just meant to happen.

Just imagine if my biological mother had raised me.

Oh no!

If our father had raised us, we likely would've become heavy drinkers too.

I'm trying not to think that something bad happened to me.

Instead, I'm doing something new.

It's awesome you're on Georgia's Got Talent. Congrats!

I'm switching things up this time. I've added Tako to my routine.

I also became a dancer.

There will be a large frame. Tako on one side, me on the other.

And we'll start dancing.

It'll give us a mirror effect.

Look, it's like a reflection in a mirror.

If I could turn back time, I would still act the same way.

I wouldn't change a thing.

I found out that I have a twin sister and three more siblings:

Lana, Nika and another Ana.

I consider them a great gift life gave me.

My biological mother is a gift too

because she teaches me to be compassionate

and shows me that we all need to forgive.

For me,

the best part was that I wasn't left alone when I found out I had been adopted

and my story turned out to be so difficult.

There are many people around me with similar life stories.

They're just scared to talk about it

because in Georgian mindset,

an adopted child is still seen as a source of shame.

I suspect that the true scale of those practices

is far greater than we think.

There are more cases of baby trafficking to be uncovered.

Those eight years of my life were filled with emotion,

both good and bad.

But in the end, I can say it was time well spent.

Today, when Sandro asks me what I plan to do

now that I've found what I was looking for,

I reply that now I'm able to dedicate a hundred times more hours

to helping those who are searching for their children or parents,

just as I once did.

Tamuna's relationship with her father and half-siblings continues to grow.

Why the red hair? It looks good on you!

You think so?

I don't know. She doesn't like it.

I don't like colorful hair at all.

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