Kosovo - A Home Coming
The Kosovar's Come Home
Story & Photos by Andy Rain
The Kosovar's are coming home. After months in squalid conditions in refugee camps in Albania, Macedonia and Montenegro an unfamiliar almost surreal semblance of normality is returning to this tiny but troubled corner of the Balkans. When nearly a million ethnic Albanian Kosovar^s
were brutally forced from their homes and expelled across neighbouring borders in the wake of NATO bombing of Serbian military targets throughout Kosovo and Serbia last March, scenes of the mass exodus, stories of rape, pillage and exterminations was simply hard to take in, difficult to grasp such depth of hatred, so cruel and calculated.
It was even more difficult to believe that so could be ethnicly cleansed in such a short space of time. Not since the days of Pol Pot in Cambodia when his notorious Khmer Rouge drove out the entire population fromt the city of Phnom Penh or the ethnic blooshed of Rwanda had the world been subjected to such shocking images. But as quick as the Kosovar^s expulsion was, their return to the province has been just as speedy and suprising.
Dreams of returning home has now become a reality, but with it come daunting and formidable challenges. Veteran Balkan analysts and aid organizations have been caught off guard the sheer will of the Kosovar^s to return home. Against all the odds, after months of intimidation, beatings, of witnessing loved ones seperated or killed by Serb special police and paramilitaries, after many gruelling weeks in cramped conditons in camps and the homes of Albanian^s in Albania, their love of their home land is evident in their need to home and to rebuild. After inconceivable traumas, of having to return to a land riddled with land mines and unexploded ordnance, there has been approximately 5 reports of land mine victims daily, the Kosovar^s do justice to the triumphant will of the human
spirit.
"There an incredibly resouceful people", says Anna Di Lellio, spokesman for the WFP (World Food program). "They have dire needs, but they don^t complain". In the remote hills around Pec returning families are in desperate need of food aid and water. The WFP is shuttling aid by helicopter 4 times a day to 1.5 million people throughout the province. Since NATO entered the province June 11th afetr the Yugoslav government agreed to an iternational peacekeeping force for Kosovo, 40,000 refugees have returned each day. Apart from 100,000 that remain in Albania and 90,000 in that found asylum in third countries, over 700,000 countries have come home in trucks, cars, buses and tractors.
It was by pure chance that I met the Morina family. They passed me on the quiet road from Djakova to Pec, bringing with them a wave of jubilation. Mustafa, 42, an ex policeman before he was fired in 1991, and man of the house, was at the wheel, beside him was his wife, Nuriya, 38, and friends. Mustafa had already warned his family that there house had been badly destroyed during their time away, but now as he and his 5 children made their way home on a hot afternoon, nothing could dampen the spirits of Lendita, 18, Valentina, 16, Liridona,14, their three daughters and Liridon, 12, and Lentrim,10, their two sons. Imena, their grandmother along with friends from the same village of Baic, 12 km^s outside Pec, are stood in the back of the truck, singing and clapping, euphoric in their home coming. They had not felt this sense of joy for many years, and now they are home, but more importantly to them, Serb police and paramiltaries are nowhere to be seen.
Their truck rolled on and on toward Pec through a dry sticky heat and so too did their singing, rejoicing. A red Albanian flag with a black two headed eagle in the center hung from Mustafa^s front cab. The Morina^s had been expelled from their large country farm house by Serb paramilitaries on the first Saturday in April, Mustafa late told me. They had little choice but to flee to Montenegro where from there they made their way to Skodra, southern Albania. We were lucky, Nuriya said. We were taken by a good family, they were very nice to us. After three long months in Albania they could harldy believe they were heading home on the way to Pec. The once beautiful town of Pec sits at the feet of the Albanian Alps. It^s the kind of town oyu might see in Switzerland or Austria, a quaint scenic town with Montenegro beyond magnificant picture like mountains. It^s also the kind of town that brews its own beer, or used to before the war. Cafe^s line its narrow lanes, restaurants sit atop wooden bridges that cross gentle streams.
But signs of prosperous happier times lie amongst piles of rubble that Pec has become. Pec along with Djakova, the western strip that runs parrallel with Albania was the most heavily hit region by the Serbs. Whole neighbourhoods have been completely erased prior to NATO^s bombardment and particularly during it. Serbian paramilitaries alledgedly hired from Serbian prisons were given free riegn to run amok. They went on the rampage in Pec and surrouding villages, looting and burning whatever they could. Homes were gutted, their walls spray painted with the Serb nationalistic symbol, " Only Unity Can Save Serbs". Crops were burnt, cattle slaughtered. Cafe's and shops are now skeletons of a brighter past, glasses and cognac bottles sit atop burnt out remains.
But amongst the rubble life is nevertheless returning. More and more reufugees are crossing the borders daily and ethnic Albanian's have set up new businesses outside their old ones that now lie in ruins. Cafe's, street vendors, restaurants and markets are picking up the pieces of their lives. Reconstruction has begun in earnest. New windows are being refitted, ruggs and carpets washed. KLA (Kosovo Liberation Army) soldiers hang out on street corners, pistols hang from thier holsters. Officially weapons should now be in the hands of NATO and the donning of uniforms in public is not permitted. But this is Kosovo's wild west. It will take time for NATO to implement all its demands, especially in the remote regions.
Through Pec Lendita, Valentina, Liridona and their two brothers scream their approval as we pass a group of KLA on the outskirts of town. "UCK, UCK, (KLA) , they chant raising two finger victory salutes into the air. On and on through Pec the celebrating continues. People sell gasoline by the side of the road. The price of gasoline in particular has shot up as their is little in the province. Serb houses burn brightly in the distance. Alledgedly set ablaze by ethnic Albanian's, clouds of black smoke fills a cloudless sky. A wave of revenge has hit the province, with Serbs now finding themselves in the same precarious situation that Albanian's felt only months prior.
The dusty urban chaos of Pec falls back into the distance and quieter rural roads meet us again. "NATO, NATO" the children scream from the truck as we pass an Italian check point. I follow the Morina's down a bumpy dusty dirt track, with trees on both sides. I sense we are approaching Baic. Liridina, a round faced good looking brunette, and the third of Mustafa's and Nuriya's children is overcome with emotion as we drive through their neighbourhood. She wipes away gentle tears that roll down her young cheeks. " I was just so happy", she would tell me later, recalling the moment. Dust kicked up from the Morina's truck hits my windsrean, covering it with a thin film of dirt.
A few minutes later we come to an abrupt stop. The Morina's are home.
Mustafa clambers out of the front cab, makes his way to the back of truck and releases the lock to the back door. It swings down heavily revealing the chindren and Imena, boxes of food aid, sacks of flour and a three piece sofa. A neighbour helps Imena down from the truck, her legs stiffened by the 4 hour journey and long wait at the border. The kids jump down, Lendita, the oldest, leading the way. Her mousey brown pony tail swinging as she walks. Pine trees sits in the gardens of their spacious grounds. Silence hung over the children as they approached their home for the first time in months. Almost in slow motion Lendita made her way to the front door. It is no longer there. Blackened pieces of wood, ash and broken glass cover the floor. There are no windows, no furniture, no carpet, just a burnt out washing mashine and a large freezer sits untouched where it used to be. Probably to bulky for the Serbs to cart off. Quiet stuttering sobs come from Lendita as she treads carefully across the floor. She makes her way to the nearest wall, leans her head against it, her eyes staring down at her feet.
Valentina collapses at the foot of the pine tree, her back falls against the rough bark. Streams of tears roll down her face. Liridona wanders around the garden, weeping, not knowing where to put herself. Nadja, a neighbour, leads Nuriya and Imena into the garden. Nuriya steps is unsteady. Nadja helps Imena across the lawn where they come to sit on a pile of logs to sit a the home they have all come home to. Three months of dreaming about returning home is now a reality. Valentina jumps up from the foot of the pine tree and runs to her room on the second floor of the house. Her room is trashed. Clothes, books, posters cover are sproon about the floor. she finds her diary amongst the clutter. Written across its pages the Serbs have written," THIS IS OUR HOUSE NOW". Valentina falls on her bed, burries her head in her forearm and wails desperately.
Outside meanwhile Mustafa unloads the truck with his youngest son Lentrim and neighbours who have come to greet them. They carry the 3 piece sofa into the garden along with the boxes of aid, blankets and bags. Liridon stands solemly alone against the side of the house, his forehead leant against the white stone wall. "Don't cry, don't cry", Nadja comforts him.
Mustafa motions Lendita to make coffee for evreyone. Lying on the dry green grass, one foot on top of the other, he smokes a cigarette and chats with friends. The sun is now on the horizon, a soft golden light falls across the house. Lendita hands me a hot Turkish coffee prepared on a small portable gas burner, while Valentina brings a blanket for me to sit on. I feel a little uncomfortable with thoughtful modest hospitalty in such tragic circumstances.
Nuriya breaks down as she sits on the soft sofa in the garden, lamenting the violation of her home. Her girls sit behind her looking at family snap shots taken in Skodra. Now firmly in the past, just a short interval of their lives. "It was good in Skodra, the people were very good to us, but I always thought about our home. Even if it was completely destroyed, I wouldn't care, now we are free. We don't know what we'll do for now but we can stay with nieghbours. At least we are all ok. We are home home and safe".
The Morina's story is not only a touching account that symbolizes hundreds of thousands of ethnic Albanian Kosovar's returning to their homes, but it too provides a glimpse of Kosovar Albanian culture. Their benign unostentatious generosity and sheer strength to take things in their stride when all seems lost. Ten days later I stoped in to see how the Morina's are doing. Nuriya and the girls are cleaning the house. The ground floor has been parlty cleared of burnt wood and glass. Upstairs Nuriya's and Mustafa's room has been painted a new fresh pink, a carpet has been laid. In the adjacent room is the 3 piece sofa, a gift from their hosts in Skodra. A TV sits in the corner of the room. "It doesn't work", Nuriya laughs. "It took us ayear to build this house", she says, "if we have good conditions we can make it like it was, I hope. It was terrible to see our house in this way, but we are so happy to be home".
It's very likely that Kosovo's days ahead will provide for better conditions allowing for a brighter future for ethnic Albanian's. For the few remaining Serbs however it's quite a different story. Fear of reprisals from returning ethnic Albanian's will force many to leave. Kosovo is already in a state od de-facto independence. The fear that once hung over every Kosovar Albanian has been vanquished with the withdrawal of its military. "I never slept well during the war, says Nuriya," but on my first night back, even we had to sleep on UN plastic sheeting, I slept the whole night through".
END
