In memory of the 2981 victims of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, among them three Albanians: Frrok Camaj, Mon Gjonbalaj and Simon Dedvukaj
[Disastrous September, by the Albanian-American author, Skifter Këlliçi, takes place on two different days: May 10 and September 11, 2001. The novel tells the story of a well-known CNN reporter named Steve Ferguson, engaged to Jacqueline Cramer, a flight attendant based at Logan International Airport in Boston, Massachusetts. In addition, the novel explores the lives of four Albanians. Besim Istrefi, Rrok Camaj, and Marko Muzaka worked as window washers in the Twin Towers. Sokol Kama, a journalist and writer, works in security at Logan International Airport. On September 11, 2001 just a few days before Steve and Jacqueline’s wedding, two planes, bound for Los Angeles, depart from Boston. Terrorists hijack them and crash them into the Twin Towers in New York. The author, who worked at Logan International Airport during the attacks, offers a gripping account of the tragedy and shows how it could have been avoided.]
By SKIFTER KELLICI
[Translated from the Albanian by Carrie Hooper]
The long Terminal B corridor was filled with passengers, and one could see the sunset through the windows. Sokol Kama was occupied with a passenger who set off the alarm several times even though he had emptied his pockets. After a few attempts to pass through security, he became a little annoyed and said there shouldn’t have been any problem since he had removed everything from his pockets. Sokol told him he had to pat down his body with a magnetic wand. As soon as the wand touched his torso, the alarm sounded again.
“Can you please lift up your shirt?” asked Sokol, and the passenger obeyed. “You should have taken off your belt, sir.”
“Why would I do that?” asked the passenger. “It’s not metal!”
“It’s just a precaution. There’s a piece of metal there. We don’t want anyone bringing weapons on the plane.”
“I wouldn’t do that, and I’m sure with all this security, not even the craziest terrorist would do that,” said the old man, smiling.
“George!” a woman shouted. “Stop fooling around. The man is right. It’s true you’re not hiding anything, but someone else could be, and God knows what would happen to the passengers or the pilot if a person with concealed weapons got on the plane.”
“For God’s sake, Amanda, why are you lecturing me? Things like that don’t happen anymore, especially in this airport.”
“Regardless, it’s our job to keep the passengers and employees safe,” said Sokol.
“He knows that,” said Amanda. “He just likes to joke with people. Don’t mind him, sir. You do whatever’s necessary to keep everybody safe.”
Just then, Sokol’s phone rang, and he answered it.
“Hello, Sokol. It’s Jacqueline.”
“Where are you? In New York?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I’m calling you from the highest point in the city.”
“The Twin Towers?”
“That’s right.”
“What in the world are you doing there? By chance, did you and Steve have a fight, and now you want to kill yourself right before your wedding?”
“I wouldn’t do that if his life depended on it,” laughed Jacqueline.
“Ah, love is strange,” said Sokol. “Are you two visiting the Twin Towers?”
“No,” said Jacqueline. “Steve is working on a documentary, and I’m keeping him company.”
“That’s great. I wrote an article about the people who clean the windows when I was in New York last year.”
“You wrote about some Albanians who work on the 107th floor where we are!”
“How did you know?”
“I’m with one of them right now. Here, talk to him.”
A few seconds later, a deep male voice said, “Sokol, do you remember me?”
“Of course. Besim Istrefi! In our profession, you remember every voice of every person you’ve interviewed.”
“Well, Steve is making a documentary about me and Marko Muzaka, an Arberesh whose family history you found fascinating. We’re going to be on TV.”
Steve told Sokol how happy he was when Besim told him about Sokol’s article about Albanians in the States.
“They deserve that kind of recognition,” said Sokol. “And who better than you to tell their story.”
“I’m going to mention you on camera,” said Marko. “I’ll talk about the article you wrote last year.”
Sokol laughed.
“We won’t keep you any longer since you’re at work and probably very busy,” said Jacqueline. “I’ll see you in two days at the airport. Bye-bye.”
Sokol was in shock. Never in a million years had he expected to talk to Besim on the phone from the same tower where he had interviewed him a year ago. The fact Jacqueline and Steve were also there was remarkable, too.
“Be careful, Sokol. People from the Federal Aviation Administration will show up when we least expect them, and you know how they are. They can’t wait to find mistakes,” said Gary Minke, a short, middle-aged man and the head of Capital Security, the company for which Sokol worked. It was hard to tell from the way he spoke if his words were meant as advice, a threat, or both.
“Don’t stay on the phone too long,” he continued, coming closer to Sokol. “And one more thing, you need to be more friendly with the passengers, even if they’re wrong, like the last passenger. Anyone who complains is right as far as we’re concerned.”
He was not allowed to set foot in Yugoslavia, more specifically, in Kosovo. If he had done so, he would have been executed. His uncle was arrested for speaking out against the regime. At that time, the people, who had lived under Serbian rule for decades, wanted Kosovo to become a republic and demanded more rights and freedoms. They pleaded for the right to study in their own language and to raise their own flag.
After his lecture, he ran from the checkpoint without giving Sokol the chance to explain himself. Sokol wanted to follow him. This was not the first time Gary had acted this way. He took his lunch break early in order to regain his composure. As he was going to get a cup of coffee, he saw his friend, Fatie Bashri, a petite, twenty-year-old woman from Afghanistan, who spoke broken English. She had started working at the airport the previous year. Sokol told her about his encounter with Gary.
“He doesn’t care what we do,” said Fatie. “Even if we work hard and do a good job, he won’t pay us more than eight dollars an hour. If you don’t like it, leave. A lot of people are looking for work. That’s Gary’s favorite sentence. Nothing else matters as long as his company makes money. That’s why he makes a big deal about the FAA.”
Sokol and Fatie sat at a table.
“I just talked to Jacqueline,” said Sokol as he sipped his coffee. “She was in one of the Twin Towers!”
“Where your Albanian friends work, the ones you wrote about?”
“Yes. Steve, Jacqueline’s fiance, was there, too.”
He told Fatie about Steve’s documentary and their telephone conversation.
“The documentary he made last September about the airport was amazing,” she said.
Sokol nodded.
“I remember he interviewed both you and Jacqueline.”
She winked at him.
“That’s when Steve’s and Jacqueline’s romance started,” Sokol said with a smile. “Do you remember how happy and in love they looked that night at the Hilton when they danced to Come Back in September?”
Sokol sang slowly:
“Honey, come back in September,
The month we met.
Come back so we can hold hands again.”
“It’s a beautiful love song,” said Fatie.
“I’m excited Steve is making a documentary about my two Albanian friends and is focusing on Besim Istrefi,” said Sokol.
“Is that the man from Kosovo who fled to Albania and later came to America?”
Fatie had learned a little about Albania and Albanians from the stories Sokol had told her, mostly during their breaks.
Sokol nodded.
“He was not allowed to set foot in Yugoslavia, more specifically, in Kosovo. If he had done so, he would have been executed. His uncle was arrested for speaking out against the regime. At that time, the people, who had lived under Serbian rule for decades, wanted Kosovo to become a republic and demanded more rights and freedoms. They pleaded for the right to study in their own language and to raise their own flag. When Besim realized he was in danger of being arrested like his uncle, he left his hometown of Prizren and escaped to nearby Albania. He carried a pistol. The Serbian guards spotted him as he was crossing the border and shouted for him to surrender.”
Read: Candles for Light – Poetry from Kosovo
Sokol paused, trying to remember every detail. Fatie listened intently, eager to hear the rest of the story.
Sokol continued: “Besim did not obey the guards’ order to stop. He knew if he had, he would have suffered the same fate as his uncle. The guards would have arrested him and beaten him to death. Although he was exhausted, he continued to run through the bushes until he reached Albania. Then, he knelt down and kissed the ground. He was bleeding profusely and realized he had been shot in the shoulder. He surrendered to the Albanian border guards, who tended to his wounds. Since he was a teacher, they offered him a job in Berat, a town in southern Albania. After a few months, however, he and other refugees from Kosovo sensed they were being watched and could be arrested or worse. Besim realized the Albanian regime was similar to if not worse than the one in Kosovo. The UDB had agreed to arrest any Albanians who crossed the border illegally. Because of this dirty game, Albanians were divided between two states. Besim learned that one of his friends was offered “a job” in another town in Albania, but in fact, he was deported to Yugoslavia and was killed on the way there. He was left somewhere in the mountains.”
“Did Besim get out of Albania?”
“He told me his friend asked some of his friends from the Folklore Institute to take him on an expedition in some small villages. He had gone on expeditions with them before. One stormy night, he decided to escape to Greece. As he approached the border, he heard footsteps. It’s the Border Patrol, he thought. They’ve caught me! He hid behind some thick bushes, and indeed, the border guards passed right in front of him. Years ago, when he was wounded as he crossed into Albania, the guards had saved his life. Now circumstances had changed. A guard shouted, ‘Don’t let him get away! That dog is our enemy! We want him dead or alive! Besim considered surrendering and telling the guards he loved his country as much as they did, the country from which he had been forced to flee and now felt he had betrayed. But he forced himself to keep going. It’s awful to leave your country. Besim stayed in a small town for a few months until the US approved his request to emigrate there. He didn’t know what kind of work he could get so he decided to become a window cleaner at the Twin Towers. But his heart was still in Kosovo.”
“Didn’t he try to go back to Kosovo in 1999?” asked Fatie.
“Yes. He came here with the hope of one day returning home for good.”
Sokol emphasized the last few words, as if he himself had experienced this sad adventure. Then, changing the subject, he asked, “What about you? Any news from your family in Afghanistan?”
A look of sadness crossed Fatie’s face.
“A family friend who moved from Afghanistan to Pakistan and now lives in Karachi said the Taliban torture people who disobey the rules, even people in remote villages. They murder men, women’ and children. They are animals.” (Continues)
Click here for Part-1, Part-2,
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About the Author
Skifter Këllici was born in Tirana, Albania and received a diploma in history and literature from the University of Tirana. He worked as a journalist, scholar, and sportscaster on radio and television. He is the author of several novels and nonfiction books, including the children’s books, “Memories of the Old Neighborhood” and “In the Footsteps” as well as the historical novels, “Assassination in Paris”, “The Murderer with the White Hands”, and “September Disaster.” He wrote the screenplay for “In the Footsteps” which won a special prize at the International Children’s Film Festival in Giffoni, Italy in 1979. He has lived in Boston, Massachusetts since 1999.
About the Translator
Carrie Hooper was born and raised in Elmira, New York. She has been blind since birth. She received a B.A. in vocal performance from Mansfield University, Mansfield, Pennsylvania. She went on to receive an M.A. in German and an M.A. in vocal performance from the State University of New York at Buffalo. After completing her studies, she spent a year at the Royal University College of Music in Stockholm, Sweden as a Fulbright scholar. Carrie currently lives in Elmira, New York. She taught German, Italian, and Romanian at Elmira College. She has a passion for foreign languages and in addition to the languages mentioned above, she is also proficient in Swedish, Spanish, and Albanian. Music also plays an important role in Carrie’s life. She teaches voice and piano lessons, gives vocal concerts, plays the piano and organ at a church, and sings in a community chorus. Carrie not only loves music and languages, but also enjoys poetry. She has published three books: “Piktura në fjalë” (“Word Paintings”), a bilingual collection of poetry (Albanian-English), “My Life in My Words”, and “Away from Home.” She has also translated texts from Albanian and Romanian to English.