Fehmi Ajvazi, an eminent author from Kosovo, has shared his book ‘In the Kingdom of Death’ published in Albanian in 2012 in Pristina, and in Romanian in 2019, and was translated from Albanian to English
[In March 1999, the Serbian regime blanketed Kosovo with a contingent of 120,000 regular police, military, and civilian paramilitary forces. Just about two weeks before NATO’s intervention in Kosovo began, the region was surrounded on all sides, while pockets of the interior (villages and towns) were hit with arrests, liquidations, and massacres. Kosovo became a reservation. A kingdom called the “Kingdom of Death” established authority everywhere! However, some areas were controlled by insurgent liberation forces, and in some places, Serbian forces couldn’t penetrate. Well, the hatred between Serbs and Albanians was the same, but the bullets were the same too: they brought death to everyone, and it was no problem for the “bullet” whether the target was Albanian or Serbian. I mean, the forces of the Kosovo Liberation Army held some territory and kept it free! But about ten days before NATO planes launched their attack in their battle for Kosovo, Albanian insurgents managed to have the world’s most powerful force as their ally: the NATO alliance. However, no one had managed to master a pact with death. Just a few days before March 24th, the “Lady of Death” was the ruler of Kosovo, in reality, she was the ruler of the Albanian citizens of this extremely small territory! And for the third time in history, the state of Serbia wanted nothing more and nothing less than: the ethnic cleansing of Kosovo. Over 1 million residents before March 24, 1999, challenged “this kingdom” by saying, “Here we are, your power is not the power of God!” I had decided to stay, not to leave. I was a journalist, but also a creator. And so, I had no idea what dilemmas lay in this direction, despite the open threats from the Serbs, and I knew well that they would try to wash their hands of us like Pontius Pilate! Regardless of every situation and circumstance, I sacrificed to be a witness to a time and a history without parallel! Yes, a witness…! And everything I have said and written about literary-historical conditions is in this book – a testimony. Therefore, this book is a source and my personal experience of a time I pray will never be repeated – anywhere. Just as I pray for the souls of those who did not come out alive in this “kingdom of death” in the third millennium! Read the truth about Kosovo… Author]
-Only the Serbs, only the Serbs commit or know how to commit such genocides. Their entire history is written with such deeds, so we shouldn’t be surprised,” Ibrahim said. Perhaps this was the most comforting explanation of the moment, something we knew in a way but didn’t want to remember or something we knew but didn’t want to be reminded of. Further on, dozens of young men and women carrying liquids and various food items, a team of first-aid medics, and dozens of Macedonian police and soldiers comprised the previously unknown, profoundly sad scene of the massive displacement at the Jazhince border point. It was a sight that reflected the grim Serbian expulsion, the violent, forced, and genocidal deportation.
Behind us, Kosovo remained. We didn’t know where we were going or where we would end up that night. One thing was clear: we had finally escaped from the castle of death.
I held Niku’s hand in mine. He, with his wide eyes, was observing the multitude of people, and only God knows what was going through his mind. He had slept throughout the journey. But now, he had burst into loud sobs, and there was no one to stop him. I tried to comfort him. I spoke to him, whispered to him, up and down. Perhaps he was feeling too cold. All of us, as many as we were, were indeed being pelted by a moment of bitterly cold weather, almost like winter, under a sky heavy with thick clouds. The cold and snow mixed with rain added to the harshness of the mountainous landscape. The snow-capped peaks loomed over us, reflecting the current state of affairs. The mountain peaks, in the distance, seemed as if they were threatening us, the uncovered heads beneath them. All we needed was a warm embrace.
Crossing into Macedonia
After about four hours of waiting in the open field, we each had a piece of bread and some suxhuk to eat, and we joined the crowd of people waiting to cross the border. The soldiers in charge of the border checkpoint, in collaboration with customs personnel or those authorized to allow passage in an orderly manner, were mostly letting women, children, and occasionally some elderly individuals go through. This classification, while seemingly humane and thoughtful, raised questions about why other categories of people were not allowed to cross the border. My friend Gani, who had been waiting for about two days, was particularly troubled. This categorized restriction had caused problems, with families being separated, and members left behind.
Gani, when I asked about his immediate family, would tell me he had no idea where they were. “I only know they crossed over there,” he said. This raised concerns for us. How would we be able to cross? Would they let me through? There were only three of us. Shpresa had never traveled to Macedonia before, and she didn’t know anyone in this country, unlike me, who had relatives in Kumanovo and Skopje. If they don’t allow me to pass, where will she, alone with a child, go, or what will happen to her? Furthermore, what if they don’t let us go today? Or what if they turn us back?
As we approached the large crowd of people waiting to cross the border, these questions kept swirling in my mind. They were dilemmas that seemed insurmountable. In these extraordinary circumstances, anything was possible. Therefore, I needed to be alert and resourceful to make use of the daylight hours to secure our border crossing.
Etnik was too young to endure the cold weather and the chilling rain that persisted. He was getting colder and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. Along with my wife, we tried to get as close as possible to the border checkpoint. However, it was difficult due to the large number of people. On the other hand, Etnik was crying almost incessantly, and his cries were loud and attention-grabbing. Everyone around us could hear and see him.
The regular soldiers were the ones allowing us to pass. After about an hour of waiting, they ordered the passage of a group of women and some elderly individuals. They allowed Shpresa to go through with Etnik, but they didn’t allow me. I didn’t react or attempt to persuade the soldiers to let me pass. I had to wait. Shpresa didn’t react either. We, along with others, walked toward the border checkpoint, glancing back two or three times. However, we had a plan. We had previously agreed that she, being alone with Etnik, wouldn’t go anywhere. She had to wait nearby, right at the border checkpoint. Moreover, she should explain the situation to the soldiers and civilian officials, making them aware of our situation. She should insist and try to convince them to let me pass. After all, where would she go with an infant in her arms if they didn’t let me through?
We walked, not only burdened by physical exhaustion but also burdened by the heavy weight of Kosovo’s bloodstained decade, weighed down by the heaviness of Kosovo’s torn-apart season and day.
The plan, as crafty as it was, worked like a charm. After 15-20 minutes, they allowed me to pass, a result of Shpresa’s persistence. In fact, besides her persistence and explanations of our real situation, she also used a “corruption formula” that we had thought of beforehand. This “corruption formula” proved to be quite helpful in achieving our goal.
The border crossing procedure didn’t take too long. Formally, the border guards completed my administrative-border registration. After that, I greeted them and put our bags back on our shoulders. We left the small military building together with Shpresa and Etnik. In a way, we were now free. We started walking without speaking. Everything was closed off for us like in a castle-prison: time, thought, speech, light, life. Shpresa, more than me, seemed excessively tired. Strangely, Etnik appeared to be asleep. In fact, he wasn’t crying anymore. He seemed to be drifting into slumber. As nightfall slowly descended, the calmness of the night, surrounded by the whispering winds of the mountains, separated from the stars in the sky, imposed on us its melancholy and sadness. The valley below in the plateau was pushing us forward, towards the unknown path of our future.
Behind us, Kosovo remained. We didn’t know where we were going or where we would end up that night. One thing was clear: we had finally escaped from the castle of death. The road we were walking on, a road now divided by a border that hadn’t existed before (this border was now internationally recognized as the Macedonia-“FRY” border), led to the city of Tetovo.
We walked slowly, thoughtfully. We walked, not only burdened by physical exhaustion but also burdened by the heavy weight of Kosovo’s bloodstained decade, weighed down by the heaviness of Kosovo’s torn-apart season and day. Our journey was profoundly conflicted… (Continues)
Click here for Part-1, Part-2, Part-3, Part-4, Part-5, Part-6, Part-7, Part-8, Part-9, Part-10, Part-11, Part-12, Part-13, Part-14, Part-15, Part-16, Part-17, Part-18, Part-19, Part-20, Part-21, Part-22, Part-23, Part-24,
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[The book ‘In the Kingdom of Death’ is being reproduced in episodes with the consent of the author]
