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]
As the bus started moving, the man in question came to the front of the bus, probably counting how many people were inside. When he passed by us, I asked:
-Excuse me, where are we going? To Struga. Haven’t you read the sign placed in front? he replied with an understanding smile.
– Ah! No, we haven’t read it. Who noticed it?” I responded. In fact, we had just boarded the bus and hadn’t thought to look at the bus signs, let alone anything else. Besides, who had even considered places like Struga, Ohrid, Pogradec, Gjirokastra, Dibra, or Kërçova? I wasn’t really concerned with the idea of leaving Kosovo or going further beyond Kosovo’s borders. Vaguely, I had only thought of Skopje and Kumanovo, which had been my first and last shelter goal in case of exile. Both these cities were very close to the Kosovo border.
The man’s words sent shivers down my spine. How was it possible that there were no places of shelter in Tetovo and Gostivar? How was that possible, I thought to myself. Both these cities were relatively large and heavily populated with Albanians. Ugh…! And if there were no available places in these two cities, how could there be in Kumanovo or Skopje?
Vaguely, I had only thought of Skopje and Kumanovo, which had been my first and last shelter goal in case of exile. Both these cities were very close to the Kosovo border.
– To Struga, to Struga. Why not? I said to myself. Although I had never been there in my life, I was clear about where this city was located and what it was like. Hope remained silent. Meanwhile, as the bus was moving towards Tetovo, I talked to her about my thoughts and the circumstances that had come to my mind so that the two of us could decide where we would go. The truth was, we weren’t going to a carnival, a festival, or even a summer vacation.
– You decide,” said Hope, leaning even more on me. Slowly, the bus descended towards Tetovo. In the village of Xhepçisht, almost at the entrance to the city of Tetovo, we made a very short stop. I got off the bus. I bought two bottles of Coca-Cola, a pack of biscuits, and a pack of Kent cigarettes. I bought these items with German marks. I threw some Serbian dinars that I had left into a container.
After about an hour, leaving Tetovo and Gostivar behind, we were traveling on a winding road that stretched through the high mountains of Kërçova. I rested my head on the cold bus window. Hope and Etniku were sleeping. A bit physically rested, I observed the tall mountains with their peaks reaching towards the sky, the slopes, the deep valleys that had turned green like savannas, and I observed here and there a house or a village lost in the folds of the mountains and valleys with deep gorges. Although it was dark, the natural image and the reflection of half-scenes created the clarity of spring landscapes that extended everywhere in my retinas. Spring had arrived here before us. We were slowly heading south in the warmth.
As I was listening to the voices and melodies of our well-known song about the Battle of Kaçanik (an anti-Ottoman battle in the early 20th century) or the famous song about the fight against Durgut Pasha, the words and the melody were echoing in my ears: “Brave warriors are coming from Dibra and Kërçova, brave warriors are coming from Presheva and Kumanova…”
Near the Via Egnatia Road
The road was occasionally covered with snow and a layer of ice, as well as with many potholes and bumps along the way. The menacing and heavy evening weighed down by thick, threatening clouds filled the entire visible space. In a mountain pass, just below the high peaks, we stopped to rest for a few minutes at a café that seemed lost, as if in the middle of savannahs and fog. Further on, we passed through the town of Kërçova. The bus seemed to be flying. After more than three hours of travel since the border, we were descending through many picturesque valleys that were about to surrender to the kingdom of the night. The deep mountain silence was everywhere. However, here and there, along the road, solitary houses on both sides were signs that indicated the large mountain valley was not completely deserted by people.
Suddenly, after leaving the high mountains and valleys, the buildings, half-slopes, we were entering the flatlands, and thus, we were entering the suburbs of the city of Struga. Towards the south, numerous lights, clusters of houses, winding streets, and a vast space that looked like a large basin surrounded by tall silhouetted hills that were barely visible in the darkness, were appearing. It was hard to believe: in the morning, I was in the bloodied and occupied Pristina, and now, in the evening, I am in the peaceful and picturesque city of Struga, the city of music, the city of writers, the tourist and artistic city known internationally. The city was sparkling with lights. Dozens of residents from Struga and the surrounding villages had come out to welcome us. Some humanitarian activists were warmly welcoming us, offering us bread, fruit, juice, and more.
The people who had come out to welcome us (in groups), from Struga and the surrounding villages, were getting agitated among themselves because they were trying to “abduct” us like pirates, not in a hostile way but to take us in and provide shelter.
The Balkan night had fallen everywhere. I was reminded of ancient times, history, myths and legends, epochs, processes, and especially the ancient Illyrian-Roman road “Via Egnatia.” It was as if I could see ancient travelers on this road: emperors, kings, Roman senators, honorable princes, legions, soldiers, and generals of the Roman Empire, archons, consuls, merchants, ambassadors, pashas, knights, eunuchs, priests, spies of various layers, couriers, carts carrying goods from the “Silk Road,” priests, Byzantine soldiers, Albanian Catholic priests, Albanian Orthodox priests, Ottoman soldiers, janissaries, tax collectors, ministers, large Ottoman legions that surrounded Kruja, and countless others. All of them, at least once in their lives, must have traveled along this famous historical road. They must have traveled this road and, inevitably, they must have stopped to rest or simply to wash their hands or feet in the waters of the famous Lake Ohrid.
The bus had now come to a halt. All of us inside had disembarked. We were tired and disoriented. Our hosts, as excited and saddened as they were for us, were practically overwhelming us with their embraces, words, food, and everything else they had prepared for us. But it seemed to me that all of us, at least in the eyes of these fellow brothers, looked like stranded castaways on a shore. Well, this was merely my fleeting impression, a dual image of my anxious thoughts undoubtedly fueled by fatigue and sadness, given that we had just emerged from the living hell. Everything, all around, I was observing from an upside-down perspective. Simply put, I had lost a part of my connection with normality, not to mention reality. Certainly, not just me. Facing us, our hosts (the Struga brothers) were not concealing their joy in receiving us, nor were they concealing their sorrow for us. First and foremost, they were trying to be as generous as possible. And they were doing this not only with words and gestures but with heart and soul. Therefore, they were not treating us like “stray shadows” but like angels. The only thing that was challenging them was the fact that they found it difficult to understand what they should offer us (so as not to hurt us), how to entertain us (whether to make us happy or sad), what to ask us (so as not to increase our sadness), etc. Therefore, by writing these lines, I cannot express it in words or with the heart just how remarkable and strange, how unexpected, it was for me and for each of us, the fact that the people who had come out to welcome us (in groups), from Struga and the surrounding villages, were getting agitated among themselves because they were trying to “abduct” us like pirates, not in a hostile way but to take us in and provide shelter. (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, Part-25, Part-26,
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[The book ‘In the Kingdom of Death’ is being reproduced in episodes with the consent of the author]
