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. Sindh Courier is starting its episodes for the readers
[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.
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.
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]
DAY 24
The Darkening Skies of Violence
The hand of violence is gleaming over blood. Yesterday, over 125 people were killed and massacred in the village of Izbica in Skenderaj, one of the main cities in the Drenica region, where our insurgency has also erupted. It was a cursed Tuesday, a Tuesday as dark as a pit. This massacre, following the Prekaz massacre that took place in early March last year, is one of the largest massacres ever committed at once. Oh, and this village, Izbica, is not far from Prekaz. In other parts of Kosovo, there was also violence. Five people were killed in Suhareka, and one person was killed in Obiliq. Even Pristina (although it has been quieter than other parts of the country), these days is experiencing incidents, explosions, break-ins, and looting of Albanian-owned businesses, arrests, and killings. At the well-known “Koha” café (across from the “Rilindja” building), on the evening of March 22nd, an explosive device was thrown. Arianit Kelmendi, a young man, was killed there, while Jasim Jahaj and Agim Balaj were seriously injured. In the “Magjik” café (in the famous “Kurrizi” neighborhood), on the same evening, Leonora Lutolli was critically injured from automatic gunfire. In the “Bregu i Diellit” neighborhood, Kushtrim Gashi was found dead. The shadow of war has reached Pristina. The fragile and temporary calm is ending.
An Espresso on the Way-out…
In the early hours of the morning, as usual, I set off for work. I headed to the “Qafa” neighborhood. In this neighborhood lies the newsroom where I work as a journalist. This neighborhood is also the most renowned in Pristina and all of Kosovo. Why? Because this is where “we” gather, whether for work or leisure, and have our coffee. In this neighborhood, Serbs do not come. They have usurped the city center and, to a great extent, Serbianized it.
As I approached this neighborhood, it caught my attention that there weren’t as many people around as there usually were. Most of the cafes, which are usually bustling, were closed. This was a dreadful sign but also highly significant for the approaching moments. People seemed to be scattered, somewhat lost, and worried like never before. They walked restlessly. It felt like they had come out onto the streets to see the city for the last time. Walking through the labyrinthine streets of the “Qafa” concrete jungle felt as if I had never been here before, like a foreigner.
A cold, chilling wind was blowing. Dozens of motorized vehicles filled with paramilitary forces roamed the streets of the capital. They provoked people on both sides of the road by raising their three fingers high, waving their knives and automatic weapons while shouting, “Serbia, Serbia,” “Ubićemo Albance” (We will kill Albanians)
The situation was strange. Each person who had sat down in a cafe or decided to sit quickly finished their coffee to leave as soon as possible. If there were two people, they would also finish their conversations rapidly. Everyone walked away somewhere, maybe rushing through the neighborhood with anxiety and concern. They would greet each other, exchange a few words, but with an air of anguish and sorrow.
A cold, chilling wind was blowing. Dozens of motorized vehicles filled with paramilitary forces roamed the streets of the capital. They provoked people on both sides of the road by raising their three fingers high, waving their knives and automatic weapons while shouting, “Serbia, Serbia,” “Ubićemo Albance” (We will kill Albanians)! Albanian citizens, turning their heads away or staring back with reluctance, naturally did not engage with them. Serbian citizens, on the other hand, responded to them enthusiastically.
The typical atmosphere of war had arrived in Pristina. At “Gurra” café, where I usually sat, there was not a living soul. Only one of the waiters, Zeqa, whom I had known for a long time, was there. He had worked during the 1990s at the Student Center of the University of Pristina. I sat down where I always did. But it felt like sitting in a grave. I greeted Zeqa. After our initial pleasantries and a cigarette, I ordered an espresso.
I got up just as I had sat down, not even ten minutes later. Everything we talked about with Zeqa was just the spectrum of a wounded, cold, and empty conversation. It had the rhythm of a wearisome, sluggish meeting. I paid for my last coffee of the century before leaving. I paid for it just to have something to remember, as Zeqa refused to take my money at all. I greeted Zeqë without a doubt, as always, just like the last time. There was no joking anymore. Then I left heavily and headed towards my apartment. A few meters away from the building of the Bank of Ljubljana (a modern building entirely covered in glass), the observers or the last OSCE personnel were loading their placards to leave the building as quickly as possible. The day seemed tense. It couldn’t get any tenser. On the other hand, it didn’t seem wise to be on the streets on this day, the rhythms of which were no longer normal. But what could you do?! War or its shadow was spreading everywhere and encompassing everything. Is there any evidence more difficult and sadder for a person than war? No, there isn’t. More than I needed to be at the editorial office and get some work done, I couldn’t resist staying locked in my apartment all day and not going out. I had been living in Pristina, with few interruptions, since 1988, and I had witnessed and experienced hundreds of events (activities, meetings, gatherings, demonstrations). Could I stay closed in on this day too? No. But in a way, I wanted to see with my own eyes the current situation, feel the city’s pulse, the atmosphere of honor in which we already find ourselves. I wanted to be a physical witness and not just an imaginary one. Life is more real and tangible when we experience it both mentally and physically. After all, “life is only what we remember,” as a wise person once said.
The war was coming to Pristina, or perhaps it had already arrived, and I, maybe, wasn’t seeing it. Others, perhaps, weren’t seeing it either. Or, I was becoming resentful towards myself and others for “not seeing it,” and others were becoming resentful towards themselves and others for “not seeing it.” I was heading back to my apartment without a doubt: NATO airstrikes were not only about to begin, but it seemed to me that this matter would be difficult to last until evening. I hadn’t bought much food, meaning I hadn’t taken any steps to secure more essential items. I had only purchased a few necessities. I hadn’t even bought cigarettes, not even one extra pack than usual. No candles, no bread. I hadn’t intentionally stocked up on more food and other items, simply because I didn’t want to cause concern or fear in others. In fact, I didn’t want to cause concern or fear in my wife, with whom I had started married life not too long ago. I lived alone with her and with Etnik. While I was waiting for the city bus, a kind of uneasiness was creeping over me, and I felt deeply saddened and resigned to the fact that despite the inner spiritual joy that had accumulated in my heart and soul over time, and this joy was eagerly waiting to burst forth from moment to moment, just like the first NATO bomb would soon explode on Kosovo’s soil, I was convinced deep down that Serbian forces would exploit the situation created after the airstrikes started: they would retaliate mercilessly. Mercilessly, in their own way! Honestly, I did not belong to those people who thought that Milosevic and Belgrade would surrender quickly. As quick as it may be, the whole story of NATO military bombings would last about 7 to 8 days, at most two weeks. And I openly expressed this doubt. (Continues)
Click here for Part-1, Part-2, Part-3, Part-4, Part-5, Part-6,
______________________
