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Travelling notes of RIZA LAHI
With President of Roma of Albania, of “Amaro Dives” (“Our Days”), Gurali Mejdani, we entered in Prishtina around 9 o’clock evening.
Was impossible to find hotels in centre of Kosovo’s Capital cheaper then 50 euros for a bed so, we decided to go by one advice. To go “by that street, you will get hotels with 10 euros a bed, I swear for Lord”.
Was the street to Ferizaj.
Now we just have crossed the Prishtina’s periphery full of lights and President was driving quietly. All the path from Tirana we have been escorted from Mihallaq Andrea’s serenades. Gurali have saved this cassette for me in this very long trip. He keep a lot of cassettes in his car and use each one in respect of his friends he use to drive. The 60 years old president knows the personal flavour of each one of his friends and, so, we had enjoyed all the way me preferable cassette.
During the street in the depth of darkness – some pale lights, like live coals.Was a living centre. Miracle! On the side, I observe a boy, no more than 18. President stopped.
“Hey, captain! Where is the hotel? …Is around one hotel?
I have dropped of our vehicle, but not President.
“Ne razumem…I’m not Allbanec”.
“Do you speak English?”
“So - so!”
The Serbian boy shows his desire to escort accompany us in our car and I open the gate of vehicle but…in moment, he whistles and, like going out from the earth – three other young guys entered in the same time, as soon, as to open and close the eyes.
“Go, President!”
No answer from President. He directed me a looking, like he were to be not President of Roma, but president of National Brazilian team of football before the final game. I thinking of his tiredness – we were travelling up to the morning – fondle his right cheek, but his looking is full of nervous. He, also, rejects in silent my desire to put on the Mihallaq’s cassette.
“Where is the hotel, guys? More far?”
The other boys do not answer; only the first one; the author of the whistle. He explains me that we should go a little bit straight ahead, after to turn in left, after a little bit straight ahead, after, to turn in right and, after that, only five minutes straight ahead and – the two floor hotel in green big trees…
Ooooooppppp!
Suddenly a terrible braking but was nothing in front of us. The President has pressed strong the pedal and the car stopped. Like at me, and three heads of Serbian guys, like to were only one head, bumped up against seats in front.
“Go out, now!...Immediately!” President directs without a little bit politeness, but shouting and in Albanian language to young Serbian boys crouched in each – other like dry figs.
They look very astonished.
“No, gospoda, herein is not the hotel.”
I give them cigarettes and say “hvala”, one of four – five Serbian words, as much is my extremely poor Serbian heritage.
President, speaking nothing more, parks the car some meters far and directs to a night pub there. “Come on, Riza”, says me like ordering any of his members in “Amaro Dives”. The lights has been of that pub and that has been the reason of the strong breaking of President.
“What you did, Riza? But if they would be a gangster’s band? A? And if they would have revolvers. and with that revolvers to focus us? To steal our car? Not good, Riza, not good at all!”
I laugh aloud. “What kind of gangsters, my dearest Gurali? They were children!”
“Should not laugh, Riza. In 1998, just in middle of Tirana, a boy like those, weeping, pleased me to drive him at his home because had the mother died and I drove. When we arrived “at home”, five machineguns were waiting for me only after a whistle of my “passenger”. They ordered me to give the keys of my car, otherwise – killed. I was saved only because one of gangsters told that “ I know him, he is Gurali, of Roma, live him, he is a good man and did only good things for others”…
Was a Serbian pub. A couple kissing in their table invited us but, during the time President has taken one empty table and had prepared my chair.
I ordered the waiter to regale to everybody in pub with “one brandy”, including the waiter. Nobody rejected what our table offered. For more, one person, alone on his table and totally drank, was looking to me very – very carefully. Full of attention.
“Who are you? Where you are coming from?”
“We are Albanian, coming from Tirana today. This gentleman is President of Albanian Roma and me, am journalist and author”
“Really? Indeed? You…You do not look at me as journalist.”
The drank Serbian was gazing me like a drill.
“Indeed? And how I do look for you?”
The villager from Ksosovo’s Serbian spoke not bed English.
“For me, I am pretty sure, you are military man. Say “not!”
“You are totally right! In fact I am Albanian high officer. I am cornel of Albanian Air Forces, but herein I really have come only as journalist. I am free lance of some newspapers in my country. Okay?”
Was 12 and more of midnight and I had a fairy desire for adventures. President – nix. Nix at all. He only could not wait more without being informed what we were speaking in English and I translated toasting “a health” for that drank neighbour of our table.
The other guy next, kissed another time his girlfriend and, after the first toast for the health of our table, proposed to drive and show the hotel; to go there with his personal car and, if I would agree for the price, to drive me back to the President, who was happy if we would stay in pub until the dawn drinking and eating delicious beef.
Was two after midnight and the waiter told us that he has changed the mind. The pub will be locked after 30 minutes.
“I have been this summer for vocations in Durres; I had wonderful days there”, told me my new driver. He spoke so – so English, but not his pretty girlfriend, which did not throw at least a glimpse to me. She was blond, elegant and with deep blue eyes.
She looked very seriously her boyfriend speaking with me and answered in shortest way she could to my two – three courtesy questions. But in a brilliant English.
The owner of the hotel dipped in green like a puppet’s house went out on the top of the stairs after the knock of the Serbian gyu.
“How many persons you are told? Two? Okay. And…Are you from Germany or from Russia? Or from Sweden?”
“No, we are Albanian…Albanian from Tirana?”
“Allbaneeec, told?”
“Yes”
“No! I have not empty beds in my hotel. You may go.”
He looked me speaking from there, like from the ring of boxing.
“I have to go to sleep now. Llaki nooch”- told to my guide who was staying like a frozen body.
I collected myself at once.
“Sir! Firstly, let me to wish the best for your hotel. Secondly, please, pardon me hundred times because I have troubled in your sleeping time for me own problem. Sorry… many times sorry. Good night.”
I directed to the car, where were waiting contemptuous and extremely happy eyes in deep blue of pretty Serbian girl.
“Sorry! Wait a little. In fact I have any empty bed for you and your friend.. But you should pay 15 euros each one”.
“Please, could wait only less than 15 minutes, as to collect my friend?”
In the morning I waked early, did a bath, knocked at the President’s room and climbed down where was waiting the owner with a very friendly eyewink. Smiling he handed me the passport where I had “forgotten” my document as member of OSCE in Tirana, and leaded me for a valedictory coffee, waiting and for President, too.
For a moment I hanged back. In the coffee room full of computers, on my back, on the wall was hanged now a map of Serbia included in Kosovo. The very big map was circulated around with military leaders of all the times and, each one, with military dresses, with very big moustaches and glowering to me ready to destroy everybody in front of them with roughly eyebrows.
I controlled myself.
He started …to speak Albanian. He told me that he had worked in TV of Prishtina, in it’s cultural programs and for 20 years but, up to five years, up of war time, he never had moved from his castle called “hotel” and “computers” in presence of his imposed map and in this Serbian enclave close the Kosovo’s capital. He told me that was musician and I spoke him for Mihallaq Andrea; on his songs only for love and I stressed that some of the texts were of mine.
“His songs are so melodious, like there are your’s Serbian songs or of my Shkodra, in the north of Albania. There are some districts in Albania, which have not such mellow music like of us in Serbia, in Korca or in Shkodra, like Laberia, for e.g. But – I stopped for a moment; was the revenge’s time for the map with Serbian solders on my back – be care. They arevery brave, are terrible and very rigid…Do you remember the student’s demonstrations on 1981 in Prishtina?”
“For sure. I have been in Prishtina at that time.”
“Do you remember at that time, where a football team from Albania has destroyed your “Partizan” of Belgrad which was in the second place of Europe?”
“Yes! Yes, yes!”
“The eleven footballers were from Laberia and they did that victory only as a solidarity way with students’s demonstration.”
During the time entered the wife of musician. She was blond, rakish body and very fine.
“I love so much poets…They are miraculous. O, my Lord, how much I admire the poets!”
I understood pretty well by my vestigial of Russian language.
Her husband asked me if I did understood what his wife told and I answered that, yes, she admires much POETRIES.
During the time President entered in. He was combed, shaved perfectly and looked very charming; he told to owner of hotel to bring him soon, because of time, some lavender.
“We with Xake ( my nick name – Riza) have to go in Kosovo’s Parliament”.
His sight like a horseman going in his triumph ceremony, the way how he asked for lavender almost ordering, were full of handsomeness.
“No, I never use lavender.”
“Neither perfume? President should have flower’s smell when have to go in especial meetings” – was my interfere.
The Serbian laugh and brought a small bottle with perfume; surely of his wife.
President use it very carefully.
I was very interesting to know how the musician will react from songs of Mihallaq. The cassette was in our car.
“Bogomi… Bogomi” – he almost whispering started to enjoy the music of my closed friend – “like the voice of Goran Begovic…Please…How I could get one?”
“Donate to him! You will find another in Albania” ordered me President and I had any way to resist. We had travelled from Tirana only with that cassette.
At the moment when our engine was on, on the stairs appeared the wife holding aloft and shaking 30 euros.
I was confused. Maybe any one of them was false?
“He got you wrongly so much. You both have to pay not 30 euros, but 20. those are the prices in our hotel.”
He shouted to her husband in our present, but he did’n care about, because of his present – the magic cassette.
When we were to Parliament, the first person we met was a clerk, a girl. Her two brothers were killed in war, fighting for the freedom of Kosovo.
I gave her as a present my book “Drenica, the Albanain hat”. She asked:
“Uncle Riza! How did you not have been afraid? But if the serbians would…kill sleeping?:
O, young poor girl. She was yet stressed from the deed of Slobodan’s army in Kosovo.
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