By Maksim Rakipaj
Part twenty seven
Memorie.al/ Maksim Rakipaj, originally from Përmet, whose family had helped and supported the Anti-Fascist National Liberation War, after graduating from the Navy School in Vlorë, in 1972 he was appointed an officer in the Merchant Navy, where he served with dedication until in 1977, on the “Durrësi” steamer, he was arrested and sentenced to 15 years in political prison, as part of a “group”, which also included his colleague, Aladin Kapo, the son of Hysni Kapo’s brother. Family biography was also the reason for his punishment. After the end of the war, two of his uncles were sentenced to political prison, his grandfather was declared a kulak and in 1976, his father was expelled from the party. Maksi began serving his sentence in the Ballsh camp and in 1979, he was transferred to the Spaçi camp and then to the Qafë Bari camp. He was released on September 12, 1984, benefiting from a reduced sentence, from an amnesty. After being unemployed for a long time, with many hardships, he got a job as a miner in the Mzezet mine, he worked until 1991. After the 1991s, he started working in the administration of the Municipality of Durrës, he served until 1997 and after that, he returned to the Merchant Navy (the last captain of the transoceanic ship “Vlora”), until he left Albania for Italy, (illegally on a dinghy), where he currently lives for many years. Since the 90s, in addition to various jobs, Maksim Rakipaj has also devoted himself to writing, such as; poetry, prose, fiction or documentary, translations, etc., publishing several books, such as: ‘Prophet – Khalil Gibran’, (translation from English ‘Toena’ 2003), ’20 love poems and a song of sadness’, (translation from Spanish, ‘Toena’ 2003), ‘Alive after the shipwreck’, (published by ISKK, 2014), ‘Bukowski – poetry’, (translation from English, ‘ENEAS’, 2015), ‘Trilusa m’Tirône’, ( translation from Italian, ‘UEGEN’, 2015), ‘Anthology of Arabic-Persian Poetry’ (English translations, ‘UEGEN’, 2015), ‘The Complete Sonnets of Shakespeare’, (English translation, ‘ADA’ 2016′) , ‘Survivor’ (autobiographical novel, ‘2 East, 2 West’ 2018), ‘Nobelists – poetic anthology, (UEGEN 2019), ‘Hymn of happiness’ (‘JOZEF’ 2023), etc. From the creativity of Mr. Rakipaj, Memorie.al is publishing the book “Survivor”, (published in 2022 by “JOZEF” Publishing House in Durrës, directed by Mr. Aurel Kaçulini), where he has described his life chronologically, where the part the main one is that of serving the sentence in camps and prisons, as well as various characters, his co-sufferers that he met in the communist hell, etc.
Continues from last issue
Am I really freed…?!
When I reminisce about life in prison, I feel like I’m there again, I feel like I’m waiting to be called: “Come on 3rd shift… ready for work”!
…In Spaç, it was more difficult to go to work, both in winter and in summer: a difficult mountain, heat that took the soul in summer, cold, ice and snow in winter. At the entrance to the mine, there were wooden huts where we kept our tools and work clothes. When it rained, we found porridge. We took off wet clothes and put on starched, cardboard-like clothes when it was freezing. But today I want to get out of prison; I want to remember the days when I was released.
I would soon miss my prison mates…I was very little welcomed by my old friends. Most were afraid to see them associated with me. Someone, whose fear had forced him to testify against me, was hiding from me…! Today I appreciate those who congratulated me and hugged me when I was released. Maybe for them it was natural, but for me it meant a lot. I went to the Fleet office to retrieve the file and the workbook.
Once upon a time… forget why you went there, from the many friends you met. There were some sailors in the corridor, which quickly hid. An office door opened and Myftar Muço, better known as Tare, came out. “Ooooo Makso, I’m so glad you came out! Thank you for your health, I see you well. Did you have any trouble coming here”?!
– “Here, for the file…”!
– “Walk with me…” – and opened the frame door. Leta Bakri welcomed me very warmly and finished my work immediately.
…Years later, a militant of the Democratic Party and a “hardened” anti-communist, when he saw me warmly greet Taren (it was 1996 and I was an important employee in the City Hall), he said to me in shock: ” You talk to this shit?! Do you know that this is a rotten communist?! His own brother, Fatosi, is at the head of the Socialist Party”?!
– “I don’t know why I should talk to you, my friend. I’ve known Tara for a long time and you have absolutely no right to tell me who I should talk to and who I shouldn’t”.
Two days after I was released, I went to Nuro Hoti’s house. Samija, my wife, opened the door for me. Nuro gave me a photo of himself and a letter to the family. After that, I often went to Lushnja, to Visar’s family, whom I left in Qaf Bar…he would be released after a year. A special emotion that, when I met those days in Tirana, the great Shefqet Kau…! It started to roar immediately…! “How can I get you out of prison, you criminal? Let’s go with my brother for a coffee”! We went to 15 floors, but the waitress told us that there was only barley coffee…! “I’ll give you 15 floors”, I told Kau …!
– “Let’s both eat it,” said Çet Kau – Let’s walk, we’ll go to Gëzim Peshkepia, in the village, we’ll definitely find coffee there.
And at Gezimi we found coffee, which tasted better than if we had drunk it at 15 floors.
You couldn’t find coffee in any bar, those days of ’85. When Enver Hoxha died, I was in Durrës, at my sister’s. My brother-in-law told me that Enveri should have died, that the radio had been playing funeral music all day. When the door fell. It was a woman from the front: “You are ordered, at 12 o’clock, to open the radio”!
– “Thank you, definitely”, – says the brother-in-law and after closing the door, he took out a liter of brandy. – This is special brandy. I save it for this day. Yes, I don’t want to open it without hearing the big news.
The big news was delivered. We congratulated each other, drank from a double bottom and left. Bars were ordered not to serve alcoholic beverages. The closest club was in front of Gastronom.
– “Please, a double bite”, – I say to the waiter with a frown.
– “I’m sorry; friend, but I can’t even have a brother.” They fly me from work…”!
– “Pour me in a cup of coffee, because our hearts are breaking”, – I told him.
I wanted to get drunk. I drank in two or three clubs from one glass and returned home. After lunch, around 5 o’clock, the door rings. It was Zydi Morava. We hugged and I invited him inside.
– “No,” said my father – you have nowhere to go. At least today, you should not be seen together and moreover drunk and merry. You have a palm and a spy today.”
– “Today, never,” said Zydi. – Great work, they even let us in. The dictator died, the dictatorship dies with him”!
We went out, drank and remembered the friends we had inside. We tried to guess their condition. We remembered those who were killed and did not manage to see the death of the one who blackened an entire nation. We remembered the martyrs of Spaç and Qaf-Bar. We also drink to their memory. We were happy that marked day. We were happy and hopeful. We hoped and fantasized. When I met Zydi in January ’91 and he found out that I was fighting for the Democratic Party in Durrës, it was bad…!
– “You are wrong. I know Max… we went with a group of former political prisoners to greet the founders of the DP. We had tears in our eyes; we had seen the flag without a star there from the students…! Ben Imami opened the door for us…! ‘Hey, what’s up with you’?! So so we said, we couldn’t wait for this day and…’!
– ‘And you want to have your own party now, huh?! Come on, leave us alone. We were busy and for you now…”?!
…I tried it myself on my skin. No one wanted us; they only needed us for propaganda. They need us again for propaganda and not only them…!
Busts, memorials fall
Often, while writing my memoirs, I experience a strange feeling. It feels like I’m in a hypnosis session and the hypnotist invites me to go deeper in time…! I start to obey, but not everything goes the way he wants me to. He insists, I dig into my memory for the years 1977-’84, while I either go deeper, surpass the year ’77… Or I find it impossible; surpass the goal of the year ’84…?! Or I’m having a hard time.
So today ends in August 1968. The Russians have invaded Czechoslovakia. Find Dad, listening to “Voice of America” on the radio. He lowered his voice to a minimum, listened to the “Stassfurt” radio, beckoned me to come closer and said only: “Shsht”! I take a stool and sit next to him. After that, the show “Free Europe” starts, but it is not broadcast in the Albanian language. The father finds the right station, but in Russian. “You understand Russian, – he tells me, – listen to what he says and then translate for me”. NATO’s official statement is given.
If the Soviet Union attacks Yugoslavia, NATO will open war against the Soviet Union. If Albania is attacked, NATO will not take any military action, because, like Czechoslovakia, Albania is a member country of the Warsaw Pact”!
The next day, Radio-Tirana gives the statement of Prime Minister Mehmet Shehu, regarding the departure of Albania from the Warsaw Treaty. That same afternoon, foreign radio stations broadcast his full statement and Moscow’s statement. Moscow does not recognize this unilateral departure and will continue to call Albania a member country of the Warsaw Treaty. The timid Albanian secession, to be put under the protective umbrella of NATO, is called worthless.
…We remember those events with our friends in Ballsh and Spaç. In the camp of Ballshit, there is a veteran prisoner; they call him Tomorr, of Korça origin. In the ongoing conversation, he remembers the overthrow of Mussolini. At that time, Tomorri was a final year student at the Faculty of Medicine in Rome:
– “I didn’t leave my room for two days. The phone rings, I pick it up. It was an Albanian friend of mine: Tom, did you hear? Muçua took the trouble…’! Muço, we Albanians used to say to Mussolini what you say. I get dressed and go out. Party in Rome. People scream at the top of their heads, anti-fascist slogans, hug, cry… a young girl, not even 20 years old, sits on top of a large portrait of the Duce; people applaud him; the same people who the day before, had to denounce him for a word against the Duce”.
The memory of this conversation leads me to another time, very similar to what Tomorri was telling.
… February 20, 1991. In December ’90, the Democratic Party was created. I went to her headquarters every day. We were notified of a meeting that should be held on the same day, February 20, 1991, at 4:00 p.m., in front of the PTT in Durrës, organized by the trade unions, DP, PR, etc.
Eating lunch, I see on TV the bust of the dictator in Tirana. At last…! Albanians showed that they have blood. Ah, if only I were in Tirana, with those lucky ones! But even in Durrës, we have a bust of that dog at the port, because the port is named after him. That’s why this meeting was held in Durrës. Undoubtedly, the opposition parties want to show solidarity with the people who demolished the criminal’s monument in Tirana.
The Shkozet-Durrës bus is full. I also know some neighborhood spies, who hang around like wet rats; they started the game of “neutrality”, “democracy and everything, for God’s sake, Makso”… which would become fashionable, for all those types, in those years. At PTT in Durrës, the rally starts on time.
People have gathered, noisy and excited by the news coming from Tirana. They eagerly await the speech of the local leaders of the DP, PR and trade unionists. All the leaders who speak repeat each other’s words: “We distance ourselves from all the vandalistic actions that happened in Tirana…”!
…Whispered from mouth to mouth, that this attitude is the order of the opposition leaders from Tirana. Don’t take it! Where were you, nowhere! Why will we continue with the slogan of the one who dragged his torso around Tirana: “What the party says, the people do”?! I want to go to the microphones, but it is impossible to get close; invisible police, don’t let anyone near there. I start shouting with all the power I have: – “You distance yourself as much as you want! We distance ourselves from you! We are with those who overthrew Dulla in Tirana”!
From the right side, some high school students try to lift me in their arms. The call; “To the port, to overthrow Dulla”! Multiplied by the voices of thousands of people…! The march to the port begins: people from the balconies throw the vampire’s books into the fire. The two soldiers guarding him ran away as soon as the crowd approached 2-300 meters. Unforgettable day. We also brought it down in Durrës, Dulla.
Today, everyone talks as they like about the events of that day, but I don’t forget one thing: I remained at the head of the crowd, all the way, from the PTT, to Dyl’s shop. When we saw that the soldiers guarding the bust were running away, I barely escaped without being trampled by the crowd of thousands of people. The bust fell in Durrës, Shkodër, Elbasan, Kavaje, Korçë, everywhere.
Wherever there were busts and monuments, there were also those who brought down and desecrated those monuments. For me, these scenes were not new. He told me Dr. Tomorri, that wise corsair, as early as 1978, in the concentration camp in Ballsh, when he remembered the fall of Mussolini…!
Today there are still twisted, who hold as a national hero, the one who was the executioner of the Albanian people. “The mother of fools is always pregnant,” says an Italian proverb.
“Donkey, all my life…”!
“We shared with each other, the few joys we had. We supported each other. This kept us alive in prison, Mr. Xhafer”, – these were the words that my father, my friend Islam Spahiu, said to me when he came to congratulate and rejoice with us, my release from prison, those days of September ’84. We shared together, those few joys, tombstone words. Whoever has been in prison, feels these words in his soul.
Without each other’s friendship, we would have played mind. I also understand the disappointment of many of my friends, for someone who has been with us in prison, when they say: “How did you forget those years we spent in Spaç, Qaf Bari… when we shared a cigarette with the 4 of us, when… “?! Because when we were there, we didn’t need to beg each other for anything.
It was enough for you to explain your situation to them and they themselves knew what to do, for your relief. But there are also those who forget and deal only with themselves, the position they have reached. I wish them all the best as well. Life wears you down, years, age, past sufferings take their toll. Perhaps solidarity among us is no longer fashionable.
But I know very well that each of us is who we are, also thanks to friends and comrades, who kept him alive in prison. Because we were family to each other. A family, which for me is sacred and I will try to protect it. But there are also some of us who demand more than what is necessary and overdo it.
When I was working in the Municipality of Durrës, a friend from prison came to me, an honest man and a good friend. He came to my office and invited me for coffee. We missed each other; we had all those years without seeing each other. He lived in Tirana now and was engaged in some small trade. He didn’t get rich, but he still lived. He congratulated me on the task and:
– “I want a favor from you, Makso. I want you to give me some property over there from the beach, or a piece of land at the end, because it doesn’t become a house…! Are we or are we not friends?
I’m sorry! I explained that I deal with external relations in the Municipality, with the protocol, with the press, that…!
– “Leri took these…! Everyone knows that you are the right hand of Tomor Golem, the Mayor. Or did you take care of yourself and what did you do to your mother and friends?! Say I don’t want to give, don’t try to fill my mind. Ehuu, who is in the offices, has invested millions”.
I said: – “Who should I take the property from and give it to you?! I don’t deal with property; my duty is foreign relations, the press, protocol expectations… why don’t you understand me… I live only on my salary and apart from the house, I have no other property”!
It was pointless. He stood up, amused:
– “It’s gone, it won’t bother you anymore. And if it’s true, that you haven’t done anything for yourself, I’m sorry to say it, you’ve been an ass all your life…”?!
Someone else gave me this epithet. But this is me. This is who I was and I have no intention of changing. Therefore, perhaps, I could not make a career as a clerk. I live with a minimum pension, as an immigrant in Italy and write these memories…! Memorie.al
The next issue follows
