By Maksim Rakipaj
The thirtieth part
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
CHAPTER VI
Back to the sea, like before
Count Base
“Capidon, young man, take the binoculars and look…”
…I had just started sea life in wooden ships, which compared to the ships of the time; you could compare them to the ships of the Illyrians. Only a magnetic compass that told true North with an error of 20° was the only navigational device. But the captains of those boats were sea wolves, most of them from Ulcinj and it are known that the Ulcinians have ancient maritime traditions.
We left Shengjin for Saranda, on a November day in 1972, with the captain from Ulcinj, Vehbi Luli, an elderly captain who, like any other Ulcinian, had already passed retirement age, but was still working at sea. We were passing by Karaburun, at the place that sailors call “Haxhi Ali’s Cave”, when I saw Captain Vehbi pouring a cup of olive oil into the sea, as if he was performing a pagan ritual.
He laughed, as if guilty when he realized that I saw him: – “You have heard about the pirate Haxhi Aliu, right?! He was a very good pirate and captain… and with a great spirit, a true sailor…eh, how many stories are told about it?! It was a tradition among Albanian ships, every time they passed by this place, they would pour a bottle of olive oil into the sea, or a bottle of wine and some bread, in memory of the soul of Haxhi Ali, who was killed here. Who killed him?!
The Turks, the Greeks, they didn’t pay attention, what is known for sure is that they did not fall into their hands alive, that man Haxhi Aliu, an early Albanian… well, a lot of good traditions that we once had have been lost, I I’ve had this habit since I was sailing with Captain Xhemal Bazi, with Count Bazi…! Who is Count Bazi?! I can say it myself, I’ve known him well, and I’ve worked with him for who knows how many years…! Except you, don’t tell anyone, who saw me pouring oil into the sea, that he takes me by the neck, just like that, my father. Get service now? Come on, let’s go to the wheelhouse and I’ll tell the story of the count…”!
“From Ulqin, at the beginning of the 20s, a woman with her two sons, Xhemal and Muharrem, went down to Shkodra and later to Durrës. The boys’ uncle, a rich man, was engaged in maritime trade and had a ship himself; he took his two nephews to work, as sailors on that ship. The boys, as Ulcinians, had seamanship in their blood, my uncle was quite pleased with them, but very stingy, it was enough to support his sister, the mother of the nephews with bread and that’s it. He rarely gave any ALL to his nephews.
Years passed. Uncle decided to build a new ship in Trieste. He assigned the eldest, Xhemal, to supervise the works. And Xhemal oversaw the works…as if for himself…maneuvered through acquaintances, bribes and documents of the new ship, he did it all in his name, as the owner of the ship. The years he had worked for his uncle had brought him up before his time; he had learned all the tricks of his uncle and of the trade.
First of all, I must say that the two brothers were completely different from each other: while Muharrem was laid-back, obedient, speechless, not at all suspicious, being an honest man himself, he remembered that the others were like him; Xhemali, who was the complete opposite of his brother; rebellious, suspicious of everything, when they say that he was burned from the porridge and even blew the yogurt; honest with the honest, merciless with the dishonest.
In addition, Xhemali also cared a lot about his appearance; he followed fashion, he shaved every day, he carefully followed the artistic life of the cities he went to, he carefully chose his social circle and with the insight that characterized him, he even managed to have famous friends from the upper classes….! So, the day came when the new ship was finished being built and the uncle showed up with a new captain, because he thought of firing his wayward nephew…! I was there that day, as I remember it today; my uncle came with a smile:
– Xhemal, thank you, you have worked for me until today, I know it as an honor, but that’s it, you know a lot of people, you won’t be without work, take your spoils and leave my ship right now!
Xhemali laughed under his breath and answered without batting an eyelash:
– You are wrong, sir! But you didn’t tell me, who are you to claim to be the owner of my ship?! I have documents that prove what I say, filed with the notary and the Port Authority! Sir, on what basis do you make this claim? Oh, what made me laugh…? Owner!
– I am your uncle, take haram and eat my bread! I have a nephew, get a dog!
– Yeah, you never treated me like a nephew; you drank my blood, me and my brother, that’s why I don’t know you as an uncle! You haven’t paid us any salary for 10-15 years! Shame on you! Now run away with good things from my property, otherwise I will notify the police’!
This is how Xhemal Bazi became the owner of the ship. From what he himself suffered from his uncle-owner, he treated the people who worked for him as family members, he always paid their salaries regularly, and in addition, he also gave gifts to the crew, on occasions of official and religious holidays. And he won, he won more than others, because he played smuggling and the profit increased on the eve of the Second World War. Xhemali continued to get rich, but he lived his life to the end!
At sea, he didn’t even spare his life to win, nothing scared the young ulcinac, neither the bad weather, nor the fast police boats that followed him to arrest him. But on earth, he played his religion, like the Count of Montecristo lived; he didn’t save money for fun, like the count…! Oh, boss, we went to the Count…! In Trieste Xhemali, he became friends with the driver of the mayor of the city, whom he paid to get any information he needed and used him not infrequently, as a personal driver. One day the driver said:
– Jimi, this Saturday, a big ball is given to the mayor of the city by the Municipality. There will also be a lot of foreign friends…!
Dzhemali’s eyes lit up:
– Provide me with an invitation, that I will reward him well…!
– I provide the invitation, – said the driver, – But how do we write it, with what name, with what title will you appear, the Royal Savoy family will also come to the ball, the protocol is important, it is not a charity ball, where both sailors and the Duke of Aosta can participate in one place…!
– You are right, on the guest list and on my invitation you will mark me as Count Bazi, from Albania, tell me how much money you need for these jobs and for Saturday, if you don’t come yourself, send me another car .
On Saturday, at the time set for the evening ball, a charming young man with a black mustache, dressed in the Albanian national costume, appeared in the palace: with traditional clothing and with a pleat on top. At the entrance, the guards stopped him: – Sir? You must have an invitation; otherwise you can’t enter, sorry, that’s the rule…! Xhemal took out the invitation. The guards honored him with a “ready” attitude, a uniformed official in charge of presenting the guests, announced his entrance in a ceremonial tone: – Gentlemen! Count Bazi from Albania honors us with his participation”!
…Captain Vehbiu lit another cigarette and continued: – “La renown Xhemali that night, renown !” Handsome, yes, young, yes, with the national costume then… he blew everyone away, you know! All the men in tailcoats, with bow ties, this one went with traditional clothing! And he was in the center of attention at that ball, what about Countess and Duke and Marquise and Pekmez, you say?! The ladies were eager to attract the attention of Count Bazi! Men wanted to get to know him!
A young Spanish countess also attended the ball, which lost her mind about Xhemal, barely managed to dance with him once, she was very pleased when she learned that Xhemal, who was the owner and captain of a ship: “Wow! Like my father! Even my father owns several ships and has sailed all over the world! We live in Cádiz most of the time, have you been?! Yes? It will be great if you come again! I will love it if we meet there! Even my father would like to meet you together…”!
From the acquaintances of that party, the acquaintance with the young Spanish countess left more traces on Xhemali, they exchanged addresses and often greeted each other with long letters or short messages, in short, and they both fell in love with each other…! Renew, recalculate…! Well, a few months passed, it must have been the year ’38 or ’39, Xhemali left the port of Oran in French Algeria. He had smuggled more than half of the goods loaded, when he went out to sea, he saw that he was being followed by a French customs ship, much faster than Xhemal’s ship.
Bad job, he was in trouble now, to get as close as possible to Tangier, as it was in those years; porto-franco, free port, without customs, that is, there were many friends there…! When he saw that there was no escape, he decided to take the last step, not to be caught red-handed, decided to sink the ship and sent the SOS signal. They arrested Xhemal. Bad job. Even without facts, he risked spending several years in prison, only with suspicions. The lawyer managed to secure bail, but money was needed. Xhemali had no money with him. There was no one there to make him a glove. Fortunately, it was a journalist of a major Spanish newspaper, who received the news of the arrest of the dangerous Albanian smuggler and published the news in his Spanish newspaper, along with the announcement that so much money was needed, for his immediate release.
Xhemal’s Spanish wife immediately reads that newspaper, runs to the bank, takes all the money that was begging, gets Xhemal out of prison and the next day the guard informs Xhemal that he is free. At the door outside, the countess was waiting for him with tears in her eyes: “My heart did not stop when I heard about the arrest, I… I love you! Now we will go to Cádiz, we will get married, my father has a ship full of, don’t worry about the ship you missed!
Xhemal kissed her hand politely, wiped away her tears and said in a calm tone: – ‘I am very grateful to you, miss, your behavior honors you and I am deeply touched, but I am sorry, I cannot marry like this you. I feel like you’re buying me, with your money. Just give me two weeks and I will pay you the debt, with all interest. Only two weeks. I will come to Cadiz myself, to you. The word of honor. Goodbye’.
Eheee, there were men then or boy! No penny juice! Not the pelvis, like today! – Captain Vehbiu sighed and continued: – So, as promised, at the end of two weeks, Xhemali goes to Cadiz. Wash the debt. He also says to the countess: – ‘Is it possible for your father to wait for me today? I would be happy to meet him…’?! That day, Xhemali asked Konti for his daughter’s hand in marriage. At the beginning of the month there was a wedding…”!
Without feeling it, they passed the service hours and K.M., who was doing the internship as a party candidate, entered the wheelhouse. Captain Vehbiu, immediately changed the subject: – “Don’t go left! Give another 5 degrees to the right! When the ship fell into the sea, he said to the sailor: protect me from the land; I will protect you from the sea! So go…”! And he winked at me with the hidden meaning; “beware of this”.
After a couple of weeks, at the beginning of December ’72, when I left the 24-hour service at the Port of Durrës, I knew that mine was waiting for me at the former Bar-Bufe Ylli, as always. I found him sitting at a table by the window. We hugged. “I’m waiting for Hilmi Hoxha to come. I left him yesterday. As soon as he heard that you would come, he said, ‘You will definitely come’…here he came…”!
The good, unforgettable Hilmi, always smiling: – “Did you get Max? I got you a mermaid! You haven’t ordered yet”?!
The coffees and pastries came. I found the opportunity and asked Hilmiu, who was like an encyclopedia for me, in everything related to Durrës and the people of Durrës…!
– “Did you hear, when you were young, about Count Bazi”?
– ” yes, it was good, Xhemal Bazi!” Do you know the brother?! Muharrem?! Man, but Xhemali was different, how can I say it, he was like a movie character…! I know he fell in love with a Spanish countess, some says an Italian countess, but she still lives in Spain today. What about you, who told you about it?! Ah, Vehbi! I know it, there is a large community of Ulcinians in Durrës, they are very close to each other, as always, and they are good, hardworking people, they know the sea.
Muharrem, from his brother who is in Spain, has let him work only inside the country. He made a trip abroad once, I don’t know… ’64, or ’65, no, he was an officer with the ship “Skenderbeu”, you have not, what is fate?! Cruising the Straits of Gibraltar, trakk! – “Skenderbeu” engine malfunction. They received permission to enter the port of Cádiz. The captain of the port comes to the ship, along with Xhemal Bazin.
Xhemali asked about his brother, he longed for a man, brother! 25-30 years without seeing each other…! The commissar gave a sign, they hid Muharrem, locked him in the cabin…! No, they told him that we don’t know Muharrem… that the last cruise abroad for him, I know him, I know him, a hard-working, family man, there must also be a son at your age, I think they call him Zenel…! Yes, Xhemali was a pirate…”!
Note – a grandson of Count Bazi, whom I met in Durrës a few years ago, told me that the countess was Italian, from the city of Trieste (the words that she is Spanish are urban legends) and was alive until recently.
Conakry, French Guinea
During the years when I was working as a sailor, I also had the chance to go to African countries, to Algeria, Morocco, Egypt and after 1992 to Sudan, Djibouti, Guinea (Conakry), Benin and Nigeria. In September 1992, I was first officer with the ship “Vlora”, in Conakry. The port was not so big, we found there a Dutch, French and a Greek ship. After we had completed the usual port formalities and prepared the ship for unloading, dozens and dozens of people with miserable faces flocked to our ship, begging for food. It was heartbreaking to see them.
The Port Police Officer, after completing the usual formalities, said to Captain Halim Milaqi and me as First Officer: “Don’t worry, you will have a policeman on the ship, who will stop them from boarding the ship, it is order of the port and if you want, I will send ten policemen and we will forcefully remove the gathered people”!
We rejected his “help”. Most of them came from Sierra Leone, where communist rebels killed anyone who did not join them. We saw the other ships, none of the poor ones dared to approach them, the police kept them away from the ships, hit them with sticks.
Meanwhile, the sailors of Vlora had started to give different foods to the people. And this happened three times a day, breakfast, lunch, dinner. Many of our people ate only half of the food; the rest was passed down to them. No one left empty-handed. On the second day, a woman with a baby in her arms caught my eye. He couldn’t get anything; the others pushed him and didn’t let him get close. I called him to board the ship. The local policeman, who was on duty on the ship, intervened: “No, no, no, it’s not allowed, it’s coming up, I’ll kick it down”!
– “Try to touch it and you will be kicked off the ship”, – I told him firmly. I went down and helped the poor woman with the whole baby to get upstairs, accompanied her to the canteen and told the cook Hysen Tafa to bring her to eat and milk for the baby.
On the third day, the assistant cook, Haxhi Kuqi, who had the task of making bread, came to my cabin. He was exhausted, tired, all nerves…! He threw the keys on my table: “I’m dying! You know my left arm, I have problems, I usually make a bakery, for two days, but not two breads every day! I’m dead, man of the earth! Or it’s not even hot! Find someone else to do it, I resign…”!
– “Sit down Djike, calm down and speak calmly. How are you?! Do you want a coffee?!
– “Okay, I’m drinking a coffee.”
– “Who do you have your eye on, to get help?”
– “What about Hamdi Bakallin and my assistant, we are fine together. We have as much flour as you want, whoever comes begging for bread, we will not let him die of hunger”.
– “Drink your coffee and go tell Bakes, until we are here, he will be your assistant.”
I thanked them even then as their superior, the chef Cen Tafa, today the owner of “Mediterraneo” in Durrës, and Haxhi Kuqin, the baker, they were the ones who were more tired than the others in that port. And not only in Conakry, but also in other African ports. Locals greeted us with tears in their eyes, when “Vlora” left their port.
Chef Cen Tafa takes care of Ismail, a 12-13 year old boy. He bought him new clothes, fed him as if he had his own son. Ismaili is from Sierra Leone, his parents, brothers and sisters, all the people, were killed by the communist rebels, Ismaili covered in the blood of his own people, was removed as dead and survived. Left alone and surrounded by the love of the entire crew, he loved everyone, but Ceni, he saw as his father.
In the last days before leaving Conakry, Ceni felt bad for Ismail’s fate, he went and begged Captain Halimi to take little Ismail with him to Albania. The captain’s answer was emphatic: no, because if it was discovered by the local authorities, the fine for the ship would be quite salty.
Even today, if you remember Ismail, Ceni laments: “It was useless to ask Halim, I should have hidden him on the ship, who would have found out, then, everyone loved him… ehhh, he would have grown up now, he would I would have married him as my son, eh, the desolate Ismail, who knows where he came from…”?!
We shared our bread and butter with those miserable people. Sailors from other countries were paid at least ten times more than we were in those years. But only the salary, they had higher than us. Not the soul. Memorie.al
The next issue follows
