By Maksim Rakipaj
Part twenty four
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
Death rolls around Qaf-Bar
Meanwhile, life in Qaf-Bar continues as before: I work as a miner with three shifts, I continue to give lectures in the English course, and when I find free time, I go for a walk with Nuro Hoti, drink some coffee with Ben Ceta, exchange some jokes with Sokol Sokol…! But drinking coffee with Shefqet Kaun and Dalip Zhaboli, there is no charge, the jokes never run out. Shefqeti knows how to turn any sad story into humor, but with finesse, with art. It tells once:
– “We were a group of athletes from ‘Dinamo’ and ‘Tirona’ and ‘Vollga’ in Tirona. Tod Janku, the absolute boxing champion in those years, was with us. When the “Partizon” athletes are also entering the bar…! We said: you have Todi with you, why don’t we provoke a fight and get you into trouble and paint the shit out of ‘Partizon’?! Ready for a fight, those of ‘Partizon’. One thing you wanted, one easy push, one; ‘where are your eyes you pig’?! And all of us like cowboys, like cowboys, in western movies.
20 people, I was flattened with fists…! In short, the ‘Partizoni’ are giving us shit… that Tod Janku, instead of joining our group, is like a gymnasium, telling us: Don’t do it… ooo, don’t do that , because it’s a shame’ and tried to separate us. He separated us in the end, but we were very close to each other…! ‘Damn you’, you said to Todd, ‘what a friend you were’?! I said that you are helping us, you never?! Todd was an animal in the ring, in life, he was an educated, shy guy, and he didn’t know how to talk dirty.”
Friends, who have been released, send us a letter; remind us that life goes on even outside the barbed wire of the prison. Zydi has sent a letter, married his girlfriend. Our poet works on a farm, mows grass and takes care of horses. And writes, always writes. Islam continues the celibate life. Aladdin is engaged. The others…I will meet them when I am released myself. Do you think I will ever be released?! I can’t believe the good words that come to me from home. I don’t believe them at all, but I don’t let them know that I’m very pessimistic about it.
With each other we remember the loves and flirtations we had. A friend of mine remembers his girlfriend’s thighs, when he was a student in Shkodër: “They were white and delicious, like cheese,” he says, and his eyes become dreamy. How many things remain hostages in life that remain forever, but memories and then seem like mere dreams? They show and it seems as if they are reliving those moments again…!
I sleep less and less at night. At 10 pm, we should be in bed, but I spend the middle of the night reading, translating, dreaming, with my eyes open. I must sleep, because tomorrow I have many fronts to do, beer with hammer. It finally dawns. We eat breakfast and get ready to go to work. Why are we being delayed today?! The bad news comes quickly: “Ilmi Çoçka from Erseka and Dilaver from Vlora have been captured by the gallery”!
Vlash Piroli, from Kurbina, comes: – “I had to make the reports for the basement collapse, on that front, but Ilmiu and Dilo begged me to wait, because they needed two more wagons, to complete the norm…! Ah, I knew! Okay, I told them, go on because I also need time, I need to make a 4-meter beer; I’m waiting for you…! I sat down and had a smoke, when I heard a deafening ‘woooo’…! No, I said, I ran…! The whole basement had collapsed, without giving a sign…! I screamed, I began to dig hard, with my nails, until they took me away from there…”!
After three days, the special accident-rescue group that comes from Tirana takes out the two lifeless bodies of our friends. They found one man standing with a shovel in his hand and the other only his legs, while the body from the waist up, inside the wagon…! Both under a mountain of ore. That collapse has caught us all under. After this terrible event, work resumes again in the mine. My friends tell me to be careful; pyrite is quite dangerous. Usually, rock formations “announce” before they collapse: first a little dust or a pebble falls. You can also check them, hitting the suspicious places with the baromania. They make a special sound when you hit them. But pyrite is different; it doesn’t make any kind of sound.
Today, an inspection team from the Ministry of Mines has arrived and our engineer changes my work plan, sends me to do beer on a “safer” front, near the main level. But I am not protected at all: I have to work outside the armor; I have to make deep beers. The place is narrow; I find it quite difficult to change the bars from 1, to 2 and 3 meters. I have the last beer left, to deepen. As soon as I put the baromine on the hammer, I feel an alarm inside me, I smell with a sense outside of me, the danger. I let go of the hammer and left. At that moment, the collapse of the basement begins: one, two, three, dull noises, the air pressure, it hits me behind the armor…! I had time to get out of there.
I sat down to collect myself and lit a cigarette. The engineer came first, running…!
– “Thank goodness you’re alive! I would remain a hostage all my life, because you wanted to make beer, on another front, and I stuck my foot here”.
– “Go away, engineer, let me finish this cigarette comfortably.” There is no reason for me to remain a hostage to you, you are a mining engineer, you are not the investigator, you are not the head of the branch, you are not the prosecutor, nor the judge who sentenced me, nor are you my investigator… and to them, I am sure not they would be held hostage by my death, on the contrary, they would be happy if this happened”.
Doctors and the doctor man – Ben Çeta
The World Cup of Football, Spain ’82, began. Fandom is big here; it takes on political colors, according to everyone’s beliefs. There is also a football player, who played with Elbasan, he is always surrounded by different fans, they discuss past matches, predict future matches, make bets. The majority are German fans, followed by Italian fans. There are also fans with the Russians. These are the communists, or those who studied in the Soviet Union, the camp doctor, one of the best surgeons in Albania, the well-known Fadil Spahiu, are a fan of the Russians. Today the semi-final is played, Germany-France, but I am the second shift. I am a fan of the Germans since ’66, from the famous final against the English.
I have a hope for a medical report. “Tell Islam Spahi to intervene, his uncle has a son,” Zyhdiu tells me. I caught Islam. This one, in a bad situation, told me: – “I really have a son, uncle, but we don’t talk together. We didn’t communicate, not even outside the prison. He is a communist. However, we have one greeting… for your sake I will humble myself, I will say a word…”! Islam left, to the ambulance, I’m waiting with fever… it wasn’t too late…! “Islam”?! “He cut me short: ‘I cannot give a report to someone who is not sick…”! I knew that he would tell me no, how dirty I was for nothing…! I was met by Thanas, a former aviator, a Himariot whom I knew in the Ballsh camp. He is a fan of Nashua Germans, like me…! “Hey brother, are we going to see Germany tonight? We’re going to crush the toads of France…”?!
– “I’m sorry, Nasho, I won’t be able to see them, I’m on the second shift…”!
– “My brother adjusts the report, with Dr. Fadilin…I have a lot of conversations…”.
– “Leave it to Nasho, I introduced Islam as a friend and he said no…”!
– “He says no to Islam, but not me.” Fadili remembers that I am a fan of the Russians like him, hahahahah, he remembers that I am also a communist, hahahahah, I will tell him that you are a crazy fan of the Russians…”!
Not even two minutes and Nashua came out of the ambulance smiling, grabbed my neck…! “Alright, tonight is your day off…when you want next time, you’ll tell me the day before…”.
I no longer told Nasho to intervene for me. Because after a few months, I was transferred (December ’82) to Qaf-Bar. My name was with the first group that moved there, 15 people. Only I am a Martelist – miner among them. The others are wheelwrights, mechanics and shovel workers. In this camp before us, there were the ordinary prisoners, from the camp of the ordinary of Bulqiza. They removed the ordinaries, to make way for us, the political convicts. It remained in Qaf-Bar, only the command, the previous policemen, all of them left.
And the doctors. There were two: Drago Vujosevic, of Montenegrin origin and living in Gjirokastër and Dr. Beniamin Cheta. Always smiling, dear Ben. I’ve known him since he was out of prison; mine treated him when he had a heart attack in ’73. I was glad that he remembered me. It is colder here than in Spaç, but there is a stove in the doctor’s alcove. A stove that warms the prisoners, as well as Ben’s big heart. That gives everyone coffee, cigarettes and kindness, love. The command does not like this. I saw Ben one day, cleaning the gutters, inside the camp…! “Voluntary work Beno”?!
– “I was sentenced to one week to clean the canals.”Don’t put anyone in the stove” the commander told me…! I don’t drive them, I’m a doctor, and its cold here, like in Siberia, takes me away if you want. And here I am.”
Together with Visar and other friends, we made a campaign to get rid of Ben’s annoying friends, until they finally realized that they were harming him with their visits…! Ben unhappy; “Why don’t you come, don’t worry, and walk, you know what Ben is doing, what do these people say…”?!
A painful fate: Agim Agaraj
With Agim Agaraj, we first met in the Ballsh camp and now, after several years, we meet again in the Qaf-Bari mine. I have been friends with him since I was at Marina school; we have a lot of mutual friends. He was arrested in 1976, together with his brother, Iliri, when I was still working on the ship “Durrësi”. The trial was held in the court of Durrës. The same military college, which would judge and punish, after a few years, me and my comrades. From the Submarine Brigade, my close friend from school years, Fatmir Hanxhar, was sent at that time.
We attended all the court sessions of the Agaraj brothers together. Fatmir was in a fever, sending him to hear the trial was an open pressure on him. From the dock, Agimi saw us, but did not acknowledge us; only once, in 1/100 of a second, did he send us a wink, which meant a lot to us. You wanted to say that you missed him, that you didn’t say a word about us, in the interrogator, so that we would stay calm, but also be careful, be very careful, so that we don’t suffer like him.
Shortly after Agimi arrives at the mine, our friend, who was also the head of the Technical Office, the wonderful man, Dalip Zhaboli, assigns him to work in the compressor room. Agimi is quite satisfied with that job. He has about 4-5 months left to finish his sentence. He takes great care of his health, eats well and can’t wait to be released. “Woe to what will fall into your hand in the first days, Gimo”, – I say to Gimi as well, my mouth goes from ear to ear. And indeed, over 1.85 tall, 95 kg heavy, no fat and all white.
In his face, he looks like an American actor, the few crooked teeth he has, embellish his smile even more. He advises me: “You have your own mind, Max, but now that you have the opportunities, don’t let the hammer go in vain. The mine eats your head; take care of your health. I want the best for you that are why I’m talking. Take care of yourself, that’s what I can tell you “!
I’m always on a shift with Dawn and when I leave the mine, I go back and shower in the compressor room. This thing is forbidden, but Gimi will not know; not only I am friends with him, but there are many others who shower at the compressors. On this black day, we are both first shift. After having lunch, I meet Gim and I say to him:
– “Why is Gimo limping”?!
– “I got a dry one and my shoes killed me a little. I’m going to see Dr. Dragon, I’ll tell him to give me a penicillin…”.
I can’t believe that these are the last words we exchange together. After about half an hour, Fadil Daja comes to my room shouting: – “Maxo, Gimi died”!
Two minutes later, he bangs on the door of the ambulance. The police do not allow anyone to enter. Dr. comes out. Drago with tearful eyes, Dr. Ben hugs me:
– “It’s over, Makso, it’s over, it was a lightning reaction to penicillin, we gave him cortisone immediately, but it wasn’t over yet.”
– “He died in my hands”, – said one of the convicted doctors, Ylli Alibali – even though I knew that he did not react to penicillin, which is why I have given him other times, still the anti-reaction injection, I always keep it ready When I gave him penicillin, he said: ‘Star, I’m dead’ and he blackened, blackened, completely blackened…! Now it has turned white and has a light on it…! I can’t see him, my soul breaks, the boy is like a star, he looks like he’s sleeping, and he looks like he’s sleeping”!
Even the other convicted doctor, the good Drago Vujoshević, who happened to be there, said the same thing…!
Even the forensic doctors who came from Tirana confirmed the cause of death: penicillin reaction. Even the elderly father with the youngest son did not come. Surprisingly, they were allowed to attend the funeral. My friend was sentenced to 10 years in prison because he tried to live in a free country, but after that he was sentenced to death…!
It cost a lot in those times, to dream of living free…!
The Qaf-Bar revolt
For a long time I have been tempted to write two lines about the Qaf-Bar Revolt. I have read it in the memoirs of my friend, Visar Zhiti that is why I have not been allowed to write about that event. I have read them and I was shocked by the terror of that terrible day, it seemed to me that I was living it once again.
They are really heavy moments. No matter how difficult the daily life of a political prisoner in the extermination camps of the Hoxha dictatorship, the events of the revolts in them exceed any imagination. Man manages to adapt to daily hardships, reconciles with his fate, with constant humiliations, until he feels that the knife has reached the bone, that there is no hope left, that death is nothing but salvation. In these moments, you realize that you are not alone here, that you are inextricably connected with the other prisoners and them with you. The whole camp is one body, one mind, one mouth which finally complains and starts screaming:
– “Enough! Enough! You didn’t lie down torturing us every day, using us as slaves, for years?! Enough”!
The eyes darken, the hands become fists, fists that hit the policeman, the officer, that snatch the bleeding friend from the hands of those who torture him. It is the moment when the state of “Red Violence” shows its true face, the Vampire. The state no longer appears with the face of a policeman or officer, who sometimes even smiles at us; it does not appear in the wet faces of soldiers, 18 years old, who do not know what to do, with those machine guns in the high, wooden towers!
The state comes with helicopters, the place of 18-year-old soldiers is taken by 40-year-old officers, who shoot non-stop with their machine guns, over our heads; he appears with the face of the police chief, Edmond Caja, who drew his pistol and hit Kosta Gjordeni; the place of the idiotic faces of the camp commander and commissar is occupied by the deputy minister of the interior. In his raspy voice, the communist state is embodied, which is hungry, which threatens, which curses, which vomits only bile and poison. The state oppresses you, the state grinds your bones, and the state breaks you in half, just like it broke the hero Sandër Sokoli…!
However, it cannot erase our excitement, the satisfaction achieved and so desired, when we kick the hats of his officers and policemen; they are still in the camp, trampled and defiled by the feet of the prisoners. The only thing missing is “Tarti”, the hero dog of the Spachi Revolt, to pee on those hats, so that both revolts are even more similar.
Ironically, it is also the 11th anniversary of the Spachi Revolt. Coincidence?! For those of us who came from Spaçi, even if we did not experience the Spaçi Revolt ourselves, we felt ourselves as its bearers. The consequences of that revolt and the experience of the comrades leave no room for imagining how these revolts end. We know that nothing can be achieved with them! Bloodsuckers, the blood of those who will shoot will not be enough, they will want some alive, to torture them slowly, slowly…! They understand that they can’t break us and they can’t shoot us all, like the unforgettable ones my friends; Tom Ndoja, Sokol Sokoli, or the unforgettable Sandër Sokoli, who died in torture, until they ripped him in the middle!
The bullets that took their lives, we also feel in our bodies. All of our bodies ache from the torture wounds inflicted on Dalip Zhabol, Nuredin Skrapar, Petri Bazelli,…! Sorry friends, I don’t remember all your names; I don’t remember the names of the 500 prisoners who were that day in Qaf-Bar. But even if I remembered it, it wouldn’t ease your pain. That day Dr. tried. Drago and Dr. Beni, they cleaned and treated those wounds. When that unfortunate was burned alive, in the strike of ex-prisoners in 2012, those wounds were opened again. When Idajet Kaiku died years ago, without receiving a single installment of compensation, those wounds only got worse.
…I remember these from the Revolt of May 22, 1984 in Qaf-Bar. Read Visar, to learn more, click online and you will find even more, even written by people who knew where they were that day, but not in Qaf-Bar. Both Revolts that happened in our concentration camps were both born from brutal beatings by the police. And they are the only political Revolts, in all the political concentration camps in the world. They say that in the Nazi concentration camps, people were tortured even worse. I don’t know if there was any similar revolt in those camps. I have not heard of any such revolt, neither in the Soviet camps nor in the entire communist camp.
Well, violence has not been less than in our camps. Not even their policemen have been more merciful in torture. This is what I wanted to say about the Qaf Bari Revolt. My friend, Visar Zhiti, when we met on the beach of Durrës, a couple of years ago, he told me that there is information, but unconfirmed, that after that revolt, in the Qaf-Bari camp, they started throwing us a special kind of poison , in the food that was cooked for us. It was a kind of sophisticated poison, to make us more vulnerable to diseases, to bring us closer to death without realizing it.
Each of us is more genetically predisposed to various diseases. That poison was supposed to make us more susceptible to deadly diseases, such as diabetes, cancer, heart and lung diseases, etc. If this is true, Hitler and Stalin look like street teenagers before the infinite and macabre evil of Enver Hoxha. However, even if this is not true, the figure of the vampire-Enver, would not descend one step below, from the place of the head, which he has secured for himself, among the most savage, heartless dictators, who has known humanity.
…When I met Dalip Zhaboli and Hajredin Fratari, in 2015 and we were recalling the events of that Revolt, his arrest, the torture he took because of his depositions, that the police were to blame for the outbreak of the Qaf-Bari Revolt, Dalip thought that; everything was organized, down to the smallest details, by the notorious Security, to justify the violence and shootings they wanted to carry out in our ranks. And it wasn’t the only time…! Memorie.al
The next issue follows
