From BEQIR SINA
Memorie.al / During his visit to Albania, Pope Francis was touched by Albania’s commitment and testimony of faith. “Remembering the decades of brutal suffering and severe persecution against Catholics, Orthodox and Muslims, we can say that Albania was a country of martyrs: many bishops, priests, religious and lay men and women, paid their loyalty with their lives them”, said Pope Francis, in a speech.
I remember like today that day in 1982, when in the field we had behind the barangays in the internment camp in Savër, the field where we gathered every day to have fun, there among the reeds, we called him – Spiro Gjoka, “Uncle” , who was a truly noble man, then about sixty, in his ritual of every evening – that evening walk, when we came home from work, he put his arm around me and said something to me, such a sweet mouth and full of kindness, wisdom wisdom.
“We just have to stay alive, Beqir boy, because we are the ones who believe in God, and we have reason to live”! Like every young man of that time, who has experienced deep in his heart – communist persecution even to this day, I could not learn why he told me and what he had to tell me… Uncle!
Exactly, in those difficult days, my uncle, with whom we lived together in a barangay and in the same apartment, had taken me and put me in prison. In one room, there was my uncle Musai, with his wife Myrvete, and three children, and the other room, I had with my mother and wife, then newly married (four months).
I said to myself that “Uncle” said this word to me, to give me “a little heart” and not to experience too much spiritually, the fourth imprisonment of my uncle Musa, for agitation and propaganda. Article 55 of the Criminal Code.-
Because, from that conversation that started as above, he soon got lost in his memories, recounting episodes about prison life, that of Burrell’s cells, where he had known my uncle Musa, and many of them, from those who had died in prison, or died after being released from prison…! I had been thinking about it for a long time, and I couldn’t help but remember Uncle from the internment camp in Savër.
Spiro Gjokën, who was so loved and respected by all of Savra, not only for us who lived in barangays of straw and cardboard, but for all Savranjaks, who, like me, keep the most beautiful memories, with Spiro Gjokën .
Constantly, with my friends, co-sufferers, and Savaranjaks with all those who grew up together, I was interested to find more information about him, but here it is; in addition to two or three articles about him and four or five photographs, by Jutta Benzenberg – (Saver 1991) German photographer, who visited the Savra camp in 1991, where it is shown how “democracy” found Spiro Gjoka, in the barangays of the internment camp in Save, with Mother Leka (Lekania), I could not find another.
Jutta Benzenberg’s photographs had many visible traces of how democracy found us. There they looked like those little teardrops – that had slipped through the ranks of old age and made even more noble, his human picture, with that unforgettable memory of mine with “Uncle”, that: “We just have to stay alive Beqir son, because we are the ones who believe in God, and we have to live”!
“Uncle” – Spiro Gjoka, I met him for the last time, three days before I left Savra and Albania, on December 17, 1990, and I said to him: “We are trying again, after I ‘failed’ and I went late to Tirana, when the embassies opened”. Uncle was really sad.
– “Beqir, – he told me: – You have to escape and be healthy, because with you and your family, your wife and children, are the prayers of Nana Hana, the tears of your mother, that even though she experiences all that pain, she never, ‘with bread and without bread, bare feet in the fields of Myzeqe, you grew up, praying to God every day – of that Church of Laç. Even so, I believe that today with you and your family, it really is her prayers and tears”!
There he hugged me and kissed me on the head, and didn’t speak again……..!
We parted never to see each other again – because, when I returned for the first time after 17 years in Albania, Nn Lekja (Lekania) and “Uncle” – Spiro Gjoka, had died…!
Spiro Mimi Gjoka, was born in Përmet in 1923. On February 21, 1969, he was sentenced for “agitation and propaganda”, with 6 years in prison (Source: AISKK, P. 1, V. 2014, D. 11, Fl. 273-274)
Meanwhile, in the memoirs published on social networks, I also read a confession of Spiro Gjoka, who, in the years of democracy, also confessed his friendship with Padër Mëshkallë (1991), which I am publishing here, without any abridgement.
The confession of Spiro Gjoka, about his acquaintance with Father Pjetër Mëshkalla
“If I’m not mistaken, I met Father Pjetër Meshkalla for the first time, in March of 1970…! Over 50 prisoners were transferred by bus from the Spaçi Camp to the Vlora Camp.
After the formalities of control and general control, which were quite common, we were divided into silos, we were assigned sleeping places, work brigades, dining tables, blankets and everything else.
After a few days, I see my brother, Sotir, arrested in front of me, he was talking to a petite old man, even too petite, but not too gray.
I was impressed by his behavior and closeness with this man. When I asked him about him, he told me that he was Father Mëshkalla, about whom I had actually heard a lot, but who I had not been able to recognize.
I went into detail, to know how he had known him, how all that closeness that made an impression on me was created. My brother told me that he was known in room no. 8 of “Prison 313” in Tirana, (Kaushi), which was also called the “room of enemies”…!
There, according to the practices of that time, they were collected from all the prisons and then distributed among the camps. As my brother was younger and could more easily withstand the hardships and cold of the dungeon, and as he was better supplied from home with food and clothing, I showed a special care for the old man in the difficult conditions of the dungeon, something for which he was grateful.
So they were bound by a mutual respect for each other. I saw them often sitting together, walking together peacefully, returning from work together, so I also had the chance to get to know them.
In fact, I had heard a lot about Padër Mëshkalla not only from the clergy, most of whom were from prisons, and many of whom I had friendship and acquaintance with, such as Dom Mark Hasin, Dom Nikolë Mazrekun, Dom Mikel Koliqin, Dom Ndoc Sahatçia , but also from simple people, or cultured intellectuals.
Everyone spoke with deep respect and special consideration for him. I slept next to a paralyzed priest, whose name I can’t remember now. For the younger ones, it is an unwritten law to serve and care for the elderly and the sick.
Father Mëshkalla had noticed me, because of the care I showed towards that old man, and together with my brother, Sotirin, approached me thanking me. From the first conversation with him, many of those that were said about that outstanding cleric came true.
So from that day on, I had also joined the big circle of his friends. We met often, we discussed various problems with him, even though every day in prison is long, time passed unnoticed.
In the Vlora prison, we knew each other well, although we had less contact, because there were mostly young people, who sought to complete their culture by meeting Father Mëshkalla, there were many who were learning foreign languages and for everything, they had to consult him, so I didn’t want to “eat up” his time in his work”. Memorie.al
