By Maksim Rakipaj
Part nineteen
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
Time, people…!
Life in prison is hard. What you miss the most is people’s love, a heavy word that you can’t return the way you want. What warms your soul is remembering those you know love you. Or hearing a warm word when you least expect it. People’s behavior varies, depending on your situation. Of the position, of the social scale.
These are the majority. I have forgiven in time, those who have behaved with me, depending on my social status, but I cannot forget. Even when I pretend, I don’t remember. The pain caused was great. In the soul. I liked that fable of Aesop, where the lion says to the man who hit him with an ax: “The wound of the ax is healed, but the wounds caused by your words are not”!
I was in the dungeon during the investigation. Only. The door opened and an officer and a civilian entered. The civilian was introduced to me:
– “I am Myrteza Sanxhaku, prison prosecutor. Do you have any complaints?! Huh?!
– “No”.
I recognized the officer. It was Agim Çani. The first time I saw him as a soldier. Suddenly, he avoided the prosecutor and hugged me. “Ah, take Max, I’m so sorry”! Then, he gathered himself and said to the prosecutor:
– “I’m sorry, Myrteza, but Max is my friend…! Makso, if you have any orders for the family, you can tell me. I see your old man every day, when he goes to work, at Spitalla Farm”.
– “No, Gimo, I have no order. Thanks for the kind word, I won’t forget it…”!
When I was released in September ’84, in the middle of the buffet – “Smoke” in the center, which was full of investigators and spies, Gimi congratulated me on my release in a loud voice. “Thank you, my good friend”!
It was April ’82. In Spaç, the new Deputy Prosecutor of Rrëshen entered. Idriz Kaiku told me:
– “Do you know Makso? Is it durrsak”?!
I met my high school friend “Naim Frashëri”. We were just classmates, with Ilir M., not close friends. I knew that he was eligible to study law, but we hadn’t met since we graduated together, in ’69. I tried to avoid him, so he wouldn’t see me, but he recognized me…! He beckoned to me and gave me a colorless smile. He sat a couple of meters away and spoke to me:
– “Hey Makso, how are you”?!
– “Okay, Ilir, thank you. It makes me happy to see you well”.
– “Don’t call me by my name! You must tell me; “Mr. Prosecutor”! We are not the same together”! – cried I.
– “As you order, Mr. Prosecutor. But you don’t have to call me by name either. I’m not Max for you. When you address me, you must say; ‘convicted Rakipaj’, or ‘convicted with so many…’!
– “That’s what I will do. Have you become a bit revolutionary here, huh?!
– “Don’t leave me alone, at least don’t make fun of me”, – and made me leave.
– “How did you say, how did you say”?!
I looked at him once, from head to toe and ran away.
When I was released, I said to our high school friend, Din Muço: “Why doesn’t Maksi speak to me, I don’t understand”?!
… The sailors and officers of the merchant fleet avoided me or pretended not to know me! I understood that they were in a difficult position, I also avoided them. One evening, on the usual tour of Durrës, I see Skënder Dardha, a mechanic who was still working in the Fleet. We worked together on the ship “Rinia”. When I tried to change the sidewalk, Skender reached me, grabbed my arm:
– “Maxi, is that you?! He was released, by God! Now let’s drink a glass together, like in the old days. I’m going out with my old man, I won’t let you, by the way.”
We had a couple of drinks with Skenderi and when we parted, he said:
– “I understood that you wanted to avoid me today. But if you are left hater, from some basin that does not speak to you, I am not like them. To know. If you have any trouble, come and tell me. Skinner is not afraid of the spies of shit, a piece of Gypsy it’s me… ahahahah. They eat my shit, they don’t care, ahahahahah”!
One evening, Shaqir Leka also met me, I had also worked with him, on the “Rinia” ship, he jumped on my neck:
– “How is your brother doing?! I’ve seen you, but I don’t want to let you know, ahaha, I’m a dog without a pocket square. Today I’m selling something… let’s have a drink. I’ll also give you 4 thousand lek, so that I won’t be in debt, I won’t go to the ship, don’t open the wound to your elders”.
The desolate Shaqiri died quickly, from an ear infection.
There were good people even then. There is now. But I will never forget the kindness and the big heart of the driver Hiqmet Mullaj, who devised a way to Spaç and then to Qaf Bar, to bring my family to meet me. Or Zylyftar Carkanjin, whose bicycle the policemen took in Dega’s yard, tore it into pieces and threw it into the canal, when, during the investigation, he brought the contents to the dungeons of Durrës.
I also have respect for Raq Dimo and his family. But I don’t forget the neighborhood spies either. Not even their initials, I don’t need to put them here. They know everyone. They were indeed difficult times, but they also added the wickedness of their souls, tar. Contempt and forget about them.
Brandy in Spaç
In Spaç, I met Engjëll Fidani, a corsair sentenced to 25 years in prison. Since my mother is from Korça, I call Angel ” uncle “. Angel has golden hands, he does everything with those hands: woodwork, leather, ironwork and he is the best mechanic in the office in Spaç. The command does not like him, because he is not a spy, and often removes him from the office and puts him as a worker in the mine. But before the month has passed, they are forced to send him back to the office. The Angel is irreplaceable. The drivers of Rrëshen officials trust only him with the repair of cars.
“Hey, nephew, you’re coming to a meeting, huh? They were good? Why didn’t you bring anything good, nothing came out… ohohoho, peppers with cottage cheese, pickles, pickles of all kinds, all kinds. Keep them and don’t disturb them, I’ll bring brandy, don’t tell the man. Tomorrow I expect the driver of the chairman of the Executive Committee to bring me the car. He brought me half a liter of brandy, well, I’ll have the car ready within the day, if not, after a month, I’ll be done with it”.
The next day Angel’s face smiles: “Run, nephew, throw and take our pickles”! It was the best brandy in the world. Angel, who was also convicted as a suspect for a possible assassination attempt on Enver Hoxha, raises the first toast: “Here’s a happy nephew, and oh god, let the basilisk die, as before”!
Hiqmeti meets Koço Tashko in the prison hospital
Hiqmet Myzyri has returned from the Tirana hospital, where he was operated on for the third time, for hemorrhoids. He missed all his friends. He is slightly weakened, but smiling and optimistic, as always. Ask about all your friends, meet them and bring them the latest news from Tirana.
– “Do you know who I had as a roommate in the hospital?! Koço Tashko! He was with me for a couple of days, he introduced himself as Koço, but he didn’t tell me his last name. Except when the police called him for a meeting. “Koço Tashko, come, your family has arrived”! …Oh, I said to myself, Koço Tashko…this dog?! He returned from the meeting: ‘How were you, Koço’? -‘Okay, okay, whatever’, he told me. I left him until he calmed down, because he was also suffering from heart disease, diabetes and, I don’t know. I told him about myself, how I was sentenced to 10 years in prison, about my father, whom I never knew, about my mother, who raised me alone with a hundred hardships, and finally I said to him: “Speak, Koço Tashko, tell me what you know, how did this country end up like this, how did it happen that an immoral person became the first of the country’?!
What can I say, boy? Everyone knows what I know, even those around Enveri know…! No one is opening their mouths, because they have been terrified. Yes, I have a big fault, the biggest fault is myself…! I was tasked by the Comintern to organize the communist movement in Albania. After Germany fell to the Soviet Union, the order came from the Comintern, through the Yugoslavs, for us to form our own party. We connected all the groups and made the decision to meet in Tirana in November ’41. Each group had a problem, who would take the lead. Whichever group has the most members is also the chairman. Agreed? Okay, all of them.
O men who would find more members. Enver, I knew him from Korça, I knew him for fun. As for communism, you had no idea what you were saying. Even though he was in France, everyone knows that he was with the money of his brother-in-law, Bahri Omar. The brother-in-law also found him a job at the French high school in Korça. Even the Korcars knew what a fool Enveri was. In our Korca group, he was neither a member nor at all. You came to a couple of our meetings, as if to follow the fashion, but did you follow any maid who was one of our members…?! I found Enver in Tirana, time was not waiting, I had to find as many members as possible to take the presidency…! O head, O head! I meet him at “Flora” and tell him; here here, Enver. Come as a member of our group.
No, this one, let me pray once, – he said, – do I know what this meeting is?! Well, sorry. I left it for two days. You can find them. I’m not spoiling it, Koço, he said. Here you go. It came. He got into a relationship with Milladin right away, they both spoke French. It’s a hassle, you say, in that meeting. Not you, but me. When I miss them today, they seem silly? Chairman of the Party we left, unannounced, Milladin. He took Enver as his scribe, because no one knew Serbian, only French, he got along with Enver. He translated Milladin’s letters from French and signed them as his own. He died after a few years during the War with Enver. In Vithkuq, no, in Mokre, in Mokre. It was with two Englishmen. This one is also dressed in English clothes. Sus was sitting on him, with lepe pece. It was heavy-heavy, like a misrok.
He came to me: You, friend Koço, why haven’t you responded to the circular that I started, it’s been a month?! Is this how you apply party discipline? Open your eyes, Koço, don’t make me take measures…’! I said that he was joking, but when I saw that he came and blushed and puffed up like a piglet, I turned to him: Who are you talking to like that, your big fat spiteful?! What do you know, you got it…’?! “I am the general secretary of the Party, that’s who I am”! ‘You are only Milladin’s scribe, boy, I am the party’s vice-chairman, like all the leaders of the communist groups, and until we choose the chairman, we only have the first Milladin.
So, we all agreed. These things are sold to others and to those Englishmen who live with you, not to me, so that I know you tooth and nail.’ “Don’t tell me once that I haven’t missed it”! …This is the work of Enver Hoxha. It’s all our fault, me first, for letting him sell as he pleased. We had an ideal, good or bad, we promised communism, to liberate the country. He had a goal, and to achieve that goal, he licked the ass of Milladin and Tito, until he reached the top. Come on now. Oh head, oh head”.
Long live Spaçi
I work regularly in the mine. Only as a miner. I have a lot of difficulty, in placing the armor, in using the beak. I got the beer, but still, I’m the worst miner in Spaç. I barely reach the daily rate, and there is no talk of getting any lek. “They don’t even give us half a lek to make the mountain”, Agim Hamiti comforts me. I’m used to it though. Always in zone IV, rarely in zone I. A new area has begun to open, the V-th area. The most terrible zone is zone II. Zydi Morava, works as a leveler in zone II. “There is acid water, – he says, – which corrodes the rails, so much so that it makes them like razor blades, we make them with pieces of pipes”!
The rails here must be changed at least every month, but none of those in charge care. The slaves of the 20th century work like that, push wagons without rails, brew beer without air. Where do they find the strength, oh god?! The poor melt, working in animalistic conditions, ill-treated, ill-fed, with torn boots, washing with the cold water flowing in the side channels of the galleries. When they return to the camp, exhausted, exhausted, they read, learn foreign languages, translate, meet each other. It is not easy to come from the night shift and give lectures to your friends, who are looking forward to it. Or ask Astri Rama to learn French!
Visari learns Italian, he does it very diligently even though foreign languages are still not allowed here. It is learned by putting a guard, who we pay, a pack of cigarettes, for every hour he guards us. Only Spartak Ngjela is allowed, as in Ballsh and here. He says that he secured a permit from the prosecutor…! “Sir, I am a political prisoner and I have my rights, based on international conventions, as such. And I do not work in the mine. Where do you have the decision, which says that I was sentenced to forced labor?!
Can you tell me?! No, sir. Send me to Burrel, I know it as a political prison. This is a camp, for forced labor! Spartacus is determined. He spent months in the dungeon because he refused to go to work. And the command surrendered. The prosecutor also surrendered. They allowed him the books. Only him. After several months in the dungeon even at work, he couldn’t go anymore.
But when Gëzim Medolli refused to go to work, they laid him on the ground, put a wooden door over him, where 5 policemen with boots climbed on top of him. They did this to him, after they got tired of beating him…! Hiqmet Myzyri, remained in hospitals, from the consequences that left him in the dungeons. And these and 1,200 others were political prisoners, in Spaç alone, not counting Ballsh, Qaf-Barin. He also became a deputy with different parties after ’92, he also became a minister with the party of Legality (!) and he never spoke, neither for the King, nor in defense of our rights.
Former political convicts were burned alive during the hunger strike recently. He tried to warm himself in that fire…and not only him. I seem to still hear his words in Spaç: “Only We will be in power, sir…! Your mind is lying, that you will ever have power”! He was very right…! He was and remained “We”…!
But I was talking about the second zone, the pyrite zone. I also tried zone II. On one of the most terrifying fronts: gallery 4-5. Every time a team of specialists from the Ministry of Industry and Mines came, they blocked several galleries, as far as I remember 2-2, 4-2 and 4-5, because the cobalt radiation level was many times higher than how much the allowed rate.
Not a week passed and the command reopened the galleries, blocked by specialists. I worked for three months, terribly long, in gallery 4-5. The temperature in the gallery was over 40 degrees C. Within 10 minutes, the feet were shaking from the sweat inside the boots, the shovel was slipping, the pyrite was very heavy, you could feel your body, how it was slowly melting, you could breathe.
You couldn’t work naked, because the acid dripping from the ceiling would scald you when it fell straight on your flesh. Every 2-3 days, another shirt was needed, because the acid was tearing them fast…! The wagon, which was filled with a lot of effort, had to be pulled out of the gallery and many times, even three people were not enough to push it. As soon as you went outside, in the cold winter of Spaç, the shirt became like cardboard, from the frost. Oh god, how are we alive?!
No, we are not all alive. Zydiu has been dead for several years; Ahmeti as well; others are sick, tired, disappointed…! The good one also died, Tefik Dobrolishti, and how many others…! What did we do to deserve this suffering?! We wanted a little more freedom…! /Memorie.al
The next issue follows
