From Teki Gjonzeneli
Memorie.al / In this writing, I am telling the readers and those who are still not convinced of the brutality of the communist regime a very ordinary case of how a child of an “enemy of the Party” was treated when Albania was ruled by the ancestors of today’s socialists, without delving into the now well-known stories of torture, executions, and hangings, as well as prisons and internment camps. No, I am simply speaking about how a child was treated. Let this story also serve as a call for awareness for the esteemed ambassador of the United States of America in Tirana, to know on which side this man stands: on the side of Drita Çomo and Teki Gjonzeneli, or on the side of that former officer of the State Security who threw a child into the middle of the street!?
In the Skhoped Hydro Power Plant
It was the time of the brutal communist dictatorship of Enver Hoxha. I was completing the last months of compulsory military service in a work unit where only boys from families labeled as “enemies of the people,” “kulaks,” “reactionaries,” etc., were sent, as they were designated at that time by the ruling communist regime, anti-communist families! Being a specialized technician for the use of cranes, the command of the unit ordered me to work at this hydro power plant. In this job, I met several engineers who directed the works there, such as: Aleksandër Meksi, B. Selenica, N. Muço, and finally, the electrical engineer Mr. Fatmir Belishova.
Fatmir Belishova’s sister, Liri Belishova, and her husband Maqo Çomo had been declared “enemies of the Party and the people” and had been exiled and interned. It wasn’t long before I was informed of my release from the army. While I was waiting for a truck to travel to Vlorë, at my home, I heard a familiar voice from behind: “Safe travels, oh Vlonjat!” It was engineer Fatmir Belishova, and I was very happy because, in fact, I did not expect anyone to see me off. I thanked him, and we parted, waving to each other until the truck disappeared around a bend.
Meeting in Vlorë
More than a month had passed since that day, and for work, no one whistled at me. As always, they continued to look at me with disdain. One Saturday afternoon, my old friends and I extended our walk to the “Flag Square” in the center of the city. Across from the Hotel “Sazani,” I spotted engineer Fatmir Belishova sitting on the sidewalk with a little girl. I parted ways with my friends and headed over there. I approached closely and spoke in a low voice: “What brought you to our Vlorë, engineer?” The engineer, who seemed to have been watching me from afar, stood up and greeted me with a smile: “I know it’s yours, but I haven’t come to take her away…! A problem brought me here…”
We embraced while saying, “Perhaps we can help you a bit with your problem, as you are a stranger…” Without prolonging the conversation, the engineer turned back to the hotel entrance and asked me if I knew the innkeeper at the entrance? – “I know him from a distance, but what’s the matter?” – I replied. – “We need a hotel room, just to sleep tonight, but he won’t allow my granddaughter, I have my sister’s daughter here with me. – He says it’s forbidden for children. They urinate on the mattress!” When I tried to convince him that the girl wouldn’t do such things, he replied angrily, “That girl is not yours, but the daughter of the enemy of the people, Liri Belishova.”
It felt as if the ceiling had fallen on my head. I stood there stunned not only by his inhumane behavior but also by his readiness to gather information in record time! It was evident that I was under the surveillance of the State Security. – “But that’s a security officer, dear engineer, and he can’t talk to you,” I said. I saw that he was taken aback by this but didn’t let it show. He stroked his granddaughter’s head and said gently, “Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll manage somehow, as it’s summer…”! It was clear from the tone of those words that he not only felt concern but also pain for his granddaughter, who was like a doll and had to confront class warfare at such a young age…!
I felt pain for both of them, especially for the little girl…! I remembered the past years. I was about the same age when the mother of this girl, Liri Belishova, and her father, Maqo Çomo, had arrested my father, accusing him of being an “enemy of the people.” Even today, after decades, at the aged 70 that I am, one thing still remains unclear to me:
“Did the engineer think that evening that the source of all this suffering was the dictatorship of the proletariat, for which the parents of that little girl had also fought and worked? The word dictatorship, even when articulated, seems to gnaw at your teeth and gums…! That grim machinery spared neither children nor infants of parents who were declared enemies of the Party and the people!
I composed myself and told the engineer: “I will take the girl to my house, even though our conditions are not that good. She will sleep with my little sister.” The engineer, who did not expect this turn of events, spoke in a half voice: “And who is asking about conditions now…?! Tomorrow morning, I will take her to her father on the island of Zvërnec, where he is interned, so please bring her here at eight in the morning.” I asked the little girl her name. “They call me Drita,” she said quietly, seemingly overwhelmed by the thought of parting from her uncle. As I was returning home, I was troubled by the thought of whether we would be able to provide the warmth that the girl deserved at her age.
A child like her could not understand the situation where the class struggle had brought us, a struggle proclaimed and executed also by her parents…! The sun was setting over the Otranto channel. It was a big, glowing sun that over the waters of Sazani and Karaburun created a rainbow of amazing colors…! This view, repeated thousands of times before my eyes, always inspired me and evoked a human feeling. I asked little Drita if she liked the place, we were in. “Very much,” replied the little friend, seemingly dazed by the view. She truly looked moved. Meanwhile, I thanked God, as always, for this magnificent gift of His.
When our feet touched the sand of the old beach, the girl broke away from me and ran towards the shore, where the calm waves of the sea that evening barely managed to crash, leaving behind a soft, intoxicating whisper…! Drita filled the hem of her dress with seashells and joyfully returned to me. “Will you take them to mommy?” – I asked innocently, but I quickly realized the lack of tact and didn’t continue…! – “No,” she said, without misunderstanding, “I was with mommy yesterday, among some high mountains, very far away. They don’t allow my mommy to come home and I don’t know when I will see her again. We cried a lot when we parted.”
Touched by the sincerity of the girl, I began to take it lightly! At “Aulona,” we returned to get her an ice cream. I couldn’t shake this girl from my mind, and I felt very sorry for her while she innocently enjoyed her ice cream. “Why did this angel have to pay a toll just for the thoughts of her parents? How many enemies did this Party have! My family began to suffer from the destructive effects of communist dictatorship since 1945, and after all these endless sufferings, death seemed insignificant!” Little Drita interrupted my thoughts with her question: “What do you have with my uncle?”
“I worked with him,” I told her. “Good,” said Drita, “but how should I call you?” “Call me whatever you like,” I replied. Near the house, a friend of mine, after hearing about the little guest, said to me in a low voice and with fear: “You did well to take the girl to your house. It would be a shame and a sin for that girl to sleep outside here in Vlorë, but be careful and watch out, as her father just got out of prison, one brother escaped last year, another was imprisoned for political reasons, and the State Security is watching you, and just for this act, for sheltering the girl, you could end up in prison too!”
In our house
When we arrived at the door of the house, my little sister, Arrestimja, came out to meet us. The challenging and peculiar name, Arrestime, was a gift from my father, who had been arrested 16 years earlier as an anti-communist, just days before my sister was born. She didn’t ask any questions but took little Drita in her arms, caressing her. She did not part with her little friend until the next day, when we saw her off again…! My long-suffering mother also covered the girl with affection, even though she immediately learned who she belonged to.
My father was not at home, and I anxiously awaited his reaction. It wasn’t long before my father returned home. When I introduced him to the girl, he didn’t say a word but silently went to the kitchen. When my mother brought him coffee, we heard this conversation between them: “You are right, you and Tek, because you don’t know well, who Liri Belishova and Maqo Çomo were!?” – “But bless God,” my mother said, “she is an innocent child and we cannot leave her on the streets of Vlorë!”
– “But what about you, who felt pity in 1945, with a child in your womb and your back laden with another child, when they imprisoned your husband without fault, took all your possessions, threw you out of your home, and left you in the middle of the street, wasn’t that done by Liri Belishova and Maqo Çomo?” I did not intervene in their conversation, as I understood my father’s anger, but only the next morning did I convince myself that last night had been just a momentary outburst. My father did hard physical labor and the only privilege my mother gave him was a fried egg for lunch.
In the morning, before leaving for work, we heard my father tell my mother: – “Don’t prepare the egg for me, cook it for this little girl,” and after he affectionately stroked her head, he left for the heavy work waiting for him on the farm. A warm feeling of love for my father coursed through my body, for his human spirit. For dinner, my mother prepared stuffed peppers with ground rice and powdered milk.
My younger brother, who hadn’t spoken until then, turned to my mother: – “Pour my ration and Drita’s into one plate.” My mother did so without thinking about any resentment from Murat. While eating the rice with milk, Murat addressed little Drita, saying: – “Don’t be surprised, girl, that we are eating together, for ‘uncle’ Enver teaches us that all Albanians should eat from the same plate!”
Arrestimja laid the little girl down to sleep beside her couch, at the window. She asked the girl to take off her dress, but she didn’t comply. After midnight, the girl woke up startled because some insect had bitten her. She was forced to remove her dress and submit to folk remedies with vinegar and cold water. Even though she had removed the dress, she held it tightly in her hands, and when my mother asked her why she didn’t let go of the dress, she replied: “I have my daddy’s watch. My grandmother sewed it into the dress, and I will give it to him tomorrow, at the meeting time…!” Poor girl…! I took her in my arms and, caressing her with paternal tenderness, she fell asleep. My mother, feeling emotional, rubbing her head, with tears in her eyes, said softly: “May God take our vengeance, my daughter!”
The Parting
In the morning, before we parted ways, my mother took little Drita in her arms and, covering her with kisses, wished: “May your life be like the sun, my daughter!” Arrestimja accompanied us outside the gate, while my brother accompanied us to the center of the city. While waiting for the city bus, my brother asked little Drita to tell him a fairy tale, one of those her parents had told her.
“I know many,” the girl replied. “But one about partisans, I like very much,” – and she began to tell with childlike enthusiasm: “The partisans were fighting against the Germans. In between them was a deep stream. The partisans started throwing stones at the Germans. On the German side, there were no stones, but it was a sandy land.
They began to dig in the sand with their fingers, but instead of stones, they found potatoes and started throwing them at the partisans. The hungry partisans tore into the roasted potatoes, while the Germans died of hunger…!” – “Did you like it?” – my brother asked the girl. – “Very much,” – my brother replied, “but get ready, little Drita, because they will throw potatoes at both you and me, the descendants of the partisans…!” In fact, these words from my brother, Murat Gjonzeneli, turned out to be prophetic, as he suffered 19 years in political prison as an “enemy of the people”!?
Drita and I boarded the bus, which was packed full. A woman we knew, after seeing the beautiful little girl, took her in her lap and, lovingly rubbing her head, asked her who she belonged to. “To Maqo Çomo,” – the girl replied without hesitation. The woman seemed as if she had been bitten by a snake, jumped up, pushed the girl away from her, and turned to me angrily: “Take this ‘enemy’ away, for she is of your kind” – and turned her back on us in hatred. Thus, I showed a very ordinary case for that time, and if it were just one case, I wouldn’t bother to tell it; all life in the communist hell was like this, inhumane!
What happened to Drita Çomo?
Little Drita grew up in internment and psychological torture. Nevertheless, from her beautiful spirit, verses filled with human love flowed. The girl wrote poetry, which attracted the attention of Ismail Kadare after the 1990s. She was an angel whom they did not allow to fly. Her weak body was attacked by cancer, and she died before reaching 20 years old, in complete misery, being denied everything, including the presence of her mother interned in Cërrik and her father imprisoned in Burrel.
Since that time, decades have passed, enough for me to keep that distant vision in my mind, not without meaning, for the present time. Let this human story be a tribute to Drita Çomo and all the children of my generation and Drita’s, and to those unfortunate ones who had a life darker than Drita’s, those who died in the extermination camps established by the fathers of today’s socialists and whose graves were lost forever.
Let this narrative also be a call for awareness for the esteemed ambassador of the United States of America in Tirana, to know on which side this man stands, on the side of Drita Çomo and Teki Gjonzeneli, or on the side of that former officer of the State Security who threw a child into the middle of the street!? /Memorie.al
