By SIMON MIRAKAJ
Part fifteen
“Camps under the shadow of Tomorri, 44 years of internment”
– Memories –
Memorie.al / I put these memories down on paper after a long period of hesitation. This is probably because the subjects were always fresh in my mind, which followed me mercilessly during the years after the fall of communism. But there comes a moment – when time takes its course – and the images of horror and suffering came fading to me – almost the suffering passed into oblivion. Then I decided to repeat the most impressive events – first in my mind – until they took the form of these narratives. As dim as these accounts may seem – they create the idea of the harsh reality and misery of the camps.
Marco
Marko is my childhood friend. He came to exile in Savër (Lushnjes) because his father and uncle had escaped. Marko’s family consisted of his mother, two brothers and a sister. Marko and I went to school, we often traveled the road together, while during the summer holidays, we worked in a brigade with Brigadier Qaniu (a very good man).
Marko looked a bit like Ezmer, with short, thick hair, he was a charming boy. One day I called him: “Marko, let’s go to school, I didn’t get an answer”.
I didn’t see him for two or three days. After a week, the news broke that Marko had been arrested, it seemed unbelievable to us…! What does he want to do?! He was very polite, very tidy! Markon and his classmate, they had set out to escape! After the fall of communism, we met very fondly and he told me how they had been caught:
“We arrived in Libohova and took the road towards the border which was not far, we were tired and sat down to rest, when two armed men approached us;
‘Who are you? Where are you from’?!
‘I will go to Libohova’, I told him…!
‘You know that here is a border area…’?!
They laid out a plant for us called a fern. They put us to sleep, giving us milk to drink. In the morning, the couples directed us, (hunting weapons), connected us by wire and sent us to the Police Station in Libohova.
The next day, I was sent to Gjirokastra prison. They kept us for a week in Gjirokastra, there the uncle screamed, after a week they sent us to the Department of Internal Affairs, Lushnje, they beat us every day:
“Who pushed you to escape, who did you talk to”?
‘Who is the leader of the group’?
‘I’, – I told him, – I am.
“No,” said the friend, “it’s me.”
The time came when they took us to court, where they had summoned the entire first grade of the gymnasium. The prosecutor asked for 25 years in prison, the court gave us 10 years, because of his age (15 years). The session was closed to continue the discussion. In the afternoon session, due to our age, the court reduced our sentence to 5 years in prison.
I spent those years in Tirana, in the “Artizanat” prison, where I learned the tailor’s trade. After I was released, the Security was following me, then I decided to get married. In 1980, I was arrested again, for agitation and propaganda and sentenced to 10 years in prison, I left my wife with two small children, my mother, my brother. I ended up in Spaç, then in Qafë-Bar.
Now Simon, it’s 2023, it’s the 60th anniversary of my escape attempt. I want to go to Savër, find the house where I lived, visit those alleys, then I’ll have lunch”.
On dt. 23.11.2023, we went to Savër, where Gëzim Baruti, Sofo Kuqezi, Tefta Mersini were waiting for us.
I took my wife, Sokol (brother) came with Dine Dine. Marko came with his wife, sister-in-law, Tefta had taken her sister-in-law.
We started walking in those alleys, finding the houses we had passed several years, then we stopped at the house where Marko lived. Emotions and photos. Savra had changed, but not for the better, still with the tin fence, and cleanliness. From 13.00, we left for lunch.
During lunch, Marko’s daughter from the USA also greeted us. The conversations had no end, bringing back memories, Marko remembered Sanremo’s songs, he liked Celentano’s song.
From 16.00 we parted from each other, hugging each other and wishing that these sad events will not happen again.
Marko took the road to Vlora, where he stays temporarily telling me when you will come to Vlora, and I telling him when you will come to Tirana, then on December 6, he traveled to the USA. (Maryland).
Marko and I have remained friends and we continue as in our youth or childhood.
Are you happy?
The rain that fell without interruption, locked me inside. I sat in front of the TV, watching the news. Following the news had become a disease for me, after a while I turned off the TV, as news like; drugs, murder, car accidents, etc. I took the book that was closed on the table.
In reading I had set a limit, I read 50 pages a day, sometimes when the reading attracted me too much, I exceeded the set limit. To calm my brain, after reading I listened to music, music filled my soul and relaxed me.
I listened to folk music, like couplets, like p. sh. the song of Halil Gashi, sung by Iballsi Tom Nikolla, or the sweet sounds of the couplet by the virtuoso, Nue Shyti. I really liked the Himarjo song “Vajzë e Valave”, the songs about music, korça, I would close my eyes and listen to Italian songs, such as Orjeta Berti, Don Bakin, Claudio Vilë, Morandin, Lucio Dalë, Mino Rejtanon, Pavaroti, etc.
I went out on the balcony; the rain had stopped. I got ready to go out for coffee. As soon as I was on the street, I had walked a little when I heard a voice: “O Mirak!”
I stopped. M. I. arrived; the usual questions began:
“How are you? How are you from your family? What do you do”? My answers were short:
“Thank God, we are fine.”
“I want to drink a coffee together, can you”?
“With pleasure”.
We walked a little and entered the coffee bar, which was foggy with cigarette smoke, and sat down at a table outside. We ordered coffee and water, then the friend who had come from Italy started the conversation.
“Simon, where I live, I have a friend from Lushnja who knew you and spoke highly of you. He told me: If you meet him, greet him from my side”!
“I remember. He was a little younger.”
“G. K. told me that; “Simon was one of the most charming boys in the high school.”
“I have never liked myself, but youth itself is charming and beautiful.”
“He told me that the girls were also in high demand.”
“Maybe, but if someone looked at me that I also liked, I said to myself; maybe he looks at me with pity, knowing that we are different from the others, that we came from an internment camp, like Savra. Even by nature I was cold. Now I am remembering an expression in Italian: Non ce sabato sensa sole non ce cuore senza amore”.
K told me:
“In addition to being a charming boy, he was also smart”!
“Smart me? No, I have never considered myself smart, I could barely get through the years at school, with procrastination, because my brain had gone crazy”.
“How about the feet”?!
“I played football, very well, that’s what those who watched me play said. I was smart once”?
“When”?
“That I did not create a family, in the internment camps”.
“You continue to work”?
“No, I have a little, since I retired.”
“How do you spend your day”?
“In the morning from ten o’clock, I drink my coffee, then I go for a walk and come home, a little while in front of the TV, I start reading, I am drawn to historical books, of characters anathema by the communist dictatorship”.
“They told me that you, Simon, spent forty-four years exiled, isolated, that you saw the Adriatic Sea after the nineties! Is it true”?!
“Yes, it is true, very true.”
“And today, how do you feel”?
“I feel good, I have created a family that gives me pleasure and prolongs my life, I have a son”.
“Can I ask you; do you feel happy”?
“In my opinion, happiness does not exist, there are happy moments when you achieve what you dreamed of. I am not happy, my mother died in the internment camp in Gjaza.
I didn’t know my father and my grandmother, I never saw them, they died in emigration. The father’s son was killed in the mountains, fighting against the installation of the communist dictatorship, at the age of 29. Similarly, a very close cousin was executed at the age of 29 in defense of the religion of Christ and the Motherland.
Another cousin was executed, when he was a soldier, my sister died a few years ago. At a young age, 14 years old, she was separated from us and sent to hard labor. My peers died in the terrible camp of Tepelena, and today they are without a grave, how can I feel happy”!
As I spoke to the friend in front of me, his eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry for asking you that question. I am returning once again to your question”.
“Yes, in a way, I’m happy, because I don’t owe the man”.
The waiter came. My friend wouldn’t let me pay. We parted hugging and saying:
“Greetings to that gardener, heartily”!
“Goodbye”. Memori.al
