By Maksim Rakipaj
Part thirty-two
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
A bloodthirsty Arvanite looking for “Vorio-Epirote”
The ship “Vlora” under my command, arrived at the port of Piraeus at the beginning of October. We had left a couple of days ago from the port of Alexandria (Egypt). The weather was beautiful and the cruise went well. As soon as I dropped the anchor, Dhori, a Vlonjat who is co-owner of the agency that rented the boat, spoke to me on the VHF. After casual greetings, he tells me; tomorrow, which is Sunday, he and his wife and I are invited for lunch at Andrea’s. Andrea is the owner of ship Chandler, (ship Chandlers are companies that supply ships and crews with various goods), who supplied us with food in March, when this trip started.
“Come on,” Dhori tells me, “It’s good for Andrea, it’s good for me too, because we work together and I benefit from it”! I accept with pleasure. I haven’t entered a Greek’s house so far and I’m curious. The next day, I take the speedboat and go ashore. Dhori, with his wife, waits at the pier by car. The weather is beautiful, sunny and Piraeus looks even more beautiful.
Lunch was lovely. Andrea’s wife served us with all the daughters, under the strict watch of the mother-in-law. We spoke only Albanian, the whole time. Andrea didn’t open her mouth again. He remained sullen, despite Dhori’s efforts to make him laugh, speaking to him in Greek. The old woman hugged me longingly, when we parted:
– “Too bad mother, you have time, without speaking in your language…”!
Memories from Piraeus, October-December 1995
Once a week, an economist came to the agency that covered the ship “Vlora”, who did the actions related to the accounting of the agency. This Greek was very rude (those with sensitive ears can read him as pedantic) and not only towards the Albanians, but also towards the Greeks who worked in that office.
His surname was the same as the surname of a mythological king. He had no business with me, but the disregard I showed him, infuriated him and he was looking forward to an opportunity to lash out at me. I fulfilled his wish and gave him more than one such occasion…! He wanted to open a conversation with me. At all costs, he wanted to show his superiority as a Hellene, in everything. Had drawn into the discussion, some of the agency’s employees.
I was sitting in a corner, talking about something else, with the lawyer Mr. Viron Sadiraj, that the Fleet Directorate, had sent to systematize some old legal problems of the company. I understood almost everything that the Greek economist, named Ilia, said. With his high tone, facial expressions and gestures, he wanted to attract my attention. When he saw that I was not listening, he addressed me in English:
– “The captain doesn’t speak Greek? I wonder how it is possible that he has not learned the most beautiful language in the world”?!
– “Because I know the most beautiful language in the world, Mr. Ilia. My mother taught me Albanian…”!
That’s all it took and between me and Ilias, a long duel between the two nationalists began. He was furious, he spoke with passion, when it came to Helladh, he always spoke with disdain for foreigners: Romanians, Bulgarians, Ukrainians and definitely… also for Albanians. He was used to not talking back to anyone, from the Albanians who worked near him! He once raised his voice too much with me, he almost screamed…! I got up from my seat, approached him and looking him in the eyes, I said in a very low voice:
– “With me, please, lower your voice. I’m not a refugee in Greece, I’m afraid of you. It is not me who works for you, but you who works for an agency, which serves the ship where I am the captain and not a piece of accountant! We understand, Mr. Ilia”?!
But usually, I must admit that Ilia was a true gentleman, and that pompous demeanor of his was always clothed with a thin veneer of jest, which always left a path for himself to withdraw with honor, in case of defeat. And he didn’t miss small, daily defeats, because he was used to talking and not being contradicted by anyone, because he lacked arguments, because he didn’t know anything, not even from the history of his dear Heladha. I could easily, every day.
He started reading and came more prepared to debates with me. He called the agency and asked if I was there. He started coming, no longer once a week, as before, for the work he was doing there, but almost every day. He came that day too, after being assured by Leonidha and the Greek captain, Kristo, who worked there, that I was at the agency. “Get ready, Captain Max, Ilia is coming, for trouble,” the Greek captain told me, laughing. Ilia came, entered quickly, hung his coat and hat on the hanger and addressed me, serious with a dramatic tone:
– “Do you know, dear Captain Max, why we Greeks are at least 200 years ahead of you?! I…I don’t know. You have no way of knowing. It is not your fault that you are Albanian…! Let me say it: 200 years ago, when you Albanians were circumcised, we, the Greeks, with our president, Ioannis Kapodhistrias, imposed German laws in Greece. Did you hear me”?!
And, triumphant, he saw the Greeks in the office “clap their palms together with a great thump”, as Andon Zakoja i Sheperi would say…!
– “I know this, Ilia, I know. But you don’t know another thing. That this John is Albanian, not Greek. His name is Gjon Kapodistria, an Albanian like Boçar, Laskarina Bubulina, Kollokotroni and others that I told you yesterday, the day before…! Wait! I’ll finish you once! After we Albanians fought with weapons for your independence, because it is known that you are not for war, Europe saw that you Greeks are also fat! He had to find a man with a brain to govern you! Do you know, Ilia, that when the German king Otto came, he could not understand the locals with the Greek he had learned before he came? Because there were few Greeks in Athens! Because the commanders of the Greek revolution spoke Albanian! Since 80% of the inhabitants were Arvanites – Albanians, you also found the president, the prime minister, the Albanian foreign minister! As for our circumcision, I know that Greek ladies and young ladies do not have a bad opinion…”!
– “This is the peak! The climax! Ioannis should also be Albanian!? Tomorrow, you, the Albanian, will also put me at risk! This is crazy, it’s crazy. This one must be beaten to find out”! – addressed the Greeks of the office in Greek.
– “All you have to do is get me Albanian out now”, – he added in half English and half Greek.
– “He doesn’t know Ilia, maybe you are Albanian. Did I tell you that my grandfather in the period 1914-1918, when the Greek Andarts came to us for reprisals, he came at the head of a group of brave men, to take revenge in Greece? Some say about him, that during the day the Greek men came forward, and at night… the Greeks came down. Until Athens it was… I wanted to say it, but we both, as if we look alike, it seems to me…”?!
– “This matter must be resolved. Can you bet?
– “Agreed! I have 4,000 dollars; you also have 4,000 and we will give it to Captain Kristo”.
– “No, no. We stipulate that whoever loses the bet must pay for a dinner for everyone present here. Four thousand dollars, that’s a lot. But how will we prove it, who is right”?!
– “Do you have the Greek Encyclopedia at home, Ilia? Yes? Go read it and come give us dinner. I’m waiting for you here.”
Ilia kept his word. He returned after 40 minutes with the Greek Encyclopedia with him. Like a beaten dog. When the other Greeks saw it, they lowered their heads.
– “You won,” Ilia said, and shook my hand. He took us to a bar on the outskirts of Piraeus, where only venison was cooked. A perfect cooking, I was left hostage, that I did not write down the address of the bar, I would gladly go back there again…! There were three Albanians: me, Viron Sadiraj and Dhori. The dinner passed in a cordial and friendly atmosphere, as the newspapers used to write. Only Ilia was a little upset when he paid. “I won’t bet with you again, captain. I lost another bet like this, my wife killed me”!
The last trip with “Vlora”
(Piratesque return, in Durrës)
…I loved the sea since I was little, I was born in Vlora (we were on the island of Sazan, when I was born, my father was on duty there, as an artillery officer), but I never thought that one day, I would manage to become a captain, on the ship “Vlora”
In March of ’95, I started as its captain, not knowing that I would be its last captain and that wonderful ship, the glory of the Albanian Navy, would make its last voyage, with me as captain, under the Albanian flag! I won’t go into details about her launch, many wanted her to rot in the harbor and be sold for 5 Lek. I replaced the ship’s mechanic, part of the crew, and suddenly on the day of departure, from the 4 officers I should have had, only the first officer, Albert Koço, remained; the other three, for reasons I don’t want to mention, left.
Someone pressured them and they got scared. The director told me that he had at his disposal three young officers, who had just finished school and had no sailing experience; the first officer and my good friend Bert Koço, that we were ready to leave even if they did not come. There were three great guys, they divided themselves into their own positions: Officer II, Officer III and Officer IV. We went to Yemen-Port Aden; Eritrea; again Yemen, and finally in Alexandria – Egypt. I had no idea that I would suffer so much on that cruise. And I can’t tell you all the details. For many reasons.
From correspondence with the agency in Greece, I understood that many games were being played. Dirty games that had to do with ship ownership. A whole novel could be written about all of them. The owner of the agency in Egypt immediately befriended me. One day he called me to the office. His secretary, as usual, did not take me to the place where the owner, Ashraf was called, worked, but to another, much bigger and more luxurious office. Ashraf was blond and blue-eyed. When I showed him my surprise: “A blond Egyptian”?! he explained to me that his origin was from Albania…!
That day Ashraf was very serious:
– “Max, I studied Medicine, I’m a cardiologist…! This is the office where my father worked. On his deathbed, my father bequeathed to me: In the agency, you will work Ashraf’! So, I left the hospital. But I haven’t worked a single day in my father’s office, for me this office is like a waqf; You have seen the office where I work. But here, I enter only to meditate, or to drink a glass, with a dear friend. You Max, you have my respect and count you among my best friends. Listen to why I called you: you also understood, my friend, that you are dealing with the mafia. You cannot save ‘Vlora’. You are dealing with the Greek, Turkish, Albanian mafia…!
Listen, I’m talking to you like a brother, I’m your friend and an Albanian like you, that’s why I’m talking to you openly. Let the ship leave, under the command of the first officer, for Piraeus, as early as tomorrow. I will hospitalize you. The hospital is the property of my family. Stay in the hospital for a couple of days, while I will bring your family, wife and two sons here. Look at this map on the wall. Those old flags there, are the branches of my agency, around the world. Choose the country you like. Salary $3,000 per month, plus housing and maid service, with driver included. You will be my representative. Think tonight. Answer me tomorrow.”
I returned to the ship…! I only called the 1st officer and my prison mate, mechanic Fadil Hyka, who took that road as a mechanic, not knowing that he would save my life. Berti refused to take command of the ship, no matter how much Fadili tried to convince him, it was useless, I spoke to him openly, I promised him that I would try to pull him, where I would go too…! He no and no. There was fear of some crew mutiny.
– “It’s your own fault,” Fadili told me, “You should only tell me, Berti was fait accompli, Max got sick, he was hospitalized and that’s it.” Now you have nothing to do, the game was discovered”.
The next day I met Ashraf again. As soon as he saw me, he understood my answer – “…I knew your answer, Captain Max”, – he said and hugged me, shook my hand and wished me success. “You have to leave tomorrow,” he told me, “Because if Monday takes you here, the ship risks being blocked by a court decision, for debts of the Fleet Directorate.” But you also need to get a letter of excuse, from your ambassador in Cairo, because you lack a document of the ship; this rule has been in place for two months, you couldn’t get it in Albania, because you were on a cruise when the rule was established. A letter of justification from the Albanian ambassador is enough, where he promises that next time, that document will be on the ship. Let’s get him on the phone from my office”! The ambassador refused to issue that letter of excuse “It’s a day off today. See you tomorrow, I’ll ask Tirana once too”! Memorie.al
The next issue follows
