Albanian History: Enver Hoxha

Histori Shqiptare : Enver Hoxha (English below)

Asnjë person tjetër nuk ka luajtur një rol më të madh në fatin e Shqipërisë në shekullin e 20-të sesa Enver Hoxha. Ai është Skënderbeu i shekullit të 20-të. Megjithatë, ndërsa udhëheqja e Skënderbeut ishte për mirë; Hoxha ishte për të keqe. Ndërsa trashëgimia e të parit i ka rezistuar kohës, trashëgimia e Hoxhës është rishkruar rrënjësisht menjëherë pas vdekjes së tij, me shqiptarët që e etiketojnë atë jo si hero, por si shejtan. Hoxha kishte përkrahësit e tij në mesin e bashkëmoshatarëve të tij, të cilët tashmë janë të moshuar dhe të vdekur, por askush nga brezi i ri nuk e vlerëson atë. Hoxha, mund të argumentohet, shkatërroi Shqipërinë dhe çoi në emigracionin masiv që pasoi kur ai vdiq. Hoxha ishte një udhëheqës kulti: ai e izoloi kombin e tij të gjithë për t’i shërbyer vetes dhe rrethit të ngushtë. Ai madje vrau miqtë dhe familjen e tij. Ai ishte karizmatik; e bëri me buzëqeshje për njerëzit. Ai nuk do të ndalej para asgjëje për t’u kapur pas pushtetit, edhe nëse kjo do të nënkuptonte ndërtimin e bunkerëve të shëmtuar mbrojtës në të gjithë Shqipërinë. I talentuar nga mashtrimi dhe persekutimi i pamëshirshëm, mund të shihet se si ai ishte një forcë e tillë. Por ai nuk ishte një forcë për të mirë; ai ishte një forcë për të keqe. Le të shqyrtojmë krijimin e kësaj figure konsekuente, por djallëzore.

Enver Hoxha lindi në jug të Shqipërisë më 16 tetor 1908. Megjithatë familja e tij nuk vjen nga gjirokastra e vjetër dhe mund të jetë shpërngulur atje nga një pjesë tjetër e Shqipërisë si nga Malësia e Veriut apo edhe nga zonat shqiptare të Maqedonisë. Babai i tij ishte një klerik mysliman. Më vonë në jetë Enveri do të përplasej me të atin për besimin e tij. Thuhet se ai dogji edhe Kuranin e babait të tij. Në mesin e viteve 1960 Hoxha e shpalli Shqipërinë një shtet zyrtarisht ateist dhe mbylli të gjitha shtëpitë e fese. Ai e bëri këtë pa dyshim sepse mendonte se feja kërcënonte mbajtjen e tij në pushtet.

Hoxha mori pjesë në shkollat ​​e mira të qytetit të tij, përfshirë të parën që mësohej në gjuhën shqipe. Ai nuk ishte i talentuar si student; por ai rridhte nga një familje e pasur që donte që ai të kishte një arsim. Pas shkollës fillore u dërgua në një shkollë franceze në Korçë. Megjithëse nuk shkëlqeu, ai përfundoi kursin. Pas diplomimit ai donte të shkonte jashtë vendit. Ai dhe familja e tij i bënë presion një bamirësi që t’i ofronte një bursë për të shkuar të studionte në Francë. Ai shkoi në Universitetin e Montpellier. Megjithatë, ai ishte një student shumë i varfër dikur atje. Ai nuk ishte i interesuar për studimet e tij. Ishte e qartë se ai nuk ishte për akademikë, dhe bursa e tij u anulua për shkak të statusit të dobët. Në fakt ai u hakmor ndaj zyrtarit që i hoqi bursën, duke e dërguar në burg, në jetën e mëvonshme kur u bë diktator.

Pas Montpellier shkoi në Paris dhe u miqësua me revolucionarët e asaj kohe, klikën komuniste franceze. Duket se këtu u mboll fara për fatin e tij. Ai donte të bëhej një udhëheqës komunist. Pas kthimit në Shqipëri ai kaloi ca kohë në shkollën e tij të vjetër në Korçë si mësues zëvendësues, duke pritur Luftën e Dytë Botërore dhe duke kërkuar kohën e tij kur të mund të godiste. Ai duhet ta ketë ditur se ishte një gjeni i keq dhe për çfarë ishte i aftë. Ai u transferua në Tiranë dhe bëri më shumë miq komunistë, ndërsa punonte si shitës puro në dyqanin e xhaxhait të tij, një punë e zakonshme për dikë që ishte i destinuar të ishte heroi i popullit të tij.

Hoxha bëri një pakt me djallin. Dy agjentë erdhën nga Serbia për të ndihmuar në formimin e partisë komuniste shqiptare, Dushani dhe Miladin; për shkak të ndikimit të tyre negativ – në fund të fundit ata donin të instalonin një njeri që do t’i lejonte Serbisë, rivalit të Shqipërisë, të mbante provincën të Kosovës – ata mbështetën Hoxhën, si liderin e partisë, më joparimoren e grupit. Kudo që kishte një luftë për pushtet, Hoxha do të fitonte përmes persekutimit. Sapo mori pushtetin në vitin 1944, ai ekzekutoi rivalin e tij kryesor, Koci Xoxe, si dhe krerët e partive kundërshtare, Ballin Kombëtar dhe Legalitetin; partitë që komunistët i kishin ftuar më parë të bashkoheshin në luftën për çlirimin e Shqipërisë nga nazistët dhe fashistët. Në pleqëri, Hoxha e përfundoi mbretërimin e tij të terrorit duke ekzekutuar përkrahësin e tij kryesor, Mehmet Shehun. Ai vdiq në vitin 1985, pas 40 vitesh në pushtet.

Lëvizja komuniste është kritikuar gjithmonë në Perëndim. Nëse jo qëllimisht keq, sigurisht që nuk është e mençur. Edhe nëse fillon të funksionojë siç duhet në fillim, ekonomia e saj gradualisht ngec. Komunizmi duket si mashtrues. Megjithatë, në atë kohë ata ishin të rinj që aspironin për diçka më shumë, dhe në fakt shumica e komunistëve kishin qëllime të mira. Megjithatë, një problem me revolucionin komunist – ose ndoshta me të gjitha revolucionet populiste – ishte se ai ishte subjekt i uzurpimit nga një udhëheqës i keq. Hoxha ishte pikërisht tipi i liderit joparimor që uzurpoi lëvizjen, kur revolucioni ishte në fillimet e tij dhe e ktheu komunizmin në diktaturë. Hoxha me taktika te padrejta ngjiti majen. Pasi e bëri këtë, ai nuk e lëshoi ​​kurrë. Ai e bëri këtë përmes mashtrimit, persekutimit, ekzekutimit, izolimit dhe internimit. Ai është ende një emër i njohur në Shqipëri… për te keqe.

(in English)

No other person has played a greater role in the fate of Albania in the 20th century more than Enver Hoxha (Hodja). He is the Skanderbeg of the 20th century. However, While Skanderbeg’s leadership was for good; Hoxha’s was for ill. While the former’s legacy has withstood the test of time, Hoxha’s legacy has been radically rewritten immediately after his death, with Albanians labeling him not as a hero but a villain. Hoxha had his supporters among his peers who are now old and dying out, but no one of the younger generation esteems him. Hoxha, it can be argued, ruined Albania and led to the mass immigration that ensued when he died. Hoxha was a cult leader: he isolated his nation all to serve himself and close circle. He even killed his friends and family. He was charismatic; he did it with a smile for the people. He would stop at nothing to cling on to power, even if it meant building unsightly defensive bunkers all over Albania. Gifted at deception and ruthless persecution, one can see how he was such a force. But he was not a force for good; he was a force for ill. Let us examine the making of this consequential, yet villainous figure.

Enver Hoxha was born in the south of Albania on October 16th 1908. However his family does not come from old Gjirokastra stock and may have moved there from another part of Albania such as the Northern Highlands or even the Albanian areas of Macedonia. His father was a Muslim cleric. Later in life Enver would clash with his dad over his faith. It is said that he even burnt his father’s Quran. In the mid 1960s Hoxha declared Albania an officially atheist state and shuttered all houses of worship. He did this no doubt because he felt that religion threatened his hold on power. 

Hoxha got to attend the good schools of his town including the first one that taught in Albanian. He was not gifted as a student; but he came from a well-to-do family who wanted him to have an education. After grade school he was sent to a French school in Korca. Though he did not shine, he completed the course. Upon graduation he wanted to go abroad. He and his family pressured a benefactor to offer him a scholarship to go study in France.  He went to the University of Montpellier. However, he was a very poor student once there. He was not interested in his studies. It was evident that he was not for academics, and his scholarship was revoked because of poor standing. In fact he got revenge on the official who revoked his scholarship, sending him to prison, in later life when he became dictator.

After Montpellier he went to Paris and made friends with the revolutionaries of the day, the French communist clique.  It seems that here the seed for his destiny was planted. He wanted to be a Communist leader. Upon his return to Albania he spent some time at his old school Korca as a substitute teacher, waiting out World War II and biding his time when he could strike.  He must have known he was an evil genius, and what he was capable of.  He moved to Tirana and made more communist friends, while working as a cigar salesman at his uncle’s shop, an ordinary job for one destined to be his people’s hero. 

Hoxha made a pact with the devil. Two agents came from Serbia to assist in the formation of the Albanian communist party, Dushan and Miladin; owing to their negative influence-after all they wanted to install a man who would allow Serbia, Albania’s rival, to keep the Albanian majority province of Kosovo-they supported Hoxha, as party leader, the most unprincipled of the bunch. Wherever there was a power struggle, Hoxha would win through persecution. As soon as he got power in 1944, he executed his top rival, Koci Xoxe, as well as the leaders of the opposing parties, the National Front and Legality; parties which the communists had previously invited to join in the fight for the liberation of Albania from the Nazis and Fascists. In old age, Hoxha concluded his reign of terror by executing his top supporter, Mehmet Shehu. Hoxha died in 1985, after 40 years in power.

The communist movement has always been criticized in the West. If not deliberately bad, it’s certainly unwise. Even if it begins to work out properly in the beginning, its economy gradually flounders.  Communism seems like a con. However, at the time they were young people aspiring for something more, and in fact most communists were well-intentioned.  However one problem with the communist revolution-or perhaps with all populist revolutions-was that it was subject to usurpation by a bad leader. Hoxha was the exact type of unprincipled leader to usurp the movement, when the revolution was in its infancy, and turned communism into a dictatorship. Enver Hoxha. strong armed his way to the top. Once he did so he never let go.  He did this through deception, persecution, execution, isolation and exile. He is still a household name in Albania… for ill.

Sources:

Panorama. Hoxha 2012

Enver Hoxha. The Iron Fist of Albania. 2016

History of Albania. Tajar Zavalani 1963

Albania: Kruja

Kruja is a small town in north central Albania that belongs to the cultural region of the Northern Highlands. Its population including villages in the surrounding county may be as high as seventy thousand. It is situated on the mountain of Kruja, which has many natural springs, perhaps the origin of its namesake: Krue in Albanian means spring. We do not have any mention of Kruja in antiquity. It seems to have been inhabited since the seventh or eighth century. Its possible that the Illyrian tribe, called the Albanoi by Ptolemy, lived in the nearby village of Zgerdheshi. These people may later have settled the area that became Kruja. The first written mention of Kruja occurs in a Christian record of the 9th century. Kruja likely was the first feudal Albanian state, of the Arbanum tribe, established in 1190. The town flourished during the 13th and 14th centuries but its development would be periodically halted by invaders.

The Turks first arrived in 1396, though it would take another twenty years for them to begin their assault. Though they captured the town, the people of Kruja put up a series of uprisings, a strong one of which was led by Gjon Kastrioti, Skenderbeg’s father. Then, when the son, Gjergj Kastrioti, Skenderbeg, came of age, Kruja became Albania’s strongest point of resistance against the Ottoman Turks. Once he captured Kruja, Skenderbeg’s principality remained independent for 25 years, for the remainder of his life, and it would take 10 more years after his passing for the Turks to capture his castle. However, the Ottoman attacks cost a lot to the town and Albania. Castles, churches, and old characteristic buildings were lost, including artistic and even literary works.

I have visited Kruja in the past and have been impressed by its rugged mountainous terrain and as well as its severe atmosphere. Is there a positive side to the ruggedness of the highlands? It’s possible. Skanderbeg, Albania’s national hero and greatest warrior in medieval battle was from the rugged highlands. Likewise, Gjergj Fishta, who wrote Albania’s national epic-a poem about war-was also from the rugged highlands. And Shkodra, another highland town is known for its fierceness in battle, preventing an Ottoman takeover of their citadel in two sieges. Likewise Marin Barletti, the medieval Shkodran scholar, had markedly heroic approach to his chronicles and he himself was a soldier in the siege of Shkodra. Although we definitely cannot prove it, it is possible this rugged environment bred clansmen with battle toughness, one unmatched by southern Albania. Southern Albania has not produced a warrior like Skenderbeg. Though it has produced a finer culture, with more intellectuals like the brothers Frasheri.

Yet at the same time, the Northern Highlands have suffered what sociologists call an “honor culture,” a culture of family feuds and vendettas which has been known to exist in other rugged highlands such as those of Sicily, Scotland and Appalachia in the US. Supposedly, this culture arose from the need to protect one’s cattle from theft. However, this culture did not take root in southern Albania, where shepherding is also common. Certainly, the rugged mountains facilitated this unfortunate custom. But it would seem, this is a regional cultural trait too. It endured until the Communists, who though discredited, did good to put a stop to the senseless violence. After communism, the custom sprang up again, but now this unfortunate culture thankfully seems to be put behind.

I really did enjoy my time in Kruja back in 2012. The best part of the town is the old bazaar, a tiny stone lane, said to be 5 centuries old, and offering all sorts of Albanian knickknacks and decorations a tourist could want. I met a shop keeper, a woman who spoke to me in the northern accent, which surprised me. Although I grew up in nearby Tirana, only 45 minutes south, Albanian there has a different accent. The lady did not have a trace of humor to her face, but was of a very sincere kindly disposition. Try as I may, I could not get a smile out of her. Yet, she took a liking to me because I told her I came from America, where her son had emigrated to. Now that I come to think of it, she was an embodiment of her environment.

My mom and I along with my aunt and cousins then walked past the bazaar which led straight onto the castle. Though the ravages of age such as an earthquake of 1617 and a further Turkish onslaught in 1832 after another uprising, had taken a toll, some of it was still standing and housed a historical museum dedicated to medieval Kruja and its heroic native son Skenderbeg. After visiting it, we ate pilaf in the patio of a restaurant housed at the end of the castle. The day was obscured by clouds, which seemed to hang near us on the mountain top. There were no other diners. But we were surrounded by a family of cats, aiming at our chicken bones, who called old Kruja, this tiny, secret gem their home. This day trip, as if one back in time, to the home of Skanderbeg, was quite special.

Source:

Kruja and Her Monuments
Shtepia Botuese 8 Nentori
Tirane
1981

Albania: The Ottoman Invasion

Albania came under the sway of the Ottomans in the early 1400’s and would remain in their empire-although not wholly and not all the time-until 1912. But who are the Ottomans? The people who came to be known as Ottomans were the Muslim Turcomans, or Turkish tribes who originated in central Asia and moved to Iran and eastern Anatolia. Many of them were nomadic. Partly owing to the Mongol invasions of the 1200s in Eastern Turkey, which oppressed them, they migrated west, and began settling near the border of the Byzantine Empire.

Once there, they embarked on a Gazi, or Holy War, against the Christians of the Byzantine Empire. The crusader with land closest to Constantinople was Osman, a capable soldier, who in 1302 led an ambush against the Byzantines in a decisive battle. Their win first established the Ottoman principality. He and his people wrested provinces in western Anatolia from Byzantium, and many Turks flocked to do battle with him, calling themselves Osmanlis. Their mission was holy war and colonization.

Emboldened by their seemingly easy conquests in the western frontier, the Muslim incursion of Gazi crusaders gained great momentum and the prospect of even entering Europe became a real one. Constantinople was very much occupied keeping the Balkan provinces in check; it didn’t have the capability to defend itself from the East. With each passing year, the Ottomans kept gaining ground and rising in power. By the 1350s the Ottomans had taken Salonica and Gallipoli. Then came Adrianople, which would be their capital for almost 100 years. Constantinople, was in such poor shape it hired Ottomans to hold on to its Balkan provinces. This portended a bleak future for its survival. The Ottomans could turn on it. But it was desperate.

There was a renewed campaign to unite the Orthodox and Latin church in order to strengthen the Empire. Appeals for protection were made to Western nations. A call was made for a crusade not recapture Jerusalem but to save Constantinople. But history was not on Byzantium’s side. Now at over 1000 years old, perhaps, the ravages of ages finally caught up with it.

Within the Balkans, Ottoman soldiers found plenty of work in the armies of feudal lords to fight neighboring peoples. Sometimes nobles of the same nation hired Turkish soldiers to fight each other. They were all playing with fire. Division within the Balkan peninsula along ethnic and religious lines greatly weakened it. Yet the new invader was not a scourge upon all. Bulgarians, for example, preferred Turkish occupation to Hungarian occupation. Likewise, Albanians also preferred Turkish rule to their Serb rivals. This only hastened the Ottoman incursion.

In 1385 the Turks first came to Durres as mercenaries of a local lord, who was fighting a fellow Albanian in the north. Three years after winning this battle, the Turks returned again, this time not under the command of a local lord but under the direction of the sultan himself to conquer for their own benefit. Although many feudal lords finally united, it was too late. They were beaten and soon enough each of them were forced to become vassals of the Sultan. Meanwhile in 1453 Constantinople finally fell to the long coming threat, marking the end of the Byzantine Empire.

***

Zavalani, Tajar. History of Albania. London: 1963. Robert Elsie and Bejtullah Destany 2015.

Inalcik, Halil. The Ottoman Empire: The Classical Age 1300-1600. Phoenix Press, 2013.

Albania: Mother Teresa

Mother Teresa is the most internationally recognized modern Albanian figure today. Her name has entered into the mainstream both in the East and the West. Her impact is global. Upon her death the order of nuns that she founded, the Missionaries of Charity, stood at 4000 strong and had houses that cared for the poor, sick and destitute in over 90 countries all over the globe. This diminutive woman born of a common Albanian family was a force of God. The indomitable nun as she came to be known truly was unstoppable. Because she did not meddle in politics but merely wanted to have mercy on the poor, she was usually welcomed all over the world. She had a universally liked personality and charisma. Moreover, she never took no for an answer. It is only through immense persistence that we may imagine she set up her missions everywhere.

Mother Teresa was born as Agnes Bojaxhiu in Shkodra, Albania on August 27, 1910. In youth, her family moved to Skopje, Macedonia. When the Ottoman Empire fell Macedonia and Kosovo were incorporated into Yugoslavia. Her father who was a political activist for Kosovo, the Albanian majority region, was poisoned by the Serb authorities. From her youth little Agnes showed the signs that would distinguish her in adult life: she was principled, religious, and compassionate. She often visited a poor widow in the neighborhood while her siblings would not.

One day when she was 12 a Jesuit missionary group came and spoke to her class of their mission in India. This talk captured her imagination and was the spark that lit the fire for the religious life of a nun. At 18, after receiving her mom’s blessing-who was initially astonished- Agnes left for Ireland to train with the Sisters of Loretto. A mere two months later, Agnes went with the mission to India. She adopted the name of Teresa in reverence of St Therese of Lisieux who believed in simple goodness and died at merely 25.

In 1934, she heard news that her mom and brother and sister had moved to Tirana. However, time would prove this a costly move. Albania would soon be run by a severe dictator who ridiculed religion and persecuted her family on account of her renown. Meanwhile Sister Teresa was promoted to Mother Teresa at merely 27. She still kept her usual duties of prayer and teaching children whom she was particularly fond of. However, World War II would bring a terrible famine to India. 2 million souls perished.

After 17 years of service to the sisters of Loretto Mother Teresa heard a call from God. She must live among the poor. She was haunted by poverty and felt the only way to truly care for them was to become one of them. She became a beggar for beggars but before long other nuns came to her side, and she would set up an new, independent mission under the Catholic Church. Although she would never accept official church funds, the money always turned up, as if miraculously. The rich gave a lot and the poor gave their last coins. She set up houses to care for children, lepers, the homeless, the sick and dying. From Asia to Europe, to North America to South America, to Africa; perhaps in every continent; It is no wonder that she was universally beloved. She met with heads of state. She even tried to reconcile Saddam Hussein and George Bush to prevent the Gulf war; afterwards in Iraq, she would set up a mission to care for wounded civilians.

She flew around the globe to her dying day and was recognized by prizes for her work everywhere, including being awarded the prestigious Nobel prize. In 2016, she became canonized a Catholic saint. Interestingly, the only two places where she was rejected were her homeland of Albania, where the dictator persecuted her family, and Northern Ireland, which refused to have a Catholic mission, especially one founded by a nun who had first trained in its rival, Ireland. Mother Teresa is an example to all of us: to care for those less fortunate than ourselves in the name of God.

Source
Hurley, Joanna. Mother Teresa 1910-1997: A Pictorial Biography. Philadelphia: Courage Books, 1997.
Image: Mother Teresa accompanied by children at her mission in Calcutta, India 05/12/1980 (Getty)

Albania: the big news

It’s funny how two different people can perceive the same exact news in a completely different way. When my family received the big news that we were moving to America my brother cheered and jumped for joy. I, on the other hand, was indifferent. He was excited. I did not know what to think or what to feel or what this meant. Perhaps, I was too young to know or to have a clear reaction, yet my brother was not much older than I, and he had a definite reaction.

I wonder if something about my fate in America might have been foreseen in that reaction, or at least something about my character. Maybe I was not happy because I knew this was not necessarily good news. Maybe I foresaw hardship and difficulties. But can a kid of nine foresee the hardships of immigration? I did not reject the news deep down or outwardly. I did not have a deep negative premonition, which even kids can have. I was not necessarily unhappy, but I was not excited and certainly not exuberant. Looking back, I am inclined to believe I wanted to stay put. I had nothing against America, but I was “happy enough” in Albania. I had my school, my neighborhood, my grandparents. So why mess with a good thing?

            Truth be told, as I remember it, we as a family had a good life, though we were living in what was supposedly a bad country. Sure, by the late eighties goods and services were lacking. But society had some sense of harmony. People in Albania were nicer back in those days. I am not defending Communism categorically. There was a dark side: no freedom of speech, persecution, imprisonment, and economic subsistence. I am just sharing my experience. In my opinion, my life in Albania up until age 9 in 1992 was very good, as good as the life of any child. It could have been no better in America. Why go through all the trouble of moving… to the other side of the world! My brother meanwhile felt quite differently. He stopped going to school as soon as he heard the big news. I went to school to the last day! His impression of America was no greater than mine. We had both heard of the Chicago Bulls, Madonna’s songs, and Michael Jackson. And the rumors that America was the greatest land on Earth; we were bombarded by those. I suppose these things had an effect on my brother. I was not moved; not enough to move!

For the past year, I had seen the same scenes as everybody else. I saw poor grandma get up at six to wait in line for our daily bread, literally. I saw the trees in our neighborhood being chopped for firewood; wonderful olive trees mind you. I saw  I saw our school vandalized, broken windows and clipped hanging lamps. I saw the common power and water outages. I saw a mad swarm of people board a cargo ship and set sail for Italy. I saw a wild gypsy woman rob a poor teacher of her foreign aid box in front our school in broad daylight. But did these things alarm me? No, not at all. Did they alarm my brother? No, not at all. It was not the miserable conditions he wanted to escape. It was the wonderful picture of America he wanted to become a part of. Hey, can I blame him. The way America is shown on TV, who doesn’t want to move here! Yet, I instinctively was not excited to be leaving my home, the only home I had ever known; this must mean something about my character, I suppose. My unsure, unenthusiastic reaction proves to me that even at such a young age, only nine, I was an Albanian at heart. Certainly, of the two of us I am the more Albanian spirited. Bro makes fun of me for being so, “Come on, are you still writing on Albania? Enough man!”

I do not regret immigrating to America. America has been good to my family. That is not to say life has been easy here. Far from it; life has been hard. Yet, I am wise enough to know that immigration comes with a heavy price. You don’t fit in at school; foreignness is a stain on your biography, to use a communist phrase. Serious bullying, less friends to pick from, and even the friends who do accept you, you do not fit in with. Your parents are demoted in their careers and money is tight for the first years. Dad eventually picked himself up, and carved out an academic career, but he had to work far from home for fifteen years. However, who’s to say life would have been easier in Albania? Life is hard everywhere on Earth. Though I am reminded of a saying from Lassie: “Face up to trouble boy! The trouble you run away from is nothing compared to the trouble into.” Aren’t all immigrants people would don’t face up to trouble? Aren’t they all runaways? Don’t they all run into trouble that is much worse than the trouble they left behind? I cannot answer these questions. But I have been in hard situations before where flight is the only way to survive. Perhaps this is the thinking of the immigrant: Flight is the only means of survival.

Photo: the actual apartment building I grew up in. Wow!

Albania: The Readjustment Period

Hello friends, here I sit in my room all these years later. It is now a long time since my trip to Albania in 2014. And yet, believe it or not I have found an old journal with some of my thoughts fresh after that trip that reveal what frame of mind I was in after I got back.

5 3 2014

Back in America. You know there’s no place like home; not America, just your life, your apartment, your bed, your TV, your coffee shops, your room, your car. The life of a guest is no match for your own home.

I was happy to be back and enjoyed many advantages, or creature comforts, as this entry shows.

If you will recall I ended series one by saying, my boring old life in America no longer felt bleak, for now I knew this: America was home. It had a happy ending for every good story must end happily. But that is not the full story. Now that we continue, I can reveal to you although readjusting to the States was easier than after my visit to Albania in 2012, it was still hard. Let me share with you another old journal entry.

5/7/14

What a horrible day. Motivation zero. Exhausted. Miss Albania. Depressed. Why did I come back here? I don’t know what to do with my life. The only happiness I had was going to Albania. Now I’ve lost that, I’ve got nothing to shoot for. I have no purpose, nor any goals, no luck. I am stuck!

As this entry shows readjusting back home was no easy feat. We could argue life is not easy anywhere, but this readjustment period was especially hard.

Moreover, I did suffer some lingering aftereffects of the trip. I was, how to put it, culturally confused. One symptom I felt was a rude coldness. This negative feeling, I know I picked up in Albania, for it was not the normal me. I do remember a few instances where it came to play. Once I went to the gym and I gave this unfriendly vibe to this one girl, with whom I had previously been on warms terms with. We worked out near each other. We knew each other. Well, when she saw me, that I no longer cared for our warm neighborly relations, I read on her face, she was put off by it. I admit I had a bad attitude and I did not even want to improve it. We cannot easily alter our behavior even when we see it go bad. This also happened once or twice in public places where I gave off the same cold vibe. And I must blame Albania! I’m sorry to say, but I felt that the culture there, particularly in the big city, was cold and unfriendly. So, Albania gave me affected me negatively, but I overcame this influence gradually.

Another strange idea I picked up there was walking. I always walked around Tirana, and rode the bus too. So I thought I’ll bring that culture here. One day I decided to walk to my local coffee shop. It took me 30 minutes! Gimme a break! Nobody walks in the suburbs. Distances are way too long. What was I thinking! I was the only one on the sidewalk. Another time I deliberately parked my car far away, not in the lot but in a neighborhood alley, and walked 15 minutes to Starbucks. Again, what was I thinking? Was I trying to reinvent the wheel? Then when my wits returned, I realized something that I probably had known all along, that walking in the US is futile, and gave it up altogether. It is true what they say, “When in Rome, do as the Romans.” Likewise, when in the US, never walk!

I did go back to my local coffee shop here where the elegant brunette worked. But no, I never asked her out. I was resigned to my fate as a luckless loner. She always avoided my glance, even though she knew I liked her. There was no breaking through to this girl. Unless she was working the cash register, she would never look at you. But she was cute.

It was not an easy time to be alive. But eventually I did readjust to America. Most of all I felt that whatever problems I had were not caused by living in America. They were just caused by my particular life, the unique challenges that I faced at that time.

Albania: Series II introduction

Friends, here I am. It is now Summer 2021, I have recently completed series I of my blog Curiosities from Albania. What a fun time I had. I did not realize it would be so much fun. I was hesitant to begin but once I got going I got thirsty to learn more and more about my country, to write more and more about it, and to share my experience there on my last trip. Recalling those memories connected me to my roots, to my relatives, and it was a very worthy affair. It gave meaning to my days.

But now I would like to begin a new series; on Albania, of course. However I have a problem. I don’t have any additional trips to Albania that I can write about. My final trip there was in 2014. Typically I visit every four years. My next trip ought to have come in 2018. However owing to poor health I have been unable to travel. I’ve been struck down in my prime! Chronic fatigue syndrome. Not only does it prevent me from visiting Albania, if affects me in my daily life. Yet despite aches, pains, and debilitating fatigue, my spirit soars when I think of Albania! Just like eagles of Scanderbeg which mark the center of my world!

I wish I was half as strong as Scanderbeg. He was known for prodigious physical strength and a great military mind. I don’t know when or if I will improve enough for travel. I may never set foot in Albania again for as long as I live. It doesn’t bother me. I have come to terms with it. But this means this new series will be primarily historical and memorial, since I have no fresh experiences to write about.

Although I have not been able to visit my dear country, Albania, I find nevertheless that in writing about it I get closer to it. I think people have an innate desire to learn about their home; they are fundamentally attracted to their roots, some of us more than others. I am one of those people who is indeed very drawn to home, to the place of his birth. I have an older brother who doesn’t much care about Albania. He is the opposite of me. He is happy here in the US, doing his job, raising his family, and never thinks of his roots. But I am one of those people who roots deeply, as they say. So with that being said, I look forward to a new blog series on Albania. I look forward to learning more and more about my homeland, and to sharing it with you here.

Albania: The Amazing Race

I had completed my long awaited trip. I had spent four weeks in Albania. In this time, I had fulfilled my desire to “be in my country, to walk those streets, to eat that food, to breathe that air.” I had reconnected with my grandparents, as well as many relatives who welcomed me. Though I had been bored, and watched too much TV, though some of my relatives rejected me, and though i did not have the creature comforts of home, or the purpose of the natives and was merely a guest, I achieved my mission. The trip served its purpose. I had gotten Albania out of the system. Now it was time for my flight back home. I said goodbye to my grandma and grandpa and my aunt and I passed through security. I took a seat in front of my small gate. There are only two at the Tirana airport. It was early morning. It was dark outside. I had been told by my mom that I would be meeting a friend at the airport. In fact, I was told it was a young lady who was perhaps five years younger than myself who was immigrating to the US, and I was supposed to help her along the way. Wanting to find her, I reached out to my neighbor who was a girl about this age. I leaned over and said to her, excuse me miss. However, this girl who apparently took herself to be very pretty thought that I was trying to hit on her, and she refused to turn her head towards me. I said excuse me miss, once, twice, three times. I could tell she could hear and even see me, but she would not turn her head. I knew at that moment that her behavior was characteristically the new Albania, souless to the very core. Anyhow, be it as it may I gave up on her and sat very quietly. I then got up, walked over to the airport shop and picked up a bottle of water. I sat back down a few seats further out from the unfriendly girl, and perhaps had a sip or two. Meanwhile, another girl sat to the left of me, and soon after yet another girl. The two of them engaged in conversation, and soon enough I leaned over to one of them and asked, excuse me are you Albana? Yes, said she in a friendly and warm way. Albana had no pretensions to great prettiness but was simple, decent and kind. Once the souless chick saw me engaging in conversation with Albana and her friend she finally looked over my way, though she still refused eye contact in order to maintain consistency and her face assumed a friendly look. I thought I even saw a smile play upon her lips. Apparently, now she thought me a harmless young man and wished to be my friend! Hey, perhaps she wished to be friends with all of us. Well, regardless, now it was too late. Albana was moving to Missouri. Her friend, who was with her mother, told me she was immigrating to Germany. As I heard her say that, I could not believe that people were starting immigration anew this day and age. Perhaps I thought Albania was too good to leave. Perhaps, I thought it absurd that someone should begin anew now that my own battle was over. Perhaps, both. But let the record show that immigration in Albania is still fever pitched. Even thirty years after isolation was broken and the border was opened, everybody wants to still leave. Sure, word has gotten out that life in the world out there is no easy feat for an immigrant. But this does not deter Albanians. They are willing to brave the disadvantages of being a newcomer. America is their number one destination followed by western European countries. However, one thing is for sure. The immigrants of today are not the immigrants of the early 1990s. They are much more advanced and better equipped. They have more skills. For one thing they can now drive. Secondly, they know some English. Thirdly, they have more money to start life out with. In a word, they aren’t as desperate as the immigrants of old. I’m not saying my family was desperate; we were just like everybody else. But the situation in the early 1990s was a desperate one. We landed in Vienna. Albana and I were joined by another girl who was immigrating to Canada. We sat for coffee at a nice airport cafe. Here I was among my peers, setting off for a new frontier, and a new life in the new world. I was doing the right thing, the “in thing,” for that is the perception: “Blessed are the ones who leave.” Dismissive and forgetful are Albanians of the difficulties that await them, such as the low pay and fatigue of manual labor. Many Albanians trade in office jobs, or jobs where they lounge around all day, for the American dream. It is better to be struggling in America, than to live like a king in Albania, the thinking goes. I disagree. I personally like Albania. In Washington DC something strange happened. Albana and I got separated. I was standing after her in line at customs check-in and she got ushered along without me. By the way, as soon as my feet landed on solid ground, I felt entirely disoriented. “Where am I? Albania? America? The moon!” You know how those international flights are; the jet lag makes you lose all awareness of your surroundings. I had not slept a wink all flight. I was as if in a dream state where reality lacked all clarity and nothing could be known. In this state of mind, I would lose my very own head if I could… so it’s probably no wonder that I lost Albana, the very person whom I was entrusted to look out for. “I can’t believe this,” thought I, as I exited customs. “That girl went on without me! Albanians are all crazy.” I looked left and I looked right, amidst a large throng of people. Nope, there was no sign of Albana. She did not even thank me. She did not even say goodbye. She plain old ditched me. How soulless of her! Totally, the new Albania… Well, be it as may, thought I, now I have to carry on alone, without her.After all, I have a flight myself to catch or I may have to spend the night sleeping in ditch. After I checked at the front desk, as everyone must re-enter, I began to get ready for security, yet again. And there, as I first approach, I see a person, a girl who just like myself, was totally lost. It was Albana! She had not ditched me… it was all just a terrible misunderstanding. Finally, my faith in humanity had been restored. I thought I knew this girl and I was right. She was decent, simple, and kind. “George, they won’t let me through,” she said. And it was my turn to “strut my stuff” and come to the rescue. Though I am no globe trekker, I know the basics of international travel. I rushed her to the front desk, got her a ticket for Missouri-coincidentally, the very state of this nice girl I had met last time in the DC airport-and we both went back through security. We then said our goodbyes and she was off to her new life in America. Meanwhile, I had lost so much precious time that my flight was departing in just five minutes. I went on a mad dash from security to wherever the hell that gate was, the fastest airport run walk I’ve ever done. By the time I arrive at the gate, there was no one there! The attendant pulled some strings and allowed me to pass. I was the last person on that plane. It pays to hustle. Mom picked me up in Columbus and I was still on the high of travel. In the car, I madly gulped down a sweet frapaccino from a vending machine, as I had been dying of thirst on my last flight. Boy how I regretted throwing out in DC that full bottle of water I bought in Tirana. On the drive home, I dare say I felt better than the locals, for they had spent the month milling about town, while I had raced halfway around the world. I felt energized with the spirit of Albania deep down in my soul. Soon enough, I returned to my aimless life here in America holding down some volunteer positions such as working in an animal shelter, going to the gym three times a week, and to my usual coffee houses almost five days a week. Though my life was not a paradise, certainly not the so-called American dream, now at least after visiting my country, reality, or at least my reality no longer seemed and felt bleak, for I now knew this: America, was my country. I am content to walk these streets, to speak English, to eat American food, to breath American air, and to flirt with American women! I am home.

Albania: Feudalism of the Middle Ages

The feudal system of the Middle Ages that we associate with western Europe from about the 9th to the 15th century, was also a part of Albanian society. Although Albania was part of a larger empire, the Byzantine Empire, owing to wars and invasions, the power Constantinople had over Albania was not absolute. The local governors had to have their own armies for protection. Invasion was a constant threat. The commoners had to seek protection from these governors who exploited their power. They took the property of the poor either through unfair rates, or force and turned the peasants into serfs on their large estates. Thus a new aristocracy was born.

Although the emperors from Constantinople attempted to thwart this new societal development, history was not on their side. Moreover, sometimes emperors such as those of the Comneni dynasty supported feudalism, so long as the landlords agreed to go to war for the empire. With time the landlords refused even that, and they were aided by certain events, such as the capture of Constantinople in the fourth crusade (AD 1203). This crusade weakened a crumbling empire, and made it possible for a foreign invader, the Ottoman Turks, to capture Constantinople permanently in the 15th century.

They feudal lords called themselves Dukes, Princes, or Despots, and married only among their own rank; sooner marrying outside their nationality, than outside their caste. They built castles to live in and ran organized societies with their own military, city councils, or even money. Their serfs supplied them with goods as well as money. Peasant life was tough; not only did they suffer hard labor but also tyranny; and this moved them to revolt, from time to time. One revolt in 1336 first brought Turkish soldiers to Albania who were hired to crush it by Emperor, and crush it they did. At that time, peasants were freer on the mountains, as the mountains were inaccessible to the feudal landlords. These communities bred animals and were most independent. But by the same token, owing to isolation, they were less civilized.

Although Albania was often made part of larger empires, often led by outsiders, such as the Byzantine Empire, or the Bulgarian Empire, or short lived empires liked the Serbian Empire, Albanian towns always had some degree of self governance. After the 12th century, major towns like Durres, Shkodra, and Lezha became largely independent. These free cities sooner had to struggle against the feudal princes nearby than against the emperor in Constantinople. These princes waged a heavy tribute tax on these tows. But as tyrannous and miserly as the feudal princes were, it was even worse when independence was lost altogether to a foreign power, like Venice, and soon after the Ottoman Empire.

Source:
Tajar Zavalani, History of Albania

Albania: Memories of Durres

During this visit i had a most unremarkable time in Durres; being so near Tirana, less than one hour away, my company and I drove there haphazardly one Sunday, coupling it with a visit to the Bay of Lalzi; a secluded beach that in my view outdoes the one at Durres. At Lalzi, we parked our car, walked past the woods and to my pleasant surprise were met with a white sand beach strewn with cute wooden umbrellas the kind of which I’d never seen before. The only catch was it was a cool, cloudy and somber day and not a soul was around. We strolled a bit, jumped back in the car and zigzagged through a suburban neighborhood of nice, gated houses; a concept that didn’t even exist back when I was growing up here. We only stayed in Durres for lunch, eating in the restaurant of a random hotel. The food was average, the weather dreary and rainy…

I prefer to remember the Durres of my youth. Back then, Durres was a popular beach destination. Being on the Adriatic coast not too far from Tirana, though back in those times one took the train, it was the default destination for middleclass Albanian families of all nearby towns. We went there every summer, for one or maybe two weeks.

One particular vacation to Durres that comes to mind is 1990. I know this because it was a World Cup year, and being a young Albanian kid, I was mad about soccer. I was only seven but I understood the game and I loved watching it and playing with my friends outside on the dusty asphalt of our apartment building. Today, except for the World Cup, you can’t pay me to watch your soccer! I prefer football but back in that time and place I was a fanatic, like my brother and our friends. All the men in the country were soccer heads. All the women never watched a single game! But now times have changed there and girls and women participate in athletics.

That year a friend and colleague of my dad’s was also vacationing with his family in Durres. This guy had a kind of gift at getting ahead in life under communism. He always found a way to make friends with those in power and in turn secure advancement for himself and his family under the most meagre of material circumstances. Well, in Durres, he did it again! He had pulled some strings, and booked a room for his family in the fanciest hotel in town, reserved at that time for western tourists and the political elite only. We would visit them daily and live the high life which to me today seems standard, but back in that day when material possessions were so very lacking, everything this hotel had was a big deal.

It was the at that very hotel that I first became exposed to color television. At home, all throughout my life we only had black and white TV. Seeing this new color TV set in the lobby of the hotel was a huge deal. It was a new thing for us. Moreover, it was absolutely awesome because that World Cup I mentioned was taking place at this time. We could watch games on color TV! Boy oh boy, I have seen one of the wildest soccer games of my life on that TV. It went into overtime and then into penalties. We were loving every second of it, only as a fanatic can!

Another incident that took place at this hotel was more comical. It was here that I tasted Coca Cola for the first time in my life. But not in the usual way, where one buys a drink and enjoys it. No, we weren’t staying at the hotel so I suppose we weren’t allowed to buy anything. Besides we didn’t know what coke was. Anyhow, my mom, my brother and I, and her friend and her two sons went up to an empty table spontaneously on a patio cafe where the privileged westerners had just leisured and left all their pop cans. Well, we saw the remains of a dark fizzed drink at the bottom of their glasses. Out of curiosity to know what it was, and perhaps to see what the fancy tourists were having, we picked up their cans and had a taste. It was awesome! It was Coca Cola. It was also pathetic that our country’s economy could not even provide us that…