REFUGEES

REFUGEES

For many years I kept my soul completely closed.

I did not have the courage in my heart to face my past. But the harder I tried to protect myself the more isolated I became… until I was all alone. And now, without wanting to, I am starting to remember… and facing my demons all alone… my sorrows are pressing on my heart like a foot stepping on my chest, squeezing my soul and tormenting me to no end...

But what can I tell you my friend? I have always been unhappy, even now, at this very moment I am sad, especially when I see fire and smoke. When I look at the bluish smoke rising it reminds me of the day the houses were burned. I remember it was a grey morning and suddenly there were all kinds of noises, people yelling and screaming and running. An entire crowd of people appeared running with their cows, sheep, mules, donkeys, horses… running together, mixing with their domestic animals. As it got closer the crowd of people, dark figures, became larger and larger like a snowball rolling down a hill. Further in the distance the crowd looked like a wide river of people and animals… flowing between the two Prespa lakes. They were fleeing half-naked and barefoot as if being caught by a sudden storm, as if not having enough time to get dressed. They were running… children, women, old people, unsteady, uncertain of their step and unsure of where they were going. A thick smoke was floating above the ground and irritating their nostrils and lungs… making it difficult for them to breathe the air. Some stooped forward while others fell to their knees and crawled… running… attempting to outrun the evil that was following them. And behind them… on the bare hills, in the brooks… everything was in ruins… The grass, the hills, the trees… all were scorched… all were on fire… all were burning. And everywhere on the ground lay mutilated bodies of dead soldiers. The flames looked like long tongues wagging and like the headscarves of fairies at play. And as they ran through the thick smoke and scorched earth, the people were wondering; “Where to now?”

War persecutes people, drives them out of their homes leaving the soil steeped in their blood… like the soil that has just been

watered… like a warm spring wind had blown and had melted the snow over the black earth and soaked it with moisture. I heard noises… crows were cawing as death was slowly creeping along the ground, following the fleeing people. Wrapped in the dolmen of horror, indifferent and impersonal, a crude black hand reached out to the man and hardened his heart… hardened his soul… and guided him to start a war… to spill blood…

But no matter what, every man at some point in his life must want to know… must want to ask: “Why is man doing this to another man?” Why must these people be put in such an unfortunate situation to suffer the loss of their happiness forever… the happiness they get from living in their own homes… in their own lands... Why must they be forced to leave their homeland?

This is very important, right? Sooner or later, all of them, every one of them will remember to ask: “Where are you, where are you my beloved homeland?” None of them will bear to carry the pain without asking...

And what now that they ceased to be trees with deep roots, rooted in their own land? And what now that they have been uprooted from their fertile soil? Until now they were only interested in their piece of land, in their own deep roots. They loved the land immensely because it nourished them! But now, now that their roots have been ripped out, that they have been dismembered… and their leaves have been scattered by the wind everywhere...? The people suddenly disappeared like sand being splashed by water... the persecuted roam the world like clouds carried away by the bad winds.

It is enough for a man to have his thread of life unwind and each event slide by like a pearl on a string, white, black, heavy and light.

And each pearl has it own characteristics, no pearl exactly resembles another, but perhaps these pearls are similar in form, but not necessarily in weight and colour… just like events in life... it is difficult for man to build a nest in a foreign land.

I will never forget those days...

I walked alone behind everyone. The road smelled of blood and sweat and all sorts of things were scattered all over the place. People trampled over them barefoot, walking over sharp broken objects. Those who were hurt and unable to walk stood on the side and prayed… expecting an imminent death. Only the mothers looked composed, rushing their children and looking for a hideout. Here you watch man take painful steps, afflicted, insecure… until he reaches the next station of life. In front of man you see footprints that lead somewhere... you see the maimed and mutilated sitting in the reeds… looking dazed… as bombs fall from the sky and shells from the artillery… hitting the water like giant frogs leaping from the shore…

The refugees, by the thousands, like a flock of migrating birds in the spring stood at the edge of the Albanian lands, eyes focused on their homeland, watching the black smoke rise… listening to the cries and screams of their friends, neighbours, villagers and countrymen… listening to the distant sounds carried by the twisting winds of fate… and bidding farewell to what were their lives… uncertain of what was ahead and tired and worn out from running...

They stood there for days… among the stones on the rough terrain, lying in the sun, expecting the warmth to alleviate their pain… sleeping in the outdoors all dirty and sweaty… These were the people without a roof; old men, women, children, sick and among them a lonely soldier or two who lost their unit or were left behind because they were badly wounded or suffering from a number of ailments...

The days dragged on and hunger began to creep. The blowing wind carried with it the smell and taste of burning ashes. The people felt infinite sadness hearing the red wind howl and snarl.

And deep down in the distance they watched a shimmering light… it was light reflected by the still waters of Lake Prespa. Several rocks could be seen sticking out of the shimmering bright surface, seeming like they were the heads of giants looking out to see what was going on. Many fishing boats lay abandoned in the sand… being angrily splashed by the lake’s waves. Watching all this brought great sadness over me and I felt sorrow deep in my heart. And for the first

time in my life I heard the bowels of my country call out to me: “Farewell, my son, farewell my dear boy, know the time has come for you to go… you need to go… walk away... go…!!!”

As I passed through a village I noticed torn up clothing tossed all over the place. I then saw a boy on a threshing floor leaning against the barn wall. I yelled out to him and said: “Young man! Come here…!” He stood still. When I got close to him I was overwhelmed with sadness. He had been stabbed. His toys were all around him on the ground. I only had enough time to put him on the ground on his back.

A very old man a few metres away heard my voice and my footsteps and raised his head. His face was covered in blood.

“Are you a person?” he asked. I stooped down. He ran across the yard very fast with open arms. He slammed into a wall. In pain he began to shout: “People, brothers, all of you who are fighting for the love of the people and want justice in this country, take a look at the wicked men! Behold… they are silent! But I know one day they too will die but their malice will remain alive forever... our honour too will remain alive… we are men who love our country; our honour will remain as the most beautiful ornament in our country… This is not your country… this is the land of those who fled, who are in pain… who are in deep silence now. This yard I leave to my grandson. It belongs to my grandson now… One day he will return to reclaim it… His father spilled his blood for it and now I will spill mine...”

I felt terrible but I kept silent.

“You won’t talk, eh? What are you, a coward? I lost my eyesight… I can’t see you but I am here… I exist... Are you happy and content to see me hitting the walls...?” he yelled out.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I began to yell back at him and I tore out the symbols and everything I had on me… that had made me into a soldier.

I had to reconcile the truth. Seeing the old man the way he was and the way he spoke to me touched me deeply and left a lasting impression in me.

Now the two of us were walking together. The old man, only living with the hope that he would find his grandson among the refugees...

There were many people along the way who were asking for help. Maybe they were looking for family members just like I was looking for mine. I could not remember then who they were.

But now I do remember. A blind woman was walking in the crowd clutching a one year-old male child in her arms… her grandson.

The old woman was led by a tongue wagging female dog tied to her belt. Then, in the dark of night, I heard the old blind woman begging the dog to find her grandson.

Then she cried out: “Oh, God! Who has cursed this country to be without people, without the kindness of people? Are there no more kind people on this earth!?”

“Please be quiet… mother,” I said to her.

“Oh, my good man… Come over here my son…” she begged me with her head swinging from side to side.

When I told her I was there she said:

“Please stay with me a while… Everything I had back home was lost in the fire. I left with my grandchild and now I lost him too... I was sitting nearby but the dog that was leading me pulled me away... Now I don’t know where I am. All I hear now is gunfire and the noise of people fleeing...

Please stay with me a little, I beg you! Please. I have been begging people to help me but they all seem to be deaf to my pleas.

I can’t blame them though... They are being pursued by those who are stronger... I wonder if they are even people, eh son. How do I

know if they are not some divine force that wants to turn this piece of land into a desolate place? That’s what I have been saying to my dog all this time… but what can I say when the dog does not understand me.”

The old woman was excited and delirious and a flood of tears flowed out of her blind eyes. She stretched out her hand and grabbed the bottom of my tattered coat. She very much wanted to tell me something, as if I was responsible for the war.

She turned towards me and said: “Exactly here, my son, my dog and I were right here, but my dog is now gone, and I… I am blind…”

I left the old woman and went to look for the baby. I found it close by. The baby was lying next to the dog hanging from the dog’s breast and sucking vigorously, while the dog lay still.

I stood there for a long time and watched.

I then yelled at the dog and it gently stood up and moved away. I picked up the baby and he began to make baby sounds. When the old woman heard the baby she said:

“Bless you, my son… Thank you.”

I then said: “Take him mother… he has been fed…”

The old woman began to look sad. Her wrinkles began to amass on her forehead.

Then, as I watched her eyelids close over her blind eyes, she let out a terrible scream which frightened me... she jumped up and ran back madly while cursing... A moment later her dog ran after her. They ran far, far away… in terror...

I was alone again. I only heard echoes coming from the mountains. The entire region was dotted with holes from exploding shells. The lake looked like it was in shock, rigid and silent, lying among the dark mountains, calling for me… saying: “Goodbye...”

There were traces of blood along the dusty road… In front of me was soldier. He was standing over a flat rock, his wounded arm was tied over his shoulder with a military belt… he was in pain… He was bleeding on the rock, waiting for enough droplets to pool so that he could write “Goodbye homeland,” in blood.