Chapters I through X

X Eid ul Fitr, Birami, Ramadan ends; Competition in Kosovo; A friend comes from home; Thanksgiving in Pristina; Meantime back in Bangladesh; We’re robbed; Istanbul; Another Christmas in Pristina; 2005
Dear Friends and Family,Work has been at breakneck pace, seven days, often ten or more hours per day. It all begins to run together. For the moment I have a break. This is the time when most internationals are home for the holidays and Pristina is quiet. A lot has happened and I will try to pick up what I can remember. Eid ul Fitr was in mid November this year. Called Birami here. It is the end of Ramadan and the fasting that is supposed to have occurred during that month. It is the biggest of the Muslim holidays, and a time for celebration; gift giving in Bangladesh, a lot of visiting and eating here in Kosovo. Except for my working, we stayed home. My friends in Bangladesh did not forget me as we received about six or so e-mails wishing us “Eid Mubarak.” Even the extremely bright and arrogant former chief justice of Bangladesh with whom we worked sent a very warm greeting. During the year and a half we have been here there have been several new stores that have opened. Stores of the large, varied, Western variety. The first was on the outskirts of Pristina in the old Norwegian PX where a store called Maxi Mart opened. Actually the Ben af store in Prizerin was first, known as the Wal Mart of Kosovo. Now there is Ylli beck and Inter Ex as well. They all have extensive grocery items and clothing and house wares sections. The successful Ben af store in Prizerin opened a store in Ferazi, a town half an hour south of Pristina on the way to Skopje. It was a three story affair in a brand new building. When I asked locals why they didn’t open in Pristina, I was told that “rumor” had it that the ”Mafia” told the owners that they could not come into the Priastina market. Regardless, it was a huge success with the Pristina people. My wife made several trips there until one day she advised that she was ”Ben af’d out.” Two days later a car bomb destroyed the entire store. Competition in Kosovo is very much a regulated thing – in its own way.As project activities were swirling around me, I committed to share in a significant seminar for judges with another project funded by European Agency for Reconstruction and the Kosovo Judicial Institute. I always feel like a juggler trying to keep all the balls in the air. In this case I was barely succeeding when Leif from the EAR project threw me a chair to juggle as well – a two day seminar for eighty judges and only six weeks notice. I was deft, but I could not keep the balls AND the chair going for too long without help. I contacted the home office. I needed a trainer and notice was short. Couple that with the fact that the seminar was to be held during Thanksgiving week and prospects were looking dim. I knew that I did not have time to adequately prepare to give the seminar myself. The Washington office drilled a few dry holes then asked if I knew anyone. Fearing the worst, I had already contacted an old colleague from Michigan who I thought might want to come over and whom I felt comfortable had the requisite skills and background for this particular seminar. John was willing and after making hasty and up to the last minute arrangements I picked him up at Pristina airport. We had several days to make final preparations and the seminar went very well. Better than all of that was having an old friend around to share with. In an odd way, having John here was a comfort against the isolation that we do not feel until someone like he comes. We work on the frontier of modern society. That is the nature of endeavors such as this. It is development work and by definition it occurs in difficult environments. We get post allowances and danger pay and it is all for a reason. Just as we begin to take it all for granted a piece of home drops in and we realize that we are pioneers on the social frontier. It was good having John here and we had a nice visit.I worked a few hours Thanksgiving morning, took John to the airport in the afternoon and stopped by he USAID Mission Director’s home for a glass of wine and exchange of requisite pleasantries. At home we planned a grand Thanksgiving dinner in the American tradition. We had an American couple from Texas, our Canadian friends form Quebec and the couple form New Brunswick in Canada. Sasha from South Africa and his wife were ill, but Salvatore from Italy came and our friends from Oregon came for dessert. We ate turkey, green beans, corn, cranberry sauce and everything else an American Thanksgiving could ask for, including apple pie. We were thankful we were in the company of friends and had plenty of good food and drink. We smoked cigars after dinner. It was another international event as can only be experienced here.Meantime back in Bangladesh my friends have been struggling but have kept constant contact. Ehsan, currently unemployed, had his last paycheck withheld after the project wrapped up, something to do with a missing cell phone. Ehsan made about one-hundred and twenty-five dollars US per month. He asked help from Maury and I. There was little we could do. After having watched tens of thousands of dollars being wasted on a corrupt American expat and his Bengali businessman partner until we were able to remove them from the project, I was more than embarrassed by our successor’s actions, I was angry, but powerless.Monika keeps regular contact. She has not yet found new employment. Major found jobs for some of the people, including drivers Sumon and Hedayet, even though he left long before the project closed. I often wondered how he would carry –on. He had a heart in the right place. Born to an elite family, he recognized that the momentum of a society is carried on the backs of the workers. Maury and I confronted the near-caste system that exists in Bangladesh with our egalitarian attitudes. I was never sure if we had a lasting effect. Then Monika advised that Anis, our tea boy, had lost a child born a month early. It was his first. I contacted the Major to find out more information. The following e-mail exchange has its own power and explanation.“Maj,This time of year I always think about friends and family. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday since it is neither religious nor political - it is just a time to give thanks for what we have been blessed with. Our greetings and warm wishes to you and your family.Monika tells me that Anis lost a child born prematurely. Is there a way you can extend our condolences to him or provide us with contact information for him? We had some good people on that project and I miss them. Anis is among those.Our best to you and your family. I am thankful that I had the opportunity to work with you.-- Dan Deja”“Dear Deja,Thanks for your kind thoughts.I'm sorry that in my usual inquiry I missed out Anis. I'm contacting Monika right now. If I can't trace him through Monika, I'll send Sumon or Hedayet to find him. Hopefully I'll be back to you by Saturday with some concrete news about him.I really appreciate your consideration. Is it to celebrate the beginning of the harvest season? 'Cause we also have a similar celebration, though not as massively observed as the 'thanks giving day'.I also take this opportunity to thank you for all your considerations on me. Specially the insight I received from you about life is invaluable. Surely those made me a better person than what I was before meeting you. That river cruise was one of my most enjoyed trips by all definitions.Please convey my 'thanks giving day' greetings to Sharon and the boys.Surely I'm thankful to my Creator that I had the opportunity to associate with people like you and Maury.Best regards,Major”“Maury & Deja:This morning (27/11) I met Anis, I called him yesterday and asked him to see me today. He lost his baby born prematurely and right now he is unemployed. Previously I wanted to get his CV but he could not manage to send it. But today he gave me one. Inshallah before the New Year he will have a job at least good enough to support his family. I'll do my best, rest depends on his luck. However, till I can manage a job for him I'll support him as much I can.I appreciate your concern and I'm not surprised by that. I informed Anis about both of your concern, he was moved.That's all about him at the moment.Once again thanks for your concern. Best regards,-MajorP.S. Maury, you can't transfer money in my a/c, since it's for local currency. However, if it can be done in some other way I'll let you know that within a few days. In the meantime I have handed over some money to Anis which I think will keep him comfortable for some time. I also told him that if he needs more he should just call me without hesitation. There's no obligation, I'm discharging my duties only.””Major: When Dan and I interviewed you along with several other applicantswe had no doubt as to your special qualities... Of Course, as usual we wereright... Thanks for helping a deserving person in need.I am still prepared and able to send along at least $200 US if needed.Maury”So if we left nothing else, we left Major Pratim Karim, ret. My friend John had left, Thanksgiving passed and a new week began. Our project director from the US and a new fellow from our home office had just arrived. Sharon and I went to dinner with them their first night in town. When we returned home, Sharon noticed a window opened in the dining room. We were robbed. Upon inspection we found our two lap top computers missing and a couple of watches. Nothing else. I called Gaz, he and Lilly came over and he helped communicate with the police. The Kosovo Police came; two cars, one with responding officers and one with a crime scene unit. A vehicle with two UNMIK police officers came. The neighbors came to find out what the problem was. No prints, no clues, no lap tops and little possibility of recovery. It was a very professional job. In retrospect, the strange woman who came to the door a week or two earlier on two occasions was likely the partner and look-out of the robber. The first time she talked to Sharon in bad English and asked a strange question and then invited Sharon to coffee. Our house was “staked out” and carefully “cased” prior to the robbery. A strange car across the street in an unusual position, a truck parked outside on another night. These odd things we noticed for no particular reason now became pieces to a puzzle. It occurred after dark, but in the early evening around eight when the electricity went off. We have a generator that goes on automatically, but the bright street lights in front of our house go out with the electricity. Lap tops are small and expensive thus the DVD player and VCR were left. These thieves knew what to look for. Long weeks of long hours take their toll. The other expatriate staff were leaving on the 24th of December. I had agreed to stay over the holidays, but needed a break as well. I had several unused holiday days that fit nicely into the week before Christmas. Turkish Airlines had a reasonably priced direct flight to Istanbul. We left on Friday the seventeenth for the seat of the Ottoman Empire. On recommendation we stayed at a hotel in the Beyoglu section of Istanbul, across the Golden Horn from most of the historical sights. The Grand Hotel de Londres. Built in 1892 it proudly proclaimed remaining in that condition with the same furnishings. We had a room with a view of the Golden Horn and which had been remodeled. The lobby was definitely retro. We learned that Hemmingway had stayed there while covering a story. Across the way was the Pera Palace Hotel, built for passengers from the Orient Express. Visitor included Mata Hari, Agatha Christie, Greta Garbo, Jackie Onassis and many others. Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey stayed several months there. On a large lot in front of the Pera Palace there was an art exhibit. It was a circle of fiberglass bears – close to a hundred in all, standing two meters tall on hind legs with forepaws raised. Each one represented a country and was painted by representatives from the participating nations. They were from Germany and Sweden and Brazil and small African countries and large countries like Canada. The US was designed like the Statue of Liberty holding a torch; Cuba had a cigar in its mouth and a cigar band around its waste, and so forth. The offering from Serbia and Montenegro was pure white, unpainted, and riddled with bullet holes. I still ponder that message. The synagogue bombings of a year earlier were in this section of town. From the nearby Galata Tower we could survey all of Istanbul, the Golden Horn, the Bosphorus and the Asian side. It was there that we met Ibriham and Loes.After three nights we moved to the opposite side of the Golden Horn to a Best Western, the Hotel St. Sophia, literally one shabby building between our room and the back of the Haghia Sophia. Built in 537 by Emperor Justinian, the Haghia Sohhia was one thousand years a church and five hundred years a mosque. Now it is a museum. We visited the Grand Bazaar, the Blue Mosque, The Topkapi Palace. Home to the Sultans from 1465 to 1853 and declared a museum by Ataturk in 1924 the palace evidences the wealth and excessive lifestyle of the Ottoman rulers. We visited a Hamam or Turkish bath. It was over four-hundred years old and has been a bath the whole time. It was refreshing and a reminder that the wealthy have always managed to provide comforts for themselves. The massive Basilica Cistern built in the sixth century by Emperor Justinian was unknown to the Turks for a hundred years.Ibriham drove us across the Bosphorus Bridge to the Asian side and on to Bursa, the home of the Green Mosque and the first capitol of the Ottoman Empire after capture by Osman Gazi in 1326. One gets a sense of the importance of Istanbul when moving from Europe to Asia across the narrow waters of the Bosphorus. To shorten the trip to Bursa we crossed a bay in the Sea of Marmara by ferry. Darkness fell on our return trip. We were tired. On the ferry ride I had my shoes shined by a young Kurdish boy. We bought some knitted slippers from an old man with one crutch. I speculated that his wife was home knitting. They eked out a living, perhaps. Traffic into Istanbul was heavy so we took the car ferry across the Bosphorus back into the European side of Istanbul. The lighted monuments on the opposite shore, tributes to the vanquished empire, were an impressive and beautiful sight.The merchants of Istanbul are very proficient at selling. They master the exchanges from dollars, to euros to Turkish lira. Still 1.4 million to the dollar and 1.8 million to the euro, six zeros were eliminated from the Turkish currency effective January 1. We were some of the last shoppers to experience the confusion caused by counting zeros on money. The shop keepers, especially in the carpet stores and leather stores, are very friendly and accommodating, offering apple tea and a nice visit. All the while they are bringing out their wares. “Try this on – do you like that carpet?” The hammer falls slowly and gently, but the effect is the same. “Well how much will you pay then?” The nail gets driven home. Never mind that you aren’t interested in buying. One friend here in Pristina had warned that it is not whether you get “taken”, only a matter of how badly you get “taken.” I passed one hawking shopkeeper who, after I had passed, said, “we will cheat you less than the other stores.” That caused me to turn and look back. “You like that?” he said in his good English.Ibriham was a young man of twenty-eight who claimed to be thirty-four. A Turk, born and raised in Holland, he met Loes, a Hollander, in Istanbul where Ibriham now lives and operates a carpet store and works with a Dutch newspaper. Loes is sixty-three and alone in the world. We were with the two of them for three days, including an evening at Ibriham’s apartment and a day spent at a very posh mall. We never quite got the whole story, and what we learned is best left unsaid or saved for another time. Suffice to say that she gave the impression of a classic “mark” and he was a smooth talking young man. For us it was an interesting diversion from the usual tourist agenda.On the twenty-fourth we returned on the Turkish flight to Pristina. Christmas was quiet in our house and across Pristina. Every year there are more Christmas lights displayed and artificial trees for sale and Santas and other accoutrements of the holiday. As Muslims, the majority of Kosovars do not celebrate Christmas as such, but the trappings lend themselves to the three day New Year holiday that Kosovars are accustomed to. Fire works are standard fare for New Year ’s Eve and the first night is reserved for family get-togethers. Partying is on the evening of the first of January. We went with our Quebecer friends to the Chinese restaurant, one of the few open on New Year’s Eve. After dinner we went to the Irish Pub. We were out long enough to see 2004 move into 2005, but we were in bed before the ball fell in Times Square or the conch shell dropped in front of Sloppy Joe’s. This is the year that the UN promises to turn all functions over to the Kosovars. It should be an interesting year.
Until Next Connection,Dan

Chapter IX
IX Bill Clinton’s mural comes down; Elections in Kosovo, Let’s go West; Winery visit; No fear of being sued; The other mines; Canadian Thanksgiving in Kosovo; Ramadan
Dear Friends and Family,I drove from the airport with the most recent in a long line of short term consultants coming to work on the project. They always present mixed feelings for me. On the one hand they provide valuable expertise in areas of specialty we either do not have or do not have the time to concentrate on. On the other hand, short term consultants, usually here for two weeks, mean I must entertain them and keep them comfortable in strange and comparatively harsh surroundings.As an introduction to Kosovo, I always take the scenic route down Bill Clinton Boulevard through downtown Pristina to the Victory Hotel, rather than taking the cut-off that goes past Bill Clinton Marble company, the bus station and which by-passes most of the city. There is nothing like approaching the giant smiling and waving mural of Bill Clinton welcoming commuters to Bill Clinton Boulevard. Newcomers are particularly entertained. So as the new consultant and I drove in from the airport and we came within eyesight of the mural I was surprised to see scaffolding up the side of the building and the top of the somewhat tattered Bill Clinton mural coming down. It was actually being removed. Kosovo is one of the last bastions of true love for Americans. Elsewhere in Europe and Asia, America has lost its place of prominence and respect. No longer do other peoples look upon us with admiration for our moral conviction to do what is right. We are now viewed more as bullies and self righteous ideologues acting in our own self interest without regard for the consideration of other’s views simply because we can. This is the reality I face everyday working with the International community in the UN and whenever I go outside of Kosovo.But not so among the Kosovars. Pristina has Bill Clinton Boulevard, Bill Clinton Marble company, the Hillary Salon, the Route 66 Diner – two locations, the Uncle Sam Bar, King Burger who’s signs bear a strong resemblance to an American burger joint, Belushi’s after the American comedians of Albanian descent, and the Victory Hotel with the Statue of Liberty on its roof. Still today I hear people, like the young gas station attendant in Fushe Kosove, say, “we will never forget what you did for us.” Or my landlord the young dentist who said, “we were always invaded and occupied by larger nations, the U.S. is the first to came to save us.” We did then what we have historically done best; united the rest of the world under our leadership to do the right thing. NATO protects Kosovo but it was the U.S. that led them here. Now it was looking like Bill Clinton’s mural was going the way of Pristina’s KFC (that’s Kosovo Fried Chicken) that sold fried chicken under a familiar red and white sign on Mother Theresa Street but which is now closed.The following Saturday, I drove from the Maxi-Mart on my way to the Monaco for a cup of macchiato and a cigar, when suddenly rising up in front of me, in now familiar fashion, scaffolding removed, was the giant mural of Bill Clinton, waving and smiling as usual, welcoming me to Bill Clinton Boulevard. I smiled to myself as I passed the brand spanking new mural. He is still their hero.There are other pictures of other men and women all over Pristina and Kosovo. The Kosovo elections are in October. The PDK, the LDK and numerous other three letter parties, each assigned a number on the ballot and each with a billboard of their most prominent candidate. President Rugova for the LDK, the Prime minister for the PDK and so on. The former head of the PTK – not a political party but the Postal and Telephone Company – is a woman who has an uncle in the U.S. She appears on a billboard on behalf of her party, smiling in front of an American flag and silhouette of the Statue of Liberty with the slogan “let’s go west.”None of these many attractive and well known candidates, however, will actually receive votes. There was a very contentious debate in the early months of this year over whether to have an open book or a closed book election. In an open book system, voters would have the ability to vote for an individual candidate – the faces on the billboards. In a closed system, they only vote for the party. Each party will seat a number of its candidates in the Assembly (Parliament) proportionate to the percentage of the vote that the party receives. The party lists are publicized, so everyone knows who will be seated first in each party and so on. The Kosovars and the U.S. supported an open list. The UN and the OSCE (Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) favored the closed list. The U.S. decided not to force the issue and the closed list is in effect. There are a lot of hard feelings over the battle. Many felt that the U.S. should have insisted on the open list system.The Serbs are boycotting this election per instructions from Belgrade. Their representation will now be lower than before. The U.S. sent an envoy to Belgrade to encourage them to reverse their decision.After all is said and done; after all the fighting is past and the votes are counted; after the leading parties work together to form a government, the sad reality is that most competencies of government are “reserved”, that is they are still under the control of the UN. Every piece of legislation the government passes will only take effect if it is signed by the Special Representative of the Secretary General of the United Nations, or SRSG as he is known here.There is a winery in Rahovic that once supplied Germany with forty million liters of wine a year. The International women’s group sponsored a tour to the winery. Sharon is still in the U.S. but I went on the tour. It was a car pool arrangement and I rode with Sasha and his wife. In most areas outside of Pristina, the countryside is quite picturesque, with mountains, rolling hills, and as we approached Rahovic, vineyards. The first portion of the tour was the original winery now closed and in disrepair if not ruin. The main winery indeed showed that it had the capacity to produce very large amounts of wine. It is clearly being underutilized. The war had the initial impact on production, followed by an EU mandate that Kosovo could only export one million liters of wine to EU countries per year. This will increase over time to seven million, but even that amount is far short of the amount of wine that was exported to Germany alone.I am still always awed by the regulatory power of personal injury law – tort law. It is so apparent in places whose legal systems have not moved in that direction. Places like Bangladesh, Kosovo and other developing countries. In these places, steps are broken as are sidewalks; there are no railings on stairsways, man holes are open, and things are generally and obviously unsafe. And winery tours follow paths that take the tour over hoses, through dark corridors, up spiral metal ladders to catwalks that run along the tops of the huge stainless steel wine tanks, high above the concrete floors. Jack, a former trial lawyer at ABA CEELI, keeps asking himself how he can institute the contingent fee here in Kosovo. The fear of being sued indeed has a regulatory effect.We tasted fine wine, ate very nice local cheese and bread served on barrel tops in a candle-lit cellar. Of course we sampled the Raki Rroushi, the clear brandy very popular in the Balkans. I think we all purchased at least a couple bottles of wine to take home.Sasha is a South African of German lineage. He is in charge of mines in Kosovo. Not land mines that I have talked about in earlier notes, but mineral mines. Kosovo is replete with minerals; nickel, lead, some gold and silver, bauxite for aluminum, chrome, limestone and coal. Kosovo was occupied by the Germans in WWII and was their source lead and nickel for the war. Today the mines lay mostly idle. Sasha will blast enough to allow workers to work in the limestone, aggregate and coal mines. One blast in a limestone quarry put one-hundred-twenty men to work who hadn’t worked in three years. “The men actually kissed me they were so happy,” Sasha said recalling the event. He cautiously watches these quarries for the production of dust. If they produce too much dust he must stop the work. “How do we keep the dust down?” They asked Sasha. “Work at night,” was his response. Sasha estimates that the mines could support the entire economy of Kosovo if allowed to develop. There are two primary obstacles. First the roads in Kosovo are bad and not engineered to carry heavy truck traffic that the mines would create. The railroads in Kosovo are no longer running, except for limited passenger service for Serbs. The second problem is political. Serbia has threatened action if the mines are opened. They claim the resources for themselves. UNMIK is therefore afraid to issue licenses to operators eager to come into the province and mine on a large scale. The coal mines near the KEK (Kosovo Electric Company) plant produce high grade coal used by KEK to generate electricity. The route from the winery back to Pristina passes the mines and the power plants, so Sasha, to his wife’s dismay, took me on a small tour. Coal fires burn everywhere around the coal mine. They have not found a good way to extinguish the fires and it does not seem to be a priority. As we drove on the rim of the open pit mine, plumes of smoke rose all around in the deep excavation. Sasha calls the area Mad Max country. It is right out of such a movie; heavy machinery, the stark landscape of pit mines, chimneys belching smoke, conveyors carrying coal and the coal fires burning.There are two mines and a strip of land between them. That strip will supply coal to KEK’s nearby power plants for another seven months. After that, mining must move to the area under a village that sits next to the mines. The village must be moved. The people are reluctant. They do not trust that they will in fact be compensated. There are about one thousand people who must be relocated. Sasha prefers an area made of old ash from the power plants which is now very fertile land. The coal is carried from the mines on conveyors to the power plants. One plant is newer and pollutes less. The old plant puts sixty tons of pollutants into the air per hour when operating at full capacity. The stacks of the plants can be seen from Pristina where we daily watch the wind direction to determine how badly we will be inundated. Cars produce more than pink lings can tolerate, the KEK plants raise pollution to dangerous levels. The nature of work in a developing country is that challenges exist in all sectors. In spite of everyone’s frustrations with the UN here, there is a certain satisfaction knowing that the world family can join together in a common humane effort. That in itself is worth being thankful for.And we gave thanks at our multi-national Canadian Thanksgiving dinner in Kosovo. Canadian Thanksgiving is on October 10. I was invited to Thanksgiving dinner at the home of our friends from Quebec. He works for NATO – KFOR. Sasha from South Africa and his German wife were there, the fellow from Italy, the other Canadian couple, and a couple from South Africa with their daughter rounded out the group. I was the only American. Turkey, potatoes, carrots, wax beans, a glass of wine, pleasant conversation and the company of nice people, pretty much everything a Thanksgiving dinner neededRamadan has started. It is the month long period of fasting during daylight hours for Muslims. This was a big deal in Bangladesh where everyone refrained from eating or drinking until sundown when they ate the iftar snacks and often had iftar parties at their homes. We had an iftar party at our office for our staff there. In Kosovo, the first day of Ramadan is a holiday. We had no one fast last year; it will likely be the same this year. At the end of the month, Eid al fitr, Biram here, will be a day of eating and visiting house to house, as the daily fasting ends. When our differences are examined closely, I see more similarity than variance. Peoples all over the world use both religious and secular celebrations as excuses to give thanks and enjoy the company of family and friends. And in that spirit, I close by saying to my family and friends, happy … well you pick.
Until Next Connection,Dan


VII – Sharon returns; Its basically a Western lifestyle; Trip to Greece; Visit to a local dentist; Prizren and more remnants of March; America's changing image; The fourth of July;
Dear Friends and Family;Sharon returned to Pristina after a long stay in the US. We had intended to return together, but I never made it home. It’s summer now and the cafes are in their prime. Everything is outdoors. We use our deck that is off our living room and we bought a table and chairs to make it more comfortable. I have tomatoes, strawberries and peppers among my pots of flowers on the deck. Olga has the run of the backyard, but I must mow the grass every couple of weeks none the less. We all walk in the park across the street, Sharon, Olga and I. There is a paved road that encircles a grassy field and the TMK or KPC training center. It is well maintained and pleasant. No trees, but it is peaceful and there is no traffic there. The TMK or KPC (Kosovo Protective Corps) are the remnants of the KLA (Kosovo Liberation Army.) The TMK are a privileged group where government money is concerned. There is a new fountain and park benches. KFOR troops are our only reality check these warm and pleasant summer days. Otherwise I could almost be in suburban US…well, except for power and water outages on a regular basis. It is very much a Western lifestyle here. I hear the Mullah at the mosque when the traffic noise dies, calling the faithful to prayer five times a day, but that is the only indication that I am in a Muslim country. Sharon’s birthday falls on Memorial Day weekend. We took the opportunity to visit Greece again. We spent Friday night and half day Saturday in Thessaloniki. Tessaloniki is a very modern city. They call it the second capitol of Greece and it is known for upscale shopping. A dramatic contrast from Pristina. It should have been a four or five hour drive, but border crossings turned it into over six. That, plus the fact that I got caught on radar in Macedonia exceeding the posted speed coming off a divided highway onto a two lane. The officer, upon learning that I spoke no Macedonian and that I was an American working in Kosovo, kindly gave me a warning; “you must slowly going,” he said to me and let me go. I understood his bad English and was grateful for the break. As a birthday present, we stayed in one of the better hotels in Thessaloniki overlooking the Mediterranean and a popular city square. Saturday, after a bit of shopping and lunch, we were off to Halkidiki, a series of three peninsulas in northern Greece, just south of Thessaloniki. We stopped at a seaside resort at the bottom of a steep hill below an ancient town, now a tourist town like all others worldwide, if a bit more quaint than most. Sharon compared notes with shop keepers. We spent a relaxing two days and drove back to Pristina, stopping in Skopje on the way for groceries at Vero’s.I had an unfortunate incident in Greece. I have a tooth in need of a root canal. I have been waiting for over a year to get it fixed. I broke a piece of it off in Bangladesh over a year ago and have not been in the US long enough to get it repaired properly. My dentist did a very quick fix that lasted until I broke another piece off in Greece. The jagged edge began cutting my tongue and after three days I called Nick my landlord, a dentist here in Kosovo. He works a half hour outside of Pristina but left work to pick me up and take me to an oral surgeon friend of his another half hour out of Pristina.Nick earns two hundred Euros per month in a government clinic. The salary is Kosovo government salary. He may do twenty extractions a day or that many fillings, or a combination. Most doctors and dentists who work for the government have their own private clinics for off hours work and better pay. Nick hopes to open his this year. My situation being uncertain and based on my description over the phone, Nick was concerned that I might need more attention than he could provide, so to be safe he took me to his friend’s clinic in Shtime about a half hour away. The two dentists had gone to dental school in Albania together. The friend continued studies in Germany to become a specialist. He not surprisingly had patients when we arrived. To occupy our time we had coffee with the dentist’s wife and her father. The old man had deep furrows crossing his wrinkled face. His hair was gray and he was slender but healthy looking. Turkish coffee is the fare of choice in most Kosovar homes. I sipped politely.Neither the old man nor his daughter spoke English, so Nick translated. Nick worked for a time as translator for the Canadian KFOR troops. Kosovars fall into two categories, those who seldom if ever talk about the days before the war when the Serbs were seeking to cleanse Kosovo of its Albanian majority, and those who always talk about their experiences. Both are coping mechanisms. The old man fell into the latter category. He told of how he sent his three daughters to Macedonia. They all were later sent to England as refugees. He stayed in Kosovo in his home to face whatever consequences might befall him. His wife stayed with him. Their marriage had been arranged many years earlier. His input was to agree to the marriage after looking at his wife’s picture. Regardless, in 1999, after many years of marriage, she decided to stay by his side risking possible death. The old man told of how he dug a hole under his house and concealed it. He and his wife spent several months in the hole hiding form the Serbs, until the US led NATO bombing started and the Serbs finally left.The story was interesting and I have heard many like it. The talk soon turned to other things and the question of age came up - my age specifically. I said that I was fifty-five. The old man smiled and said that he was the same age as me. People of the same age here look ten or more years older than we do.Once the patients were treated and the generator started because the power went off, I climbed into a dentist chair very much resembling the one I sat in as a child. The dentist spoke only Albanian and German. Nick translated and assisted. I complained that there was no television with calming fish swimming or headset with my choice of music. The dentist and Nick both have a good sense of humor. I was assured that all products were state of the art by Western standards. After a bit of drilling, a very proper filling was glued to my remaining half tooth … and it is still holding. In fact, the dentist said “you can replace it if you want, but it will last a ling time.” If it lasts until the end of August I will be happy. Albanian Kosovars, like the old man, his daughter, the dentist and Nick, all love Americans. The decision to bomb here in 1999 has made Bill Clinton a hero and endeared all Americans to the Kosovar Albanians. The dentist did not charge me for the treatment. Nick would not take money for the gas used in all his travels to get me there. It is their way of repaying us for saving them. I understand but I still feel guilty. It is no different than the young gas station attendant the other day who said, as Aferdita translated, he was only an employee, but if it were up to him he would fill my tank for free. Then he pointed to the American flag sticker on the back of our company Jeep and smiled. These things happen regularly, but the gesture of Nick and his dentist friend was particularly touching.We went to Prizren near the Albanian border for a day trip one Saturday. I had not yet been there and it is one of the more picturesque cities in Kosovo. It is nestled at the base of a hill on top of which sits an ancient fort. A river runs through the center. The streets are winding and narrow in old European fashion. It is a city where Turkish is the official language and mosques and churches stand side by side. Houses and buildings climb from the river bank half way up the hillside. It is also a city where in March 17 – 18 2004 much violence erupted. A swath of burned houses spread up the hillside from the town. The Orthodox church was a burned out shell, now encased in razor wire but still surrounded by the café’s lolling with their patrons as though the neighboring expressions of hatred never existed. And so we were again reminded of the tragedy of March. And of course the German KFOR troops were everywhere and helicopters circled overhead, rotors flapping. The shoppers, the children playing in the square, the old men exchanging stories and visitors like us were all oblivious to their presence.We wandered among the shops a bit, bought a painting from a street artist, had a macchiato at a riverside café, and made the trip back to Pristina. The relationships here are very confusing to us. We cannot imagine hatred running so deep. After 1999 the Serbs who were left in Kosovo very much resented the Americans for interfering in their business. As much as the Albanian Kosovar majority love Americans, the Serbian Kosovar minority dislike them. At least until March 17 – 18. One of our neighbors and his wife are UN employees. As an Army Colonel Jay was assigned to the Joint Chiefs of Staff when Colin Powell was Chairman. After retirement Jay began working for the UN, where he met his wife Natasha, who is French. Natasha works in Gracanice, a Serbian enclave near here. She was in Gracanice when the rioting broke out and related this story. The Finish KFOR troops, responsible for that area, collapsed in the face of the rioters onslaught (as did the French, Swedes and many others across Kosovo, including the Germans in Prizren.) The Serbs were facing great danger, injury and possible death from the rioting Albanian Kosovar crowd. The American KFOR troops were the only troops who handled the situation at all well those two days. Although Gracanice is not in their sector, they heard of the problems there and went to assist. As the Hummers rolled into sight, the Serbian Kosovar populace, a group who normally dislike the Americans, began to cheer and celebrate as the “cavalry” literally was arriving to save them. So in this complex environment, the image of Americans is changing. We are now appreciated by both sides of the ethnic feud.Summer here is hot. Hot but dry. It’s July. In any USAID mission that means an Independence Day event at the mission. Kosovo is no exception. We do not have an embassy since this is not a country. We have the “US Office in Pristina” or USOP. There is a director here who would be an ambassador if this were a country. Marcie Reis is our Am… Mission Director. So on the third of July, Saturday, there was an event at the USAID Mission on the top of Dragadon Hill. The dress was business. Suits. The Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited’s were moved from the covered parking area and tables were set up as bars for drinks and the staffers served hors dourves. Eight hundred of the most important Americans (and others) in Kosovo … or something like that. Make sure you bring your invitation and your name will be checked off as you enter; that type of event. After an hour of chit chat over wine, the color guard brought in the colors, the Bondsteel (American KFOR base) choir sang some patriotic songs. Marcie then gave a stirring speech. Well … it was about Teddy Roosevelt. The color guard took the colors away and we were all invited to leave. No sparklers, no firecrackers or fireworks. Meanwhile, down in Pristina, Mother Theresa Street was closed and the bandstand was set up in front of the statue of Skenderbeu, the Great Albanian hero who fended off the Turks. Revelers filled the street. The Stars and Stripes flew from every lamp post. The festivities went well into the night – celebrating American Independence Day. Not only do Kosovars love Americans, they think THEY ARE Americans. But it makes us feel less removed from familiar haunts and events. And we are among friends. It was another “Fourth of July” in Pristina.Until Next Connection,Dan

VI. Pressure in the aftermath; Trip to Skopje; Emerging cities; The climate has changed.
Dear Friends and Family,They refer to it here as “the events of March 17 – 18.” What they are talking about are the province-wide riots where hundreds were injured and twenty killed. Where homes and churches were burned. When the simmering hatred and frustration boiled over. They are referring to the two days when all hell broke loose here and Kosovo dropped back five years to the beginning of the “new life” that all Kosovars hoped had come. Driving to the airport through Fushe Kosove, a Serbian enclave, the burned out shells of several homes, a school and a clinic still stand surrounded by burned, now rusting cars. Gazmend could not bring himself to confirm that these are the result of the actions of angry and frustrated Albanian Kosovars. He stammered about the Serbs doing it themselves but realized the absurdity of his comment and finally admitted that these are a part of the riot’s aftermath. Our new Serbian translator moved from her Ulpianna District apartment in Pristina to the Serbian enclave at Gracanice. Her apartment had been ransacked. She is a woman who, at great risk to her personal safety, harbored Albanian children in her home before and during the war, but those distinctions were lost in the mob mentality that rained terror on her and her neighbors those fateful two days. She now is transported to work on a UN bus.There is so much going wrong with US policy in the world currently, with the Iraq war changed from dream to nightmare, Afghanistan holding together by threads binding occupying forces and warlords, North Korea, Israel and the Palestinian conflict; the last thing that Washington wanted was the Balkans blowing up again. The reaction was swift. KFOR increased its forces by several thousand. UNMIK has come under instant pressure to turn the government over to the Kosovars quickly. USAID was challenged by Washington superiors concerning its projects currently on the ground. What were they doing? Why couldn’t the Rule of Law projects have prevented this and what will they be doing now to help insure that it doesn’t happen again? And, so out of the blue Pristina sky, as much a surprise to us as the events of March 17 – 18, rolling down from Dragadon Hill where the USAID office is located, came the letter that transferred some of the pressure being exerted on the USAID Mission to us. It suggested that the Chief of Party should not be leaving at such a critical time without a deputy to cover, so my vacation has been indefinitely postponed. We are redoubling our efforts on project work and continuing to search for a suitable Deputy Chief of Party.To salve some of the sting and disappointment, I took a day trip to Skopje, the capital city of Macedonia. Even the weather has worsened the past couple of weeks and ominous looking clouds clung to the mountain peaks as I left an unseasonably cool Pristina. The Pristina to Skopje Road has changed like everything else since March 17 – 18. At every Serb enclave area, pill boxes have been erected by KFOR troops with check points that are mostly unmanned. In these areas, the burned houses of Serb families dot the hillsides.Skopje is almost exactly fifty miles from Pristina, but the two lane road struggles with the traffic and the trip is fast if it takes one and a half hours; two or more is common. This trip was the latter. The hills and mountains were fresh spring green except the high peaks which still held the last of the winter’s snow. As the road heads south to the border it begins to roll up into the mountains. The landscape is tranquil if not particularly quaint. The villages look sleepy. An occasional horse drawn cart or heard of cows project a simple quiet lifestyle. The houses, unfinished and in need of repair, attest to the true economic conditions of this country. I saw several KFOR trucks along side the road. A young soldier in flack gear, helmet and face shield moved across a small green field near the road sweeping for mines. Most known mine areas are taped off with red tape and warning signs are posted. This was unusual.The Macedonian border is in the mountains. The road winds and rises through the high round-top hills, forest green, sometimes scarred and often patched with pastures and fields. Three or four bridges span gorges and rivers. Two tunnels let the traffic burrow through. There is a third on the Macedonian side. Arriving at Kacanik means that the border at Blace is very near. A few more turns and the border crossing appears. The traffic is backed up at the Macedonian check. Perhaps it is Saturday traffic with more than the normal number of walkers passing through the same check point the cars use. I have to stop and buy border insurance to take the car into Macedonia, an additional delay. The wild poppies on the Macedonian side were in full bloom. Their flowers looked like blood spots splayed across the green backdrop of the roadside; Nature’s reminder of the hatred, conflict and bloodshed that dominate the history of this region. The cross on the mountaintop above Skopje appeared, signaling the city’s approach. Skopje is a lot like Pristina, but a step ahead in its emergence from a past of socialist state policies followed by war. The architecture is traditional “Soviet”, drab and functional, but not always functioning properly. There is more “dressing up” going on in Skopje than Pristina – reconstruction of the Stone Bridge, building a plaza in the approach to it, turning streets into walking malls - and the river running through adds charm. The historic Mosques in the Turkish section and Orthodox churches in the other parts of the city, break the monotony of the dirty, dilapidating, Tito era buildings. But the economy of Skopje is noticeably stronger than Pristina. EU membership will not come soon, but for me even this slight improvement was refreshing. I went to the green market in the Turkish section and bought tomato and pepper plants for my patio garden. The vendors are not Turkish, but members of the Macedonian Albanian minority. As I left I said, “falemnderit” (thank you in Albanian) and they smiled and patted my back.I ate at an outdoor café. Like in Pristina, the gypsy beggars come asking for hand-outs. This little fellow, with dried snot below his runny nose and dirty hands and arms, could not have been older than seven, likely younger. There was no adult in sight. He ran the scam professionally, jabbering in a tongue incomprehensible to my American ears. The hand motions are universal – open hand to receive money, closing to imitate putting food in the mouth, all while talking. In Pristina another young boy similarly begging took the cracker from a friends wife reluctantly, it is money they really want. The waitress shooed my little friend out, sparing my conscience the dilemma. It was easier to be cold in Bangladesh where there are so many people begging that our survival demanded taking a hard line.The real reason for the trip was Vero’s supermarket. I arrived late enough to be spared the car wash from the group of young gypsy boys who, because of several prior trips and generous payment, now recognize our car and are eager to clean it. I parked unmolested.Vero’s is a very modern and western supermarket with a reliable meat counter. I am still uncertain of the mishtores here in Pristina. Some have fresh meat and refrigeration and others do not. They all hang carcasses in the front windows. I can get hamburger and pork chops and veal easily at Vero’s market and I can shop in an environment I am accustomed to. Early evening, but still light, I started the journey home. The border again was backed up, this time at the Kosovo side. UNMIK runs the border stations here. All my car documents were checked carefully, including my Michigan registration. I told the customs agent that I had nothing to declare. My trunk was nevertheless opened and inspected. I recalled a prior trip, in other times, when the custom’s agent, busy with a truck, simply waved me through. But that was before March 17 – 18. That was when we all thought that Kosovo was a peaceful place well on the road to a new life. That was before tens of thousands of Kosovars rose up and vented their anger, hatred and frustrations. That was before people were killed and houses and churches were burned. I closed the trunk and drove on. A mist dampened my windshield. There was a chill in the air. The sun was setting behind a cover of clouds. The mountain peaks could no longer be seen. I slowed as I approached an armored KFOR vehicle in front of me. Clearly, the climate has changed.
Until Next Connection,Dan

V. Time passes quickly; Olga; Deceptive Tranquility
Dear Friends and Family,A friend writes, “The last Chapter I received was 1-25-04 which wasAssignment Kosovo #4.” He was implying that perhaps I had not sent him the next chapter. In fact, I am just now writing it. Ours is a ten million dollar three year project called “Justice System Reform Activity in Kosovo.” Mike had only been here a few weeks and then left in early December on leave and to attend to medical problems which unfortunately turned worse. He hasn’t yet been back. As the project gears up the burden falls on me keep things on track. There are three other expatriates and now seven local staff persons. We had three short term consultants from the US here in the past month and a half and our major sub-contractor is now ready to start. The activity has made time pass quickly. We had been working frantically toward the hand-off of the justice system from UNMIK (United Nations Mission in Kosovo) to the locals. That now may not be happening as quickly as we had thought.When the two fellows from New Jersey came, one an IT person and one a records manager, we put them at the Victory – the hotel with the statue of Liberty on the roof. It was Sunday and I had gone there to meet Fran who, with Enver, brought them from the airport. The crew from our home office in Arlington, Virginia (my boss and two of her key people) were in Pristina as well. We all decided to go to the Freskia restaurant on the other side of town. I had our personal car and called Sharon on my mobile phone. I told her that I would be there in two minutes to pick her up to go the restaurant. I left within a minute or two. We live very close to the Victory. When I pulled up in front of our house, Sharon was standing in the street waiting for me. In front of her were two young boys holding two puppies. Sharon was holding the other two. As I pulled up, she asked, “Can I have a puppy?” So Olga is now a member of our household. There are several breeds of dogs in this part of the world that are used as herd dogs, primarily to guard the sheep in the mountains from wolves. They are all large dogs who were bred to guard the flock. As a working dog, one source says, they are more loyal to the flock than to their owner. Olga, though a mix, is primarily that type of dog. Dogs here in Pristina are everywhere, and they mostly roam free and have no owners. We did not know where the boys came from and have never seen them again, but on the hill opposite our house, below the apartments, several dogs sit. One is a large female who I noticed had a pup with the same markings as Olga. The boys in fact had another pup with Olgas color and markings. I presumed that the adult female was Olga’s mother until one day I saw the pup alone. The pup looked identical to Olga but lighter and significantly smaller. Then one day Ida showed up. Ida also had recently had a litter and was drying up. She and Olga immediately hit it off like they … well… might be related. Ida looks similar to the other mother but a little smaller. There is also a male down the street that looks just like Olga. I put the two and one together and well….Ida now spends her time on our front step and plays with Olga whenever she can or feels like it. I named her Ida because I-da-know what her name is; I-da-know where she came from; and I-da-know if she belongs to anyone, although I doubt it, she has no collar. Now, I-da-know what I am going to do with her. Phil, the judge from Minnesota, took a street dog home (Phil claimed that his dog would not obey in either Albanian or English), and I am told a woman from Finland took about six with her. I’ll take Olga, I-da-know about Ida.We always knew that just below the peaceful surface lay suppressed hatred, mistrust, frustration and turmoil. It started innocently enough. The Serbs in the enclaves began to block the roads, shutting down major arteries in Kosovo, including the road to Skopje, Macedonia. That was on Monday the 15th of March. The following day, Fran was in Mitrovice, a city in the north of Kosovo where a river separates the Albanian Kosovars in the south from the Serbian Kosovars in the north. It is the largest Serbian area in Kosovo. In fact, nearly everything north of Mitrovice is Serbian. There were demonstrations that day on both sides of the river and the crowds were heading toward each other. The KFOR (Kosovo force – NATO) troops separated the groups and disbursed them. Fran was held up until the crowds left. That evening, according to reports, four Albanian boys were chased by several Serbian men and in order to get to safety, they attempted to cross the river to get to the south side. Three of the boys were swept away by the current and drowned. On Wednesday, Enver, Fran, Suren from our home office, and I went to Gjilan. The road to Gjilan was blocked at the Serbian enclave at Gracenica. Enver knew a back road route. It followed a road that had been used by Albanian refugees during the war, five years ago, and was the site of several massacres. We passed a cemetery where there was a memorial to the people who died at the hands of the Serbs. We then turned onto a dirt road that was in very bad repair. We had the Ford, not the Jeep, but we made it through. We passed farms, and small villages and a stream and hills; around ruts through holes, creeping past wash-outs, inching at a snails pace until we came to the road to Gjilan. Once at the court, we met with the District Court Administrator and presiding Judge. We had lunch at the big new restaurant on top of the hill. After lunch we went to Bondsteel, the large American KFOR base. Some say that Bondsteel is a replacement for strategic bases in Turkey and Germany. It is very large and has a PX where American goods can be bought. Active military and American UN employees can gain entry. Fran has a UN ID because his office is in a UN building. Enver, Suren and I went down the road to Ferizaj. We parked and walked around a few minutes. Then shops began to close. They were closing because of a demonstration in support of the boys who died the night before. It passed by where we had parked, so we had to wait until it finished. There were hundreds, maybe a couple of thousand people in the procession. It formed not far beyond our car and we could see a continuous stream of people spontaneously joining the demonstration. It seemed peaceful enough, but we decided that we had better leave as soon as it finally passed.Enver’s mobile began to ring regularly as we returned to Bondsteel to pick up Fran. The office was calling. Trouble was breaking out all over Kosovo. Reports of the first trouble were coming from Mitrovice where we heard that several people were killed and hundreds injured in demonstrations there. By the time we got Fran on board, we realized that we would have to go back through Gjilan and the back road to return to Pristina. On the way to Gjilan, Enver got a call from someone saying that Gjilan was closed because of trouble there. We took a road that bypassed Gjilan. USAID (US Agency for International Development) was calling the office to make sure that we were all in Pristina. When the office told USAID that we were in Gjilan, the folks there were very concerned and asked our staff to call as soon as we reached Pristina.The trip back seemed longer than going. When we finally reached the edge of Pristina, Paul form USAID called me to see where we were. I advised that we were in Pristina and he said that we should just go home and not go out that evening. There were riots all across Kosovo and in Pristina centering on the Serb enclaves and homes. I live in sight of the hospital and sirens accompanied a steady stream of vehicles to the emergency entrance all night. I watched the flares lighting up the road block on the road to Skopje not far from our house. Helicopters were in the air. It was a different feeling. By morning it was reported that thirty people died and seven hundred were injured. Those figures came down slightly, but still over twenty people died and several hundred were injured, plus more than a dozen Orthodox churches were burned along with many Serbian homes and UN vehicles. It has been quiet since then, but a few thousand more KFOR troops are arriving in Kosovo and they patrol more visibly now. The street in front of the UN buildings is still blocked by police. We went to Skopje Saturday and passed at least two KFOR check points in Serbian areas.In this part of the world hatred goes deep; centuries deep. Memories are both long and short. The Albanians were the victims of Slobodan Milosevic’s “ethnic cleansing” in the nineties, culminating in the US lead NATO bombing and occupation that resulted in Kosovo being a UN protectorate since 1999. Now the Albanians were taking revenge on the Serbian minority. It is all so senseless and endless. The religious symbols serve only to identify ethnicity. The Serbs are Orthodox, the Albanians Muslim. When the Serbs were pushing the Albanian majority out of Kosovo, they built a great church in the center of town on University property. It was a symbol that the Serbs were taking over. The church still stands unfinished and vandalized. It seems now to say “you are gone and your church is nothing more than a shell.” But the hatred has nothing to do with religion.Adding to the ethnic hatred is the frustration of unemployment, lack of adequate services like electricity, water and heat, and the undetermined final status of Kosovo. It all boiled up in mid-March. We had a staff meeting last week to discuss the causes of the unrest and report to USAID in an effort to see what if anything USAID can do to salve the situation.Things seem tranquil again, now ten days later. I had a macchiato outside at the Monaco like I do every Sunday. I smoked a cigar. Gazi, the waiter, was smiling like always. People were out. The sun was shining. The UN headquarters stood silent across the blocked vacant street. KFOR troops, Brits who just arrived, were walking everywhere, automatic weapons and helmets at the ready. The boy walked through the cafes selling cigarettes and phone cards. The young women were bathed in the stares of the young men. An armored personnel carrier flying a Swedish flag passed by. The billboards on the streets celebrate the fifth anniversary of the NATO bombing on March 24 as “The day of hope,” and proclaim “five years of a new life.” I am deceived by it all.
Until Next Connection,Dan

IV - Living in Kosovo; The boys visit; A trip to Greece; A car from home; A visit from KFOR
Dear Friends and Family,It’s winter here. Mid January. Those of you in the north know what that means. My friends in Key West… well… it means it’s cold and I don’t mean sixty degrees. The cold is biting tonight, close to zero Fahrenheit, but it has been mild for several days. What can I tell you about life here? Our generator works automatically now. It is a large generator that my former landlord got at a good price. Previously we had to go outside when the power went off, and into the back yard to start the generator. Then the battery would die and we would simply sit in front of candles and hope the power would come back before the space heaters cooled. We split the cost to make the generator automatic, like it is at the office. Now we wait about twenty seconds and it starts and we have electricity again. It is big enough to provide all the power we use, including oven and space heaters. Most homes that have generators have something large enough to power a light or two. With the mild weather, the power only goes out for two or three hours a day. Now that it is cold, we expect more outages for longer periods. We have central heat in our house, the only problem with it is that it doesn’t heat. The city has a heating plant that pipes hot water around the neighborhoods and through radiators in homes. We are connected, but the connection was apparently only completed this year and they haven’t gotten our section of town fully operational. Our radiators get warm sometimes, but never enough to provide heat for the rooms. Electric space heaters, therefore, provide us with heat. Well, heat to four rooms and the bathroom upstairs. The electric bills will be outrageous and with the dollar losing value constantly against the Euro, my allowance will not cover the cost.Many people use electric space heaters. The lack of central heating in such a cold climate is amazing to me. And houses are not insulated. The homes with central heat that are not connected to the city’s system burn wood or coal. We use coal at our office. The first load delivered this fall was rejected by Gazmend. He said it was not what he ordered. It was brown coal. It looked nearly like wood. It was in fact brown. It is a very soft coal mined here in Kosovo. I saw one old fellow cutting it with a hatchet. Our coal comes from Macedonia and is harder coal. Of course the wood and coal causes much pollution. On days when the ceiling holds the smoke down, the air is unbreathable. It smells and burns the throat.Although we have a back-up well to give us water during the hours when the municipal water is shut off, the pump does not have enough pressure to force the water up to the upstairs bathroom, where our tub, shower and washing machine are located. The water is generally only off from about eleven at night until around five or six in the morning. Sometimes Sunday afternoons. Many homes and apartment buildings have tanks in the attic or on the roof to hold water for the outages. Drinking water is never a problem, since, of course, we drink bottled water, a practice I have long since acclimated to from Bangladesh. One fellow who had been here and is now back in the States wrote and said that when he feels homesick for Pristina, he turns his power off, his water off, his heat off and sits in the dark, under a blanket, in front of a candle. Living here is somewhat like living on a boat – all the conveniences of home, just not as convenient as at home. For the Kosovars, it is a way of life. A much better life than the one they endured just a few short years ago.Approximately half of the Kosovar drivers are bad. They speed and are discourteous. During he Serbian occupation they were not allowed to get licenses. The Albanians were finally expelled and had all their papers taken, the idea being that they would not be able to return without identification. When the UN came, people could return if others verified their identification. So many had people state that so-an-so had a drivers license when he was in Kosovo previously. They don’t know how to drive. When the power is out, so are the traffic lights and the intersections become free-for-alls. I was at such an intersection one afternoon that was completely snarled and tangled into gridlock. Nothing moved. No one gave anyone else an inch until a police officer showed. The streets are poorly maintained. They are mostly not plowed when it snows and the pot holes are prolific and large. Parking is wherever a car will fit, usually on a sidewalk, hopefully leaving enough room for pedestrians to pass single file. It is not the total collage of vehicles moving in a weaving, meandering order that defies logic that are the streets of Dhaka in Bangladesh, but traffic here in Pristina is challenging none the less. I drive here and have learned how to bully my way in, when to let pedestrians pass and how and where to park. I pulled into a parking spot one day and Enver, who was riding with me, asked how I knew that I could park in that particular spot – few spaces actually look like parking spaces as we know them. I responded simply, “I’m a Kosovar.”Our sons Patrick and Beau came to visit during their winter breaks from college. As the only ex-pat from our project that did not go back to the US for the holidays, I had to work during the first week the boys were with us here. They were occupied by the cultural experience just being here provides. They met our local staff members and we did all the things we do in Pristina. That, of course, includes going to cafes and drinking macchiato. Beau developed a liking for the cappuccino-like coffee. They both quickly adapted to the local single male custom of girl watching. Muslim in name only, the young women dress to be seen, delighted, I think, for the freedom to express themselves. Beau wanted to see the brewery in Peje. On a Saturday we made the drive. The trip to Peje, where the war started in earnest, passes many homes and small villages destroyed by the hostilities. Serbs burned Albanian homes and then the Albanians destroyed homes of the Serbs. So what is left in many places are crumbling concrete skeletons of homes, waiting for the restorative effects of new found peace. The trip takes nearly two hours along the two lane winding road. Peje sits against the sheer face of the rising mountains that form the border between Kosovo and Montenegro. We located the brewery using the directions that we received from a customer at a café where we stopped for macchiato and to ask. He was kind enough to assist the waiter, frustrated by our inability to communicate. The brewery does not operate on Saturday, but there was a fountain consisting of a ten foot bottle of Peje beer tilting slightly to pour its contents into a four foot can of Peje beer. I asked one of the guards if we could take pictures nest to the fountain. He readily agreed and we went inside the gate. After taking several pictures, we noticed that the several guards had all gotten a bottle of beer form somewhere and were drinking. I asked if I could take their picture and they agreed. Then they offered me a beer and I had my picture taken with them. I think I enjoyed this experience more that watching how beer is made. The day after Christmas we left Pristina by bus for Skopje in Macedonia, a two hour bus trip. There we rented a car and headed for Greece another two hours or so from Skopje. The trip through the rolling snow covered hills of Macedonia, plaited with vineyards, reminded me of home in Michigan. The snow was gone at the port city of Thessaloniki. We spent the night, visited a few sites the next day and headed for Athens. The roads in Greece are excellent. The highway from the border to Athens, passing Thessaloniki, is a limited access toll highway. The speed limit is 120 kilometers per hour, about 75 mph.Athens is a large and crowded city with poor signage for drivers. We stayed in the Plaka section, at the base of the Acropolis. It took us several hours of circling the area in the nighttime before we found our hotel. Once located, it had no rooms. We stayed at a more rustic accommodation for the night and found suitable lodging in the morning. For several days we visited the historical sights, shopped and took a trip to the site of the 2004 Olympics. The venue is not yet completed but the Greeks say it will be ready for the games. Athens is south far enough that the weather was mild, in the high 50s, and orange trees lined most streets with ripe fruit contrasting the shiny green leaves. Various varieties of palm trees were also evident.Greece was a welcome respite from rigors of Kosovo. Not just for the milder weather, but for constant electricity and water and modern conveniences like ATM machines. Kosovo, although on the Euro because of UN involvement, is a cash economy. No checks, no credit cards, no ATM machines. Greece is a European Union country and is as modern as any western city, ancient ruins notwithstanding. And the Greek’s dislike for Americans, for the most part, did not show. We ate at a couple of local restaurants and the families that operated them were most cordial and warm.Two days after our return, the boys boarded a plane for Budapest, then Frankfurt, where they spent the night, on to Atlanta and finally to South bend. With the company Jeep, we drove the twenty minutes to our Pristina home.Sharon had our car shipped from the US prior to her departure. Pristina is a rough place for automobiles, but her 1999 Cougar has 181,000 miles on it, so we weren’t particularly concerned. While we were in Athens, the car arrived in Thessaloniki. A few days after we returned it was delivered to us in Pristina, no worse for the several thousand mile trip by ship. In a city of Volkswagen Golfs, Opels and white SUVs, with a big black UN or OSCE (Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) painted on the side, our sporty Cougar stands out.Vehicle registration, like all things in Kosovo, even those turned over to the PISGs (Provisional Institutions of Self Government), are controlled by UNMIK (United Nations Mission in Kosovo). The plates are European style with three numbers preceding a KS followed by three more numbers. KS plates, as they are referred to, are not recognized outside of Kosovo, except for Macedonia, Montenegro and Albania. We needed to leave the US registration or to get registration of some other type, like Macedonia. We do not qualify for the diplomatic plates for which US government agency employees are eligible. Then there is the matter of insurance. In Kosovo the only insurance available is for Kosovo coverage and the so called insurance “green card” is not available with that insurance. Because the status of Kosovo is such a contentious issue, recognition of its current status – whatever that is – is generally not acknowledged by other countries. It is technically still a province of Serbia, yet Serbia does not control any of the government agencies.After a week or so of checking options, we decided to leave the Michigan registration (even though our drivers licenses are Florida) and buy Kosovo insurance. That done, we took a test run to Skopje. At the border we purchased sixty days of “border insurance” allowing us to travel in Macedonia. We shopped, had a coffee and returned to Pristina, an hour and a half drive. Once back we picked up Fran and went to dinner. While we were sitting in the upstairs room of the Liber after having finished our pizzas, the owner came up and said, “I heard you talking (meaning in English), is that your white car out front?” I said it was and he said that the KFOR (Kosovo Force, NATO Troops) wanted to talk to me. I went out the door followed by the stare of every downstairs patron. A young Swedish soldier was standing with his partner by our car. The Swedes are responsible for patrolling Pristina, having taken over from the Brits. He was a slender tallish boy, the age of my sons who had just left. I had a rush of inconsistent emotions all at once. On the one hand, I was being confronted by a soldier in fatigues and combat boots, an automatic weapon hanging form his shoulder. On the other hand I was looking at a fair-faced boy who, in the world of wars, may be killed defending principles he is yet too young to fully understand. We shook hands. He wanted ID, said he was surprised to see the American tags and wanted to make sure that it wasn’t stolen. His partner made a note in a pad. I gave the young soldier a business card and showed my company ID. He accepted the card. I went back inside.Our adventure proceeds unpredictably forward.
Until next connection,Dan

III. Snow in October; Sharon arrives; Trip to the Serbian Border; Parallel Systems; KFOR; Birami Eid, Thanksgiving and Christmas in Kosovo; Jarred back to reality.
Dear Friends and Family,On October 8 it snowed. It snowed again on the 23rd. October was cold. November was mild and the outdoor tables of the cafes were filled with macchiato drinkers. We were among them. A sweater and a jacket to be sure, but the weather must be harsh to force the Kosovars indoors. December has been very nice so far. A little snow then mild weather again. We sat outside in December too. I don’t think they ever actually put those tables and chairs in storage for the winter … just in case a nice day comes along.My wife Sharon arrived in early November. She has been here a month and has long since been hooked on macchiato coffee and good restaurants. Pristina is an easy place to acclimate to, in spite of its Early Soviet appearance. This is a backwater working town. The capitol of the Autonomous Province of Kosovo in the former Yugoslavia. The architecture is drab and functional. The power plants at the edge of the city spew black smoke. The sidewalks are crumbling and people litter. There are much prettier towns in Kosovo and the region. I have not seen them yet, but Sharon has already been to Skopje in Macedonia, thirty miles to the south of Pristina. Kosovo is a small place with four million inhabitants. It is about sixty miles across at any point. Maybe a little more but not much.We visited the District Court in Gjillan and the Municipal court in Komenica near the Serbian border. Gjillan is a little more quaint than Pristina and the brand new restaurant on top of a hill was beautiful. The trip to Gjillan winds through the countryside and over some significant hills – mountains actually. The fields rolled down below us and into small villages where the red-tiled roofs of the buildings huddled together for company. It was very scenic. We passed through a couple of Serbian enclaves; Gracanice and Llabjan. The signs were all in Serbian, although we had no way of knowing that. The people looked to us the same as the other Kosovars. We passed an ancient and walled Orthodox church, a sign of a Serbian population. The road from Gjillan to Komenica passes very near the Serbian border; within sight of it. Mike wanted to go to the border, but Enver was more than reluctant. We simply passed by and continued to Komenica. USAID built a new courthouse there. It is a mixed community, Serbs, Albanians and Romas, thus the UN and USAID inject money, an encouragement to re-integrate. It will not happen though. A few new mosques with tall white spires will not change the feelings of the people. The hatreds are too deep. The Serbs hate the Alanians and the Americans. The Albanian Kosovars hate the Serbs, and so it goes. The United States KFOR (Kosovo Force – NATO) troops are in the Gjillan region since that is where Kosovo touches the Serbian border.One of the things we must contend with is parallel systems. The Serbs do not take part in the Albanian systems. A small portion of our project deals with sorting through the heaps of court files strewn in overcrowded file storage rooms in total disarray. The files date from the war years, roughly 1989 to 1999. During these years the Serbs took total charge, then moved all Albanians out of jobs and schools and eventually they committed genocidal acts and began ethnic cleansing by forcing the Albanians to leave Kosovo after first stripping them of all identification documents. NATO, under the leadership of the US arrived in 1999. These court records must be sorted and those eligible will be destroyed, but any with information or documents relating to land ownership, identity and the like must be saved. Often, the records are present but the registers of cases missing. Komenica is one such court. They registers, they fear, are in Serbian “parallel” or “shadow” courts. These courts are operated secretly in Serb enclaves and documents are produced that appear as authentic as any produced by the legitimate courts. Cases that were actually favorable to an Albanian, in a land dispute for example, can be changed to favor the Serb. The registers provide enough information for that purpose.One of our local attorneys attended an Albanian “shadow” law school in the years when the Albanians were not allowed to hold good jobs or attend schools. She attended classes secretly in the basements of people’s homes and anywhere else they could manage to find with out being discovered. The parallel systems have been here for a long time and have transcended regimes. It is all very strange to us.Lately the KFOR troops have been more visible. I see them on street corners with weapons at hand. I see more vehicles. There is now a check point outside the USAID compound. Irish KFOR on one occasion, although Pristina is mostly patrolled by Swedish KFOR. I have begun seeing more French KFOR of late. They walked through our neighborhood one morning, passing in front of our house. Four soldiers with weapons and a person in civilian clothes. Routine, I was told, and the civilian was an interpreter. The activity increased just before the Eid holiday and has continued since.Eid ul-fatr is the biggest of the Muslim holidays. Birami, in Albanian. It is one of the few times that we realize we are in a Muslim country. There are mosques, but we don’t hear the call to prayer five times a day like we did in Bangladesh. The call is there, but muted by comparison. There are no women in burkas here. They are as stylish as anywhere in Europe, with painted-on-jeans and as many other trappings of womanly wealth as any of them can afford. Black leather jackets and blue jeans for the men. Birami was the twenty –fifth of November this year, Tuesday before Thanksgiving. A whole day of feasting and visiting for the locals. Enver invited us to his home. He lives on top of a hill opposite Sunny Hill where our office is located. The street winds through the hillside neighborhood until at the very top sits Enver parents home, where Enver, his parents, his sister, his younger brother and his younger brother’s wife all live. Across the street is Hirish’s house. Hirish is Enver’s cousin who manages a restaurant we frequent. Hirish lives with his wife and three children and his mother. Behind Hirish, is a house owned by one of Hirish’s brothers. This is a country, not unlike Bangladesh, where families take care of each other and live together, normally in the home of a son. We ate at Enver’s home until we were stuffed. The food was delicious. We were shown some intricate carvings that Enver’s father carved while in prison. He was a bus driver and accidentally hit and killed some Serbian children. He was imprisoned during the worst years of Serbian rule and Enver, the oldest in the family, now only thirty-one, was in charge. He was thirteen at the time and managed to continue in school and hustle in the streets to provide for the family. We went to Hirish’s for dessert.On Thanksgiving we went to the Rabkin’s for a late dinner. The Rabkin’s are friends of Fran’s who are here so that he can teach psychology at Pristina University. His position is funded by an Israeli organization that also built many parks and schools in Kosovo after the war. Although Sharon and I passed a live turkey that day, turkeys are not as plentiful here as in the US. Mrs. Rabkin had beef. It was a fun evening and interesting to hear how others get to places like Kosovo and why they do it. By mid-December the stores all began displaying the artificial Christmas trees and lights and ornaments and other types of Christmas decorations. The Kosovars celebrate Christmas as well as Ramadan and Eid-ul-fitr. There are two reasons; first, they lived with the Serbs who are Orthodox; and second, the Kosovar Albanians were all Catholics at one time. Even though that was before the Ottoman Empire five hundred years ago, many Kosovars say that we are really Catholic. They all point out that people are nationals first and members of a religion second. It is Serbs versus Albanians here not Orthodox versus Muslim. The ethnic roots run deep and memories are long. We purchased a white artificial tree and a couple of strings of lights. I found a nutcracker for Sharon’s collection. Beau and Patrick are here, it snowed again and we will have Christmas just before we leave for a few days in Greece.Just before the boys arrived, we were watching television when we were startled by a large boom and the house shaking. Police cars began streaming into our neighborhood and on the street up the hill across from our house the KFOR vehicles rolled in, the street was taped off and KFOR troops were on the hillside fifty yards from our front door. A car bomb exploded outside the apartment building up the hill from our front door. The car wasn’t more than one-hundred yards from our house, on the other side of the apartment building that stands between us and the street up the hill. It appears that the incident involved a personal vendetta and was not a part of the Serb/Albanian conflict. It was a jarring reminder, however, that this is a dangerous place and could erupt at any time. Happy Holidays,
Until Next Connection,Dan

II. The present, the past, the future; I find a home; masks and painted faces;

Dear Friends and Family,

As September 11 approached, billboards began to appear around Pristina showing the New York skyline with two candles burning where the twin towers once stood; “In Memoriam,” it says. Just as they had celebrated with us on the fourth of July, they mourned our loss on September 11. The people of Kosovo are grateful and we see it everyday. Thus there are many little girls named Madeline and boys named Wesley and Bill and the Bill Clinton Marble Step Company was at the trade fair in central Pristina, and Wesley Clark’s book sells at the book store, and the Kosovo Trust Agency’s billboards thank President Bill Clinton for what he did for Kosovo, and when the boy in the store told his non-English speaking mother that I was American, she smiled and nodded. Bill Clinton visited in September and it became a “holiday” and the crowds couldn’t get enough of him.

They are unemployed in large percentages – 50-60%, maybe more, but they are happy. At least they are not at war or being the victims of some maniacal menace. They sit in the cafes and drink coffee. Macchiato e vogel. Little cups of something like cappuccino. They drink coffee with lots of sugar, a mineral water with gas (carbonated water) and smoke cigarettes. There is nothing else to do. In good weather the café tables are outside, everywhere. Often tables are shown as reserved. If you want to eat a meal, they become available. Reserved for paying customers is the message. But the coffee drinkers are welcome nonetheless. Everyone knows the plight of the people and they all help even if in this small way. They are often trusting and generous. I had only a five euro note for my thirty cent Twix candy bar. The lady said “next time.” Fran had only a five euro note for the two euro cab fare. The cab driver could not make change so he said “never mind, it’s okay,” and drove off. They are simply happy to be living in peace.

If you ask, they may tell the stories, but they would rather forget the misery and fear that they lived through from 1989 to 1999. We pass many memorials along the highways marking spots where Kosovars died during the war. The small cemetery on the very top of Sunny Hill is blanketed with wreaths of flowers on every grave. It is actually a park overlooking the city; a breath-taking view; the thirty or so graves make a paradoxical statement. The beauty of the sight is contrasted with the ugliness of the loathing that led to the violence which killed the silent residents of the hilltop. It is all so recent and yet it is the product of hatreds so ancient. The peace here is fragile.

There are few reminders of the war; the former Serbian army base on Bill Clinton Boulevard where the buildings are still crumbling from the bombs’ wrath. The new buildings there are occupied by the national guard type force the, TMK or KPC, led by remnants of the KLA. In the countryside there are many shelled out homes – Albanian homes destroyed by Serbs, Serbian homes destroyed by Albanian Kosovars. The former headquarters building in downtown Pristina shows the precision of the smart bombs. The fifth floor, which housed key Serbian offices, is blown apart, the upper and lower floors, windowless, but otherwise in tact. Most reminders are gone and new construction is everywhere. Optimistically started, waiting for more good fortune in this cash economy.

The future for Kosovo, however, is uncertain in its best light and dismal in all probability. Hatred persists. Albanian Kosovars say that any Serbs are welcome back… except any who were involved in the hostilities. The Serbs quail in enclaves encircled by fences and walls topped with razor wire. They fear going into Albanian areas. The Serbian translator at the Kosovo Judicial Institute tells me that life is hard in the Serbian apartment building in the Ulpiana district of Pristina where she lives. But the UN and the US put the highest priority on reintegration of the Serbs and other minorities (Roma’s, Turks, Ashkali and a few others.) Billboards proclaim that “we are all Kosovars” in both Serbian and Albanian. It shows three smiling faces. The Albanian Kosovars largely ignore them. There a half million weapons among the population of two million. Billboards picture a little girl with a rose outstretched toward the barrel of a gun. The Albanian message reads “don’t you kill my freedom! Turn in any weapon.” It is the weapons amnesty program. It ran all of September but had only limited effect. The Albanian Kosovars will not let what happened to them in the nineties happen to them again.

The talks started in Vienna in mid October. Long beyond when the peacekeepers had anticipated. The Serbs will insist that Kosovo be returned to Serbia, as outlined in the UN resolution. The Kosovars will want independence or to be split between Albania and Macedonia. There seems to be no middle ground. Any negotiator who compromises will be damned by his people. We know that beneath the tranquility of Kosovo in 2003 lurks another bloody battle. If the KFOR (Kosovo Force (NATO)) troops ever leave, there will doubtless be war. UNMIK (United Nations Mission in Kosovo) frustrates us by not formulating a concrete plan for the future structure of the courts, but we know that they are in turn frustrated by not knowing what Kosovo is, and more importantly, what it will become. So those Kosovars who are not working for projects or catering to the International community which pervades Pristina, drink macchiato in the cafes and smoke cigarettes and wait.

During my stay at the Boci Hotel I became acquainted with most of the staff. The waiters in particular were friendly. When I indicated that I was looking for a place to live, one waiter said he would find some places. True to his word he located a number of apartments and houses which he thought might interest me. He met me at the hotel and took me in his VW Golf, the national car of Kosovo I think. The first place wasn’t what I was looking for. The trip there confirmed my suspicions, however, as to how this whole thing was to work. We met a realtor who took us to the landlord who showed the house. Everybody gets a cut. The landlord pays a finders fee. Everybody hustles to survive. The eight-hundred euro fee the waiter got represents several months’ salary. I was told by a fellow from the UK, whom I met at the Victory hotel, that rents here are higher than anywhere in Eastern Europe. He had come from Hungry to work a project here and was surprised at how high rent was. Everyone is trying to cash-in on the presence of international workers. The economy seems to be based on it. So when the waiter showed me the next house he insisted on being there on each visit, even though Enver and the landlord were in negotiations. We were sure to advise him when we struck a deal so he could get his fee.

Enver is a relentless negotiator. He is savvy and demanding at thirty-one. He dislikes all landlords; he thinks they are all crooked. He asked for concessions I would never have asked for – new television, a dishwasher – never mind, a whole new kitchen including dishwasher and range, curtains, rearrange the furniture, buy another space heater, etc. Then he went back a day or so later and negotiated rent at less than we were initially talking. Enver is committed to us because he knows that we can help Kosovo. We finalized a deal on a house in an area that was previously government supplied housing for university professors from Serbia. Now it is government property being bought by landlords from … whomever. The legalities of much of the property transactions concerning property from the communist days are a little shaky but no one seems to care. The house has three bedrooms, a living room, dining room, kitchen, three baths a basement and garage. It is quite comfortable, although I am not sure Enver is happy yet; but I am moved in and finally settled.

I was in downtown Pristina one evening. I stopped on Mother Theresa Boulevard. There were an inordinate number of children on the streets. It was a pleasant enough evening, but no reason to draw that number of children, especially small children, to downtown Pristina, particularly after dark. Many had faces painted with mustaches and black eyes and red lips. They had masks. They all seemed to be extraordinarily happy. There were princesses and witches and superman. Some were draped in plastic garbage bags and looked like gypsies. Some were with adults. There were ghosts under sheets. It took me a few minutes to realize that it was October 31st. It was Halloween, even here in Kosovo.

Until next connection,
Dan

Assignment: Kosovo

I – Lingering memories; The call; The flight over; Meeting Pristina, A grateful people, Life in Kosovo, A trip to Peje, A young man’s nightmare

Dear Friends and Family,

I am still in touch with my friends in Bangladesh by e-mail. They keep me informed of the progress of the project and they advise of other staff members and of their families. Suman’s wife had a baby girl, their second. Shamim is getting married. The new expatriate consultant has just arrived, etc. I am still haunted by the exotic nature of that place and its customs which are variously quaint, interesting, archaic and destructive. Bangladesh combines the past and present, the East and West, the good and the bad, in an incongruous mix that is colorful but not always pretty. Perhaps because of this, it is tucked away in the underbelly of the sub continent, hidden, where it will continue to survive as an awkward collage of cultural artifacts deposited over the centuries by well meaning intruders and traditions grown from indigenous tribes. And it will forever haunt those who, like me, dare to stay beyond the cursory visit.

Back home since late July, I was already restless by late August, as my wife correctly, pointed out to me. And then the call came. I was requested to go to Kosovo “sooner rather than later.” The briefings in this business are scant at best. My readings on Kosovo were equally scant. But I recalled the short war in 1999. Granted, all of the events of those years have a tendency to run together – Bosnia Herzegovina, Croatia, Serbia, Montenegro, Macedonia and Kosovo. It was Yugoslavia when I was growing up. It was Tito and it was not an apparent problem. Who of us paid attention to the ethnic diversity and long violent history of hatred and war in that far away place? Yugoslavia ended when Tito died and it takes little to jar the memory of Kosovar Albanians being indiscriminately killed by the ruling minority Serbs. Slobidan Milosivic, the unlikely looking demagogue, responsible for the genocide and the ultimate destruction of what was left of the Yugoslav republic, is still on trial.

I received my ticket on Swiss air within a day. The flight would take me from Chicago to Zurich, then on to Pristina in Kosovo. The flight was not the twelve hour marathon from Chicago to Tokyo, immediately followed, after a plane change, by another six hours to Bangkok before rest, which I suffered with for the past year in Bangladesh, but even eight hours in an economy class seat is a not so subtle torture. Today’s flights are nearly all at capacity and hours tick by agonizingly slow. I had a meal, I watched a movie, I slept for an hour or maybe it was two, then there was a breakfast as we began crossing France. Zurich, Switzerland was not far. Nestled in the Alps and surrounded by neat, clean and orderly villages, Zurich airport presented itself as a warm offering for weary travelers. I laid over for several hours before my flight to Pristina.

The flight to Pristina was half-full and, at a little over two hours, quite tolerable by comparison. The selected route followed the length of Italy to the boot heel where the plane took a sharp left and headed east over the Adriatic Sea and Albania then on into Kosovo. The planes descent brought the red tile roofs of the rural homes and villages into view. Even form a height, the order that is Switzerland was not apparent, nor was primitiveness of rural Bangladesh apparent. I was, after all, in Europe, and that has expectations, usually fulfilled, of Western-defined civilization. Kosovo, though poor and downtrodden, would meet the expectations my upbringing taught me to anticipate.

Enver and Chuck, the current Chief of Party, met me at the airport. Enver drove. The young Kosovar Albanian, was soon to begin sharing the horrors so recent in his past, but for the balance of the afternoon, he drove me to my hotel in downtown Pristina. The drive was surprisingly short. As we entered the downtown area, I noticed a large mural of Bill Clinton on the side of a tall building. A message read “Welcome to Bill Clinton Boulevard.” I made mention of the picture. “He is our hero.” Enver said. There is little doubt, as I would soon learn, that Enver would not have lived much beyond the time NATO troops, led by the United States, entered Kosovo, had they in fact not come. I have had a few meals with Enver since I have been here and more than once he has said, “I can’t believe that I am sitting here eating at this restaurant. I never thought I would ever see this day.” Ten years of occupation, domination, torture, and ultimately, genocide, shattered dreams and reduced the hopes of the Albanian Kosovars to day to day survival. Again I am in a place where my ability to relate is near impossible.

Pristina is not a pretty city by any means, but there is little evidence of the destruction that occurred four years earlier. Pristina sits on a high plain surrounded by mountains. The views from Dragadon Hill, where the USAID (United States Agency for International Development) offices are located, are awesome. The views from Sunny Hill, where our office sits, are also picturesque. The Hotel Boci, where I stay, is at the bottom of both hills. The Boci is a small two story hotel with twenty or so rooms. Across the way, out my window, I can see the new Victory Hotel with the Statue of Liberty, lighted torch held high, on its rooftop. Kosovars love Americans. They credit us with their very survival. I am told that the U.S. Office (since this is technically a province of Serbia, there is no embassy) held a modest party for Independence Day on the fourth of July, but that in downtown Pristina, the Kosovars held a gala celebration with band concerts, American flags and more genuine celebration of our Independence Day than is done in the heart of America’s Midwest. The Independence Day advertising signs about town, with the Stars and Stripes as a background, were a gift from the owner of the advertising company.

I settled in and the next morning took a cab the three-quarters of a mile up Sunny Hill to our office. Since then I have walked everyday - up and down. Unlike my experience in Bangladesh, there are usable sidewalks, though in need of repair, throughout the city. I can now manage the walk in twenty minutes without feeling exhausted.

This is another project working in the courts. Here the funding is provided by USAID. Our contract is with USAID, who has a contract with UNMIK (United Nations Mission In Kosovo) who run this government. The nature of this business is such that I variously feel like a hired gun and a humanitarian. A suitcase and a plane ticket, a few documents and I am off. Upon arrival I attempt a crash education on the project and the place. The locations of development work are nearly by definition, places of need. Compassion quickly takes over and I hang the six-shooter on the peg, roll up my sleeves and commit to contributing all that my knowledge and experience will allow.

Kosovars are industrious people. As I said, there is little evidence of there ever having been a war. New construction is everywhere. In contrast to my expectation, Pristina is as safe a city as exists anywhere, and safer than most U.S. cities. Unemployment is somewhere between 50 and 80 percent, yet there are very few people begging and theft seems to be at a minimum. It could be because of the KFOR (NATO Kosovo Force) troops that patrol in four wheel drive vehicles and an occasional armored personnel carrier, or it may be that after ten years of hell, people are just thankful to be able to enjoy the beauty and benefits that sunrises, sunsets, days and nights bring. Enver marveling that he can sit and enjoy a meal in a restaurant.

Having left on Monday and arrived on Tuesday evening, my first day was Wednesday. Thursday was a local holiday and Monday was Labor Day in the U.S. We recognize all local and U.S. holidays. Things, therefore, were slow for my first week. Friday, Fran, the Court Administration Advisor from California, and Enver were going to Peje at the foot of the mountains at the border of Montenegro to look at court files in the three courts there. They invited me along and I accepted.

Enver drove the project car. Unlike my prior posting, this project has only two cars and no drivers. Staff drive as needed. Traffic here is not as congested and is more organized than in Bangladesh. We were soon in the countryside and as we got further form Pristina, we began to see evidence of the war; homes and buildings collapsed and crumbling. We passed a walled and fenced community – a Serb enclave. Albanian Kosovars are, and for many years have been, the majority population in Kosovo. Serbia has claimed the land as a part of Serbia. And everything gets more complicated from that point. I have much history to learn. Most recently were the terrible genocidal activities of the Serbian minority until 1999 when the U.S. and UN came to Kosovo. Serbian Kosovars remaining in Kosovo fence themselves in and the Albanians out.

We soon arrived in the foothill city of Peje. There is a fine brewery there, and since arriving, I have often enjoyed its product, which bears the name of the city. From this place the mountains shoot straight up. The city is nearly walled-in on one side by the steep tree covered rock peaks. The District Court and Municipal Court are in the same building. The jail stands between the courthouse and the mountain. The Minor Offenses Court is a block away. The Municipal Court’s files need much work, but the District Court has already sorted and organized the old files. The old files of the Minor Offenses Court were lost in the war.

Enver had promised us lunch at a place in the mountains. There is a pass through the mountains from Peje to Montenegro. Enver weaved through the town until we arrived at the checkpoint manned by the KFOR troops, Italian in this sector. All traffic was waved through and we proceeded down a two lane paved road and began winding through the sheer rock walls of the pass. Below us on the left was a rushing clear mountain river, no doubt the reason the brewery is located where it is. The river stayed with us when the pavement ran out and the dusty stone road continued. We stopped along the way to crane up at the towering summits and down at the gurgling clear water of the river. In the early stages of the trip, the cliff faces were riddled with caves. A couple of tunnels through rock, a switch-back or two and at least a half hour from the checkpoint, we arrived at a camp which also operated the restaurant.

We sat in an outdoor covered patio of rough-sawn timbers next to the river. The water below us rushed over and around rocks on its way to Peje. The sound provided a soothing backdrop for Enver as he told of the KLA (Kosovo Liberation Army), using the road we had just traveled, to bring munitions from Albania on foot in winter to help the cause during the hostilities of the late nineties. In a setting with beauty that only nature can provide, we ate fine food, breathed fresh air and listened to recent history of the place where we would be working.

Like most trips, the return always seems twice as long as the original journey. Enver passed the time telling stories of how life was before 1999. There was killing and raping and atrocities the likes of which we had difficulty imagining in modern times. Enver said that he had a gun to his head on three different occasions and was certain he would be shot, but wasn’t. He has a sister. He said that customs and traditions are such that if a woman is raped or molested, she will be shunned for life. Enver kept a propane tank in his house for certain domestic purposes and to burn his home down with all occupants, his sister, his mother and himself, if his sister were ever to be molested by the Serbs. He characterized his life in this way, “I knew I was going to be killed, I just didn’t know how.”

Night fell before we arrived back in Pristina. The only lights were those powered by the generators that hummed up and down the city streets. Electricity from the power plant beneath the plume of the plant’s towering smoke stack is erratic at best and always undependable. These people are undeterred. They have learned how to survive. I stopped at the hotel bar and had a Peje.

Until next connection,
Dan