XIX September 11; Another Ramadan; Leaving the Mission
Dear Friends and Family,
I
A long time has passed without a chapter. I will go back to the fall. September in Pristina brings a change in seasons, much like the northern US, the days start becoming noticeably shorter and the air has that feeling of impending chill to come. And in Pristina Kosovo, September brings the billboards all around the city memorializing the 9-11 terrorist attack on the US. The billboards have a nighttime view of the New York skyline with two burning candles in the spot where the World Trade Center once stood. In this Muslim country the population shares all the joy and all the sadness that their liberators experience. They are grateful for all that we did for them in 1999.
We were in the Supreme Court building on September 11. One of the translators there, a middle aged Albanian Kosovar of short slight build and an obvious and deliberate American bend to his speech, followed us down the hallway and began to talk to us about the grim anniversary. “You have friends here,” he said. “I mean it man. We’ll never forget what you did for us. Not just in 1999, but in 1919. You were the only ones who ever helped us. We won’t forget man.” In an increasingly anti-American world his words were comforting.
II
September 2006 brought an early Ramadan, the Muslim period of fasting, prayer and reflection. In Kosovo it is, like many religious holidays in the US, observed in earnest mostly by the older citizens. Fasting from dawn to dusk and observing the daily prayers five times per day are more than the modern young Kosovar is willing to undertake. Universally, it seems, people tend to seek out spiritual guidance as the end comes more clearly into view.
My friends in Bangladesh, however, are far more dutiful in their adherence to religious canons. Whether it is a product of poverty or simply the result of strict teaching, the Bengalis observe Ramadan with passion and sincerity. Since my time there I have at least annually communicated with my Bengali friends. We exchange Ramadan greetings every year and it offers an opportunity to catch up. This year was no exception. Urmi, the Major, Emdad, Professor Mynuddin and Justice Mustafa Kamal, former Chief Justice of Bangladesh. They are experiencing significant political turmoil in that country and all my friends are understandably concerned. In a way it is grounding. We have our own political issues we grapple with, but they pale in comparison to theirs.
III
In this business change is expected and often comes on short notice. It is a hazard of the profession. We arrive in a country, make contacts and friends, build relationships, hopefully make improvements, and then we leave. The leaving is inevitable and the only thing we can count on for certain. In mid-September I learned that I would leave Kosovo by the end of that month. Movers were contacted, arrangements made for cats and dogs that would not be coming with me since I would not be arriving in the US for several months. Sharon was still in the US selling our Michigan home. I took stock of my stay.
It had been just over three years since we arrived. I had come to consider Pristina as home. We had friends and neighbors, albeit communication sometimes being difficult. We had established an independent judiciary in accordance with the desires of the Kosovars. We created and staffed the Kosovo Judicial Council that would govern the courts of Kosovo. We helped select and recruit the members. We set up the Ministry of Justice. We helped courts work more efficiently; we identified and empowered the judges and administrators who would lead the new judiciary into the future. The result looked so logical but the road there was strewn with bumps and potholes, like all roads in Kosovo. Among my Kosovar friends were people like Judge Rexhep Haxhimusa, President of the Supreme Court and Halit Muharremi, former council to the late President of Kosovo, Ibriham Rugova, and Judge Jellena Krivokopic, the Serbian judge from Mitrovice. Judge Jellena is the Vice President of the Kosovo Judicial Council. We worked to maneuver her to get that important position. We had some difficult times in the Assembly because of her Serbian background. In the end she was confirmed as Vice President of the Kosovo Judicial Council. At one time she said to me; “I sat and looked across the table at you and thought: I am here because of that man.” An overstatement to be sure, but for whatever part I played I was glad that she appreciated the honor and importance of being in that position.
One of the final events to occur prior to my departure was the installation of Halit as Director of the Kosovo Judicial Council, something that I had very subtly been advocating for some time. Halit and his son Dritan had become friends. They are both very competent; Dritan now a judge and his father Halit both have the best interests of Kosovo foremost in their minds as they go forward. I suppose the most concise summation of our impact came in a conversation I had with Dritan as we walked to his office after a lunch I had with he and his father. Dritan said; “You know that judges say that it is not the Judicial Council that decides things here. They say that if you want anything you go to Dan Deja. I know that isn’t the case though.” Dritan of course was correct, that was not the case, but the positive part of the perception is a testament to our impact and involvement in molding the new judiciary in Kosovo. There are many hard working, honest and intelligent judges and administrators in Kosovo. If we did anything it was to identify some of them, support them, and when we could, move them to positions of influence. I have no regrets. I have done enough. I am satisfied. The rest is for others.
The judges and administrators are all personalities. Most are like cream and would have risen to the top eventually without our nudging. There are others from my stay that I will miss more than those who are left with the power. There are the waiters at the restaurants who we came to know well. Gazi from the Monaco invited us to his home where we met his mother, wife and his children. With his pregnant wife and young child he fled Kosovo to Macedonia when the Serbs came in 1999. He told of his mother’s ordeal escaping from the Serbs into the mountains where she took ill and today gets weekly dialysis for her resulting kidney problems. He told us how he rebuilt his home after the Serbs destroyed it, burning one floor. He showed us his garden tractor that was saved because his late father removed a wheel from it before they fled. Gazi told us all this with his ever-present smile, not a note of hatred in his voice or demeanor. I will miss Gazi. He left his job as a waiter to take a job with considerably less pay. He is now a school teacher. His students could not find a more dedicated or caring teacher anywhere in the world.
My other waiter friend from the Baci found our house for us and has always greeted me with a hug and firm handshake. So did all the other waiters at the hotel. Then there was Mohamed, the assistant manager of the Victory Hotel – the one with the statue of Liberty on its roof – always warmly greeted me and offered a coffee. I will miss them all.
Then there is our staff. We had the fortune of surrounding ourselves with some very fine and dedicated people. Brikena, who I took on as a volunteer and later hired as a secretary translator moved onto the US Office, a permanent job, and now has recently had a baby in the Netherlands where her boyfriend is from. She sent pictures and a long narration of the events. Ardita, one of our attorneys, Jeta, our secretary translator and Rame, our driver took me to lunch to say goodbye. It was a difficult lunch. I think we all were trying to act as normal but knew this would be our last lunch together. At the end, Jeta gave me a hug and said, “I will miss you, you were a gift to us.” I was speechless, tears welled my in my eyes. Although I have been in e-mail contact with her that is the last time I saw Jeta.
But I saw Rame again before I left. Rame was originally a guard at our office. He worked for Black Panther Security Company who provided our office security at the time. I was so struck by his honesty and diligence that I offered him a job. That gesture was something that Rame never forgot. It was something he never imagined could have ever happened to him. For the last five nights before I left Rame took me for a coffee or a beer. He helped me pack one Saturday. When he found he had to drive others to Prizren on the day I left and could not drive me to the airport, he was extremely disappointed. We went to dinner the night before. Rame drove his car. As the night wore on and it was after midnight, I finally insisted that Rame take me home. He seemed to not want the evening to end as though it might end some important stage in his life.
On Friday the 29th of September, I delivered the car to the shippers and packed my suitcases for the flight out. Gazmend, our office manager, came to take me to the airport. We had come to know Gaz and his family quite well. His wife Lily and Sharon had become friends. We had been on vacation with them several times, including at Lily’s mother’s cottage in Montenegro at the beach. We knew their children Roni and Ardi, two very nice young men who will have a great future in Kosovo or their adopted country England.
Gaz took me to the airport and helped me check in. I would be flying to Vienna and staying overnight before going on to Paris. The Austrian flight through Vienna is the usually way out of Kosovo for Americans. A bit of a problem with over weight luggage and I finally checked in. Gaz and I shook hands and embraced in the tradition of the region. He left me at the line for passport control. After checking through passport control I had a few minutes to wait to board. Henk from The Netherlands was there on his way out of Kosovo as well. Henk and I had worked together over the years trying to improve the collection of the KEK (Kosovo Electric Company) bills. We drank a beer and discussed our time in Kosovo, the situation as we left it and the prospects for the future. We played our part for better, worse or no effect at all.
The time came for us to walk one last time across the tarmac and up the stairs to the plane. I boarded found my seat and looked out the window at Pristina’s airport terminal one last time. We taxied down the runway gaining speed until the wheels lifted off and the plane rose into the sky separating me from my adopted home. As I looked down on the red-tiled roofs I thought of how they looked that first day I arrived. They had become personal over the years. I recognized buildings and towns and roads. As we continued to rise the mountains blended with all of the other mountains in the Balkan region and soon we were above a cover of clouds and Kosovo was gone. I laid back and thought of how I might come back and how Gaz and Lily and Sharon and I would go to the beach in Montenegro or Greece. I though of the trip that Rame and Gaz and I were to have taken to Greece and never quite got around to doing it. I though of when I might return to fulfill that promise knowing all the while that I never would. I will likely never return to Kosovo. That is the nature of things; of life; of this business. I laid back and closed my eyes. My thoughts soon turned to Paris and friends there and of South America and the months ahead before I would return home to the US. But that is for an epilogue.
Until the Next Connection,
Dan
