THE WAR THAT MADE ‘ME OR NOT’ JUST ANOTHER FACE IN THE CROWD

An unusual advert published in a local newspaper in the midst of summer 1999 calling for potential volunteers and donations in view of the Kosovo war, landed me in a post-war hotspot. I was not shy to voluntary work since I had been frequently dragged along to various hands-on activities by my parents; both of whom are very active in different social fields mainly related to disability and addictions. After having surpassed the screening process, within a few days from the cease fire I flew in to Tirana, Albania wherein the Maltese Dominican community in Durres helped coordinate the journey to Pristina, capital of Kosovo. Landing in Albania was already an extraordinary experience in itself; for instance, the absence of monitors indicating the location of the conveyor belt to collect luggage. Luggage were just piled up outside the exit of the airport! Once in the city, Durres, no strolls were allowed as I was warned that it is dangerous for a woman to roam about. Also, opening the shutters that heavily covered the bedroom windows was prohibited as this would attract snipers. Just one evening in Albania which definitely served as an appetiser of what was yet to come.

A daring 10-hour trip through the picturesque and winding mountains in a van which just survived as we made it through the Albania-kosovo border before its steering mechanism decided to call it a day. In the city area, we were stopped at various points by military personnel wherein payments were expected for us to be allowed to proceed. The bridges to get to Kosova, as known by ethnic Albanians, did pose a challenge as some were severely damaged or even totally ruined as a result of NATO bombings. A night spent in a hotel in the capital which felt more akin to a military base rather than the “usual lodging”. However, the buildings in this area were mostly intact. Our mission was to head towards the town of Peja, known as Pec by most of us, one of the badly hit towns located just a 2-hour drive away from Pristina. Being brought up in a country wherein the sound and smell of fireworks is the rule of the day particularly during summer months and gifted by the experience of smelling the traditional “hobza” (loaf) just out of the oven, an overpowering and distinguishing smell struck. The smell of burning buildings and of the stench of decaying bodies accompanied us for weeks until, thankfully, the torrential rain cleared the air. We learnt that entire families were burned alive in their homes after being blocked from fleeing into “safer” places.

Apart from attending meetings held by organisations such as the UNHCR, our work related to running a survey of the households that congregated in the area so as to set the groundwork for other groups of voluntary workers that were expected to come into action after us. The first few weeks were charactised by frequent and at times heavy gunfire especially during the night so we had to maintain lights-out to avoid being targeted and crawl rather than walk around the house. Strolling on solid ground rather than stepping into the attractive fields was standard so as to avoid being blown off by implanted mines and IEDS whilst completing a sociodemographic overview of the territory. One major stumbling block was communicating with locals, where relying on the services of an interpreter was the only available option, hoping that the message conveyed was loyal to what was meant to be. A number of overwhelming experiences couldn’t go unnoticed such as the seeds of hatred that were sown for decades culminating into the crisis as we know it. Feelings of hate intertwined with evident fear were observed through narratives shared by locals. Also, hundreds of people walked into our office daily desperately asking for jobs which we could not offer as it was beyond our capacity.

One particular overwhelming encounter relates to when a mother of a new-born desperately begged me to allow for the escape of her son/daughter. Other bewildering experiences include witnessing car accidents where no wardens turn up or no forms are compiled as no insurance policy holds in the circumstances. Yet, in such times of crises, when social cohesion is threatened and/or disrupted, a number of phenomena surface. These include people opting to rent out their houses at relatively hefty sums to organisations and volunteers, thus being constrained to live with extended family members. Others breaking into vacated households, loading appliances and furniture into trucks visible to anyone passing by, which became the new norm. Interestingly, no purchased goods came with a valid 2-year warranty but, for instance, if one were selling a sofa the vendor would just jump into it as proof that it is free from mines. Also, ironically, one could see the setting up of stalls where most goods sold would be the items donated by organisations in response to the crisis such as tarpaulins. Other experiences include listening to stories of professionals, including gynaecologists and economists, painstakingly narrating that they were denied the opportunity to practice because of their ethnic origins whilst highlighting that they were forced to home school their own children as they were marginalised for a decade. In a nutshell, this might seem quite surreal particularly to those whose experience of war boils down to what they have learnt through film watching. A 5-week roller coaster of emotions and experiences which definitely served as an eye-opener and changed me. We flew back through Macedonia and, at the border, we came across the lived experiences of people who struggle to flee to a better place queuing up for hours, days and nights hoping to cross the border.

My plan was to return to Albania the following summers to teach children how to read and write in English however motherhood changed my life considerably so I engaged in endeavours within the Maltese shores. Working in various local schools, I came across a series of hardships young people and their families face; such as not being able to afford buying the school uniform, missing on lunch, as well as health and mental issues. Situations which kept me busy organising activities such as lunch clubs, workshops and various fundraising campaigns aimed at easing people’s burden. Despite moving into academia, I’m still very active in the field through policy advising and implementation particularly in areas related to young people hailing from socially disadvantaged backgrounds. This is exacerbated through the current pandemic that is being described as a war against an enemy invisible to the naked eye. Despite the fact that a number of services are in place, as in any war and post-war era, a significant number of people suffer whilst sitting in silence. A number of unknowns do prevail but undoubtedly more research and hands-on field-work is needed post Covid so as to address the potential harm done to the social fabric.