In Macedonia, The Scene Is Surreal
By Gjeraqhina Tuhina*
April 6, 1999
SKOPJE, Macedonia -- When I arrived from Kosovo, I expected to find
the Macedonia I have always known. Instead, I saw Pristina.
It's as if the capital of Kosovo has been transported to Macedonia.
Everywhere I go, I see friends from home. Some I hadn't seen in a week;
others I hadn't seen in a long time. The streets may be in Skopje but you
feel as if you're walking in the middle of Pristina.
At first, it looked wonderful. People appeared to even be having fun.
The cafes are full. And the Albanians in Macedonia are so welcoming. The
Macedonians themselves talk about "changing the demographics"
of the country and are in a bad mood. You can feel the tension. But the
Albanians offer the Kosovars so much hospitality it practically hurts.
It's a chance for us to find out who's still alive. We don't speak
about the dead yet, since nothing can be confirmed. But now that we can
see each other again, at least we can learn who managed to survive.
For me, the best part was seeing a colleague who had been reported
killed in Kosovo.
I first saw Baton Hazhui, the editor of Koha Ditore in Kosovo, again
when I recognized his car in line in Yugoslavia to cross the border. I
couldn't believe it was actually him. He was wearing a hat and had shaved
his beard. Since he was officially dead, he was terrified and wanted to
keep his identify hidden. There were rumors about Serbian agents and no
one felt safe until they got through the border. I wanted to rush up and
greet him. But the look in his eyes warned me away. "You didn't see
me," they said.
It wasn't until the next day in Macedonia that we were able to exchange
greetings.
But just below the carnival-like atmosphere here are the tears. It
amazes me sometimes, especially to see the men, crying and crying for all
they've been through.
Many of us are still in shock. We're too proud to admit that we are
refugees. People are using new expressions, like "deportees".
Anything to avoid admitting what has really happened.
In the cafes, people talk seriously about how they will be back in
their homes within two weeks. They believe that NATO will win the war and
then they'll be able to go back home to Kosovo. They are even getting impatient.
I fear their hope may be just a dream. They want these two weeks to
be something temporary. They want to pretend that the past few weeks didn't
happen and that it can all be reversed. Even though many are dead. Even
though we are, in fact, here in Macedonia.
Just spending a half hour on the border is enough to bring you back
to reality. You see the huge number of refugees trapped there, waiting
in the cold, and you feel sick. And when you actually sit with people in
the cafes in Macedonia and talk to them, the stories are all the same:
the policemen, the expulsions, the trains.
Some have tried to call home. It's always the same. Someone speaking
in Serbian answers the phone. You ask, "Is this the house of family
so-and-so." The reply is clear: "I don't know whose it was before,
but it's mine now."
So despite the atmosphere in the streets, we know that something is
wrong, that something doesn't fit. We know what it is. But we don't want
to think about it.
*Gjeraqina Tuhina is correspondent for the London-based Institute for War & Peace Reporting. She
has reported anonymously on the situation in Kosovo from within Pristina
from the first night of the NATO air strikes.
Click
here for more analyses of the Balkan Conflicts from the Global Beat
© 1999 Global Beat Syndicate. All Rights Reserved. The Global
Beat Syndicate, a service of New York University's Center for War, Peace,
and the News Media, provides editors with commentary and perspective articles
on critical global issues from contributors around the world. For more
information, check out http://www.nyu.edu/globalbeat/syndicate/.
Home |
About
| Archives
| Advisors
| Staff
