Up On The Rooftop

Day 6

The protest began at noon and I was to follow Blerte, a photographer and student up to the roof of the Sociology building to get a good shot with the camera. Now when I say roof, I mean roof. No guard rails, no safety precautions and I’m not the keenest on heights. So as we fried in the blazing afternoon sun, people started to gather. “Vetevendosje!” was being chanted from a distance and a substantial cluster began to form. Then from the other direction, I could hear the same “Vetevendosje!” growing louder and louder. Boiken had mentioned that he was expecting at least 3000 people, but would like to have 10000 or more. Now this crowd was well under 10000 people. Still looked to be a significant number, but nothing like in 2007, and it seemed this would be it for the protesters today. And as I had my head turned peering through the camera, I heard it again…“Vetevendosje!, Vetevendosje!, VETEVENDOSJE!” The largest group yet consisting of at least 2000 people were chanting in sequence as they appeared from behind library and everyone cheered. I have to admit, at this moment I felt shivers from my toes to my scalp. I almost swelled up with tears. It’s amazing the power collective action can have both politically and emotionally.

Once the march had begun, we needed to follow to get the footage. Now being at the top of a building, we were at somewhat of a disadvantage. As they moved, we lost them in the streets. So we ran. Down the stairs, out the door, and through the crowded streets to another building where another photographer was already waiting. Up the stairs and through the doors to another rooftop. Just in time, I pointed the camera and watched as the crowd came marching. And then they passed. Down the stairs, through the doors and through the streets to yet another, larger building. Up the stairs…so many stairs and onto the roof. This was the culmination of the crowd and where Albin would give his speech. Police surrounded the crowd, but remained calm. No barricades although they did destroy the first stage on an order from the government, but a second one was built quickly and seemed to be working.

Eventually, I strolled down to the crowd and participated in the chanting. Albin gave his speech about the government stealing from the people, and the fight for sovereignty, and everyone cheered and was happy to brave the blistering sun in an effort to progress.

Once finished, we returned to the office, downloaded footage and photos, uploaded them to Facebook and the website, and waited for Albin. He and Visar came in and everyone seemed blasé about it. I guess it was because it was their job. They weren’t doing this to get votes or to become famous. They were doing this to become a nation state, and they were doing it for the Albanians…all of them from the US to the neighboring countries of Macedonia and Montenegro.

Burnt and tired, Boiken and I went home to sleep. Awoke and back to Tingle where we met with Albin. Lots of talk about the protest, free Raki (because of Albin) and then back home to sleep. Luckily, I had all my shoes.  

There’s No Place Like Home

Day 5

First day on the job. We walked to work, which is in the heart of the city and conveniently located above a coffee shop. So we sat and had some caffeine. And sat. As I silently observed the dozens of people trickling into the office like ants to a piece of bread, I had little idea of where I fit in in all of this. I was introduced to everyone and instantly become somewhat of a topic of discussion. My large, once plugged ears have left a mark only the blind can ignore. Overall, everyone was extremely friendly.

Upstairs, I met with the media team who was preparing for tomorrows protest. While we sat and discussed where and what we were planning to capture, the television was switched on. Albin, the leader of the movement and my new friend, was being interviewed on national television. I had been completely oblivious to his status in the public and political arena. He was announcing the protest which would wrap around the university and continue along Mother Theresa Boulevard; the street in which 2 fatalities had occurred in another ‘peaceful’ protest for the sovereignty of an oppressed people. In 2007, Albin led the protest which attempted to walk through a police barricade. The police pushed back firing rubber bullets, tear gas, real bullets, and stones. The protesters ran as the police aimed for their heads killing 2 and injuring more than 100. So you can imagine my reluctance in running around with a camera at the next ‘peaceful’ protest. 

That evening, a concert was being held to help promote the protest and bring out people in an effort fight with the masses. Boiken and I purchased a few 22s (.5 Litres as they are called here), and walked up to the elevated stage to watch the show. I wondered around with him talking to architects, artists, members of the movement, residents, and the like trying to get an idea of what I was in for regarding not only the protest, but the complete understanding of the social and physical nature Kosova had become over the past 15 years. All I kept hearing was, “more parks”, “more places to gather and protest”, “less cars”, I mean I might as well be in states with these kind of responses. I then met Visar, a very tall, skinny man with a domineering tone of voice and stature. He is the co-founder of the movement and has a keen sense of what is happening in Kosova. Basically, the idea that had been so crisp and clear the night before over what seemed like gallons of Raki, had become muddled and uncertain in the sober hours of the day after. All of a sudden talking about the many neighborhoods carrying on different identities, the banks and large corporations building anything, anywhere without repercussion due to kickbacks, the chaos inflicted on the street level due to the masses flocking to the city center to find work and play, not to mention the constant fight to be recognized as a nation state and the fundamental need of a people to have an identity, everything seemed so complicated. 3 weeks to get it done?

More Raki at The Tingle Tangle and then home to bed. Upon returning home, however, I noticed a few things had changed. The drawers had all been opened, my clothes were all over the floor, and bags had been carelessly thrown about the house. We had been robbed. “Oh yeah, I should have told you. We get robbed about once a month,” said Boiken. Uh, ok. I luckily had left my laptop at the office because we had gone straight to the concert. Otherwise, all 3 of our laptops would have been stolen and I would have been completely at a loss. All my work, all my school, finances, everything. From then on, I decided I would carry my laptop everywhere I went in the city. Upon closer inspection of my things, I noticed my red Pumas missing. That’s it. A pair of 5 year old shoes. They left the $200 Diesel jeans, however…I began to wonder if this place was much different than home. Poverty and desperation fueling acts of theft and violence. But in the midst of this, just like in Detroit, there is so much hope. 

A Tingly Feeling of Clarity

Day 4

I’ve been neglecting my duties as Matthew, the blog keeping Michigander, and been swallowed up by Mateo leaving me days behind in my many experiences. So I’m going to be quite brief in describing the next few days…

Monday brought 100 degree weather and more excitement. Met with Gea and Arbri for a quick coffee (of course) then headed to the bus going back into Kosova. The bus was hot, crammed with people, children, and the elderly, and was completely chaotic. I made instant friends with the toddler in front of me by showing off my many contorted facial expressions. This made the fact that Boiken was literally on top of me for the 4 hour ride somewhat bearable…somewhat. 

There seems to be a common theme among buses (at least the two I’ve ridden so far) to conserve gas by shutting off the air.  This led to a massive outcry by the people, namely Boiken. He stood up after about 15 minutes of sweat and complaining and said “adsjgojirnhksldjfsdfs!!” (Albanian) or “Turn the f***ing air on!”

We learned along the way that the family of the toddler had had their car stolen while on the beach in Durres (a Beach Dweller), hence the bus ride back to Kosova. Apparently, theft is quite common among both the poverty stricken and the politicians…

Once inside Kosova after a pretty relaxed ride through customs and border control, we stopped at a small place to eat inside of a deteriorating building. When I say deteriorating, remember I live in Detroit. The structure was barely holding up the ceiling tiles, let alone accommodating for dead and live loads exerted on the building. It was here, however, I learned of the Kosovar hamburger. A patty made of some non-descript animal and a side of bread. Despite my aversion to such a product, I put on my Mateo face, now covered in whiskers, and dove in. Delicious. It tasted somewhere in between pork and beef with many spices accenting the flavor…the best meal I’ve had so far.

After we strolled into Prishtina, I got a taste of where I’d be spending most of my evenings; The Tingle Tangle. This hole-in-the-wall bar is exactly what you’d expect to see in Detroit. Hipsters, artists, musicians all find solace in the hand painted walls, hip American music, and wonderful, wonderful Raki. Djona, my new boss and house mate, came to meet us and we began devising a plan for me. As I am still known as the ‘film maker’ I had to assert my newly found love of architecture and urban design. We argued about the concept of the circle and slowly moved our way to Joni, another hipster bar. More Raki, and a few beers later, everything seemed so clear. There would be a video and it would contain an exploration of the social (political) and physical (urban design) fabric that had become Prishtina after the fall of communism genocide of ’99. So clear…