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.
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