Part One
Afide Topalli Kuka: I am Afide Topalli Kuka. I was born on 21.9.1959 in Greme, a village in the Municipality of Ferizaj. I finished elementary school in my hometown, high school in Ferizaj, and university at the Faculty of Law in Pristina. I come from a village family, a generous, patriotic family, and I am always inspired, I have always been inspired by my family. The various discussions… I was raised in the men’s oda, because back then villages had oda. There weren’t different cafés to bring guests over, just oda.
Thanks to my brothers, two older brothers, they had friends, their circle was broad, and they had [friends] in Pristina, Gjilan, Ferizaj, all over, and they discussed the systematic oppression of Albanians in former Yugoslavia. My idea, that I should do something, was born from those discussions that I witnessed, I heard. So, besides being brought up in that spirit by my family, I was also educated by my elementary school teachers about the socio-economic condition, the state of the nation, and the Albanian people’s history; we had a foundation.
I can’t forget to mention the head teacher of my class, he taught us Albanian language from the fifth to the eighth grade. He was an amazing teacher, he would teach us how to love our homeland, how to love, to love our flag, to love our homeland, how to hate the oppressor. My brother was also a teacher, he was a history teacher, Habit Topalli. He always taught us the history of the Albanian people, not the history of the Serbian people. I don’t know what the teaching plan programs were back then, but the program should’ve been recorded in the grades register, but [even] the weakest student knew the history of the Albanian people.
All those generations that emerged, they are old now, they all know the history of the Albanian people, because there was no chance to pass without knowing the history of the Albanian people. There were great problems also in education because of the rreth, the mentality. It wasn’t easy for girls from the village to go to high school. But, thanks to my brothers… I remember they didn’t enroll me on the first registration deadline. My father had his own beliefs, because there was a, a bad propaganda that the school, once you go to school you become a shkinë. I am saying it literally as they did.
Anita Susuri: What did it mean?
Afide Topalli Kuka: Well, it meant that once you go to school, you will marry a Serb, you will marry… What do I know? And then my brother, my second brother said, “If you don’t allow Afide to go to school, I will stop my education and I will flee this place.” And my older brother enrolled me. He was very quiet, I don’t know. He got everything done, but he was quiet. And one day before starting school, he brought me books, my uniform, so I started high school. And after me, every girl in my village went to school, I mean, in my rreth, because the village was big. Maybe in the other neighborhood, there were girls who went to school before me, but in my rreth, I was the only one.
However, even in high school we also had good professors, but we had others as well. So, UDB worked, especially on the educational staff, to try and get them on their side. So, we always had to be careful. Since the 1970s, in ‘79 I was already working with political literature but not in an organized manner. Some, my first connections were to Enver Topalli, he is a martyr. We were cousins and friends from the first grade and we were together during our studies too.
But, that’s how it was because of the conspiracy, to not know where that literature was taken from, where those newspapers were taken from, for example, Liria, Kushtrimi. After ‘81, for example, the events, the world press, the events in Kosovo. So, there were political texts upon political texts. Later, in 1981, the demonstrations broke out which were given a very good name , “The Red Spring,” because the ground was red with blood. In… during the demonstrations from March 26 to April 2 [1981], I played an active part in Pristina.
So, on March 26 I was arrested for the first time in the student dorms. Back then I used to travel, but I played an active part. I stayed with friends back then so I could be a participant. It was a great chaos, people were tortured on March 26. Everyone in the dorms got inside our rooms and when the police came in to take us out of the rooms, they didn’t open the door but they broke it down with gun barrels, what were they, I don’t know, a type of gun. They broke them down. When… we were seven-eight people, the rooms were full, we didn’t have space and we couldn’t get through to any room. I am sorry, we went to the bathroom, because there was even a lot of tear gas.
They grabbed us all by the arm and hit us with batons and when we got out in front of the dorm, there were policemen on this side and that side {shows with hands on both sides}. Something crossed my mind. In the Middle Ages, the punishment was to hit you on both sides with 300 sticks. I remember [they hit] all of us, not just me but all of us. The policeman who grabbed me and hit me, I don’t know, for the second time, made me dizzy. Another policeman was Albanian, I don’t know, I can’t say whether he was good or bad, but he only said, “Idiots, don’t hit them.” And they took us inside a vehicle, they placed us like sardines, there was no room. I don’t know how many people were there, on top of each other, we could barely breathe until we arrived at the police station.
When they took us to the police station they separated us, boys and girls separately. And then, I saw a friend from my studies there. I had lost my coat, I don’t know. My shirt had paint all over. She said, “Oh, well you, now they won’t release you moj.” She took it off, she was wearing a knitted vest, she took it off and gave it to me. She said, “So, they won’t see it.” When it was time to interrogate me, about 1:00 AM they asked, “Where are you from?” “From Gjilan.” I didn’t tell them I’m from Ferizaj and I don’t remember the name I gave them. And I was released there. When they released me, I didn’t know where to go…
Anita Susuri: The paint you’re mentioning, how did you get it on you?
Afide Topalli Kuka: The paint, the paint came from the slogans they wrote, my colleagues wrote them, and I got close to help them with something. Not me, I wasn’t organized like that, because I don’t like to say I did something I didn’t do. But I had a great will to help with everything. For me it was, for me it was only if you were pro or against that system and I must’ve caught a slogan and the paint was maybe wet, what do I know? I can’t even explain it myself. [After my release] I started going straight to the apartment. The building was somewhere near the Llap Mosque, I was going the opposite way towards the hospital. And I turned back, I read, Bankos, where it used to be. I had passed through that street hundreds of times. I sat on the stairs, and I didn’t know where I was headed, where I was. Because they threw a lot of tear gas. It seemed like a curtain was lifted and I read it, I knew where I was. Some boys came and said, “Do you need help?” “No, no,” I said, “because I have recovered now,” and it ended with that.
However, we started again, because… the demonstrations were in Ferizaj… I was in Pristina, and my brothers were participants. My second brother, Sabit, Sabit Topalli, was sentenced to two months. They released him after two months and they filed an indictment. UDB formed [surveillance] groups whenever they needed, within a day, one night, and they had formed a group. He didn’t accept to surrender to the police, he remained underground for about three months. Our house was raided so many times, all those tortures were heavy on my parents. Because they would come, for example, the policeman would say, “If we catch your son, we will beat him up really badly.” That is heavy for parents. However, that passed too.
My brother worked, the other one was suspended from his job. I remember when the Committee went to the school to denounce them, to denounce the demonstrations, and he didn’t raise a finger. They repeated the same thing three times, and he still didn’t raise a finger. They asked, “What about you?” He said, “Bring me a pencil,” he said, “I won’t denounce the boys of Kosovo, I won’t denounce them.” And from there, because they… and he justified the demonstrations, “It’s right to have the status just like the other republics of former Yugoslavia,” and I don’t know what else. So, they fired him from his job. And then there came the informative talks. My sister was also fired from her job. So, for some time we collapsed financially.
Anita Susuri: How many children were in your family?
Afide Topalli Kuka: We? Four sisters and two brothers, yes.
Anita Susuri: I want to go back to your family a bit, the things you told me earlier about the discussions in the oda because you’re saying that it started from there…
Afide Topalli Kuka: Yes, from there.
Anita Susuri: Do you remember, for example, what happened in your hometown during the Second World War? After the war it was Rankoivć’s era. Did people talk about what they experienced?
Afide Topalli Kuka: Yes. My paternal uncle at the time came here with my father, my father… It was the weapon collection campaign in ‘56. My father wasn’t home, my uncle was 17 or 18 years old, and they took him as a young man. He was barefoot and they walked him eight kilometers from the village in the snow and tortured him. They took him to Ferizaj. With all that pressure and torture, nobody can think positively about a system like that. We never expected anything good from that system. We never got anything good, only bad things. We never did.
Actually, even my uncle greatly contributed to our education, because maybe I’m going a bit ahead, but I’ll connect it since I am talking about my uncle. When I was arrested in 1984, besides the raids, the demolitions and all that, he came to the police car there because there were two-three cars or what do I know? How many? He [my uncle] knocked on the window, and asked, “What’s up buddy?” “No,” he said, “my business isn’t with you, I want to talk to the girl.” He said, “Young girl,” he said, “don’t talk! It’s better to come back dead with dignity, than alive without it.” Then during all the investigations, “She doesn’t dare to speak, she doesn’t dare to because the old man tightened the leash.” Like that.
Anita Susuri: Was your brother in any organization?
Afide Topalli Kuka: Yes, he was, but fortunately he was never discovered. Now I will slowly tell you about the matter of my investigation and my brother. I will explain them to you in order. I… after, from ‘81 I regularly worked on distributing the underground press, Titistët [Alb.: Titoists], Yje të pashume [Alb.: Undying Stars], the international press around the events in Kosovo. Kushtrimi, Liria [Alb.: Freedom], Zëri i Kosovës [Alb.: Kosovo’s Voice].
Anita Susuri: How did those fall into your hands?
Afide Topalli Kuka: They first fell into my hands from my cousins Berat Topalli and Enver Topalli, and then when my brother began his activity in ‘81, through my brother, but I also distributed [the press]. On February 9, 1984, I was arrested, I was caught somewhere, what do I know? We were sentenced to three years for that. It was me, Minire Ramadani from the village of Talinoc and Sejdi Sejdiu from the Municipality of Lipjan, the Karaqicë village, if I remember correctly. In the trial, I was sentenced to three years. I served part of it in the Karaqicë prison, the pre-trial investigation process I served in Mitrovica, another part in Lipjan and a part in the Požarevac prison.
In the investigative prison, the guards didn’t treat us right. I remember when they arrested us in the early hours of the morning and then the whole day we were in the offices of the State Security, interrogating us. When they brought me back it was sometime late, but we didn’t have a watch, I don’t know the time, and it was a basement of the Mitrovica prison. I said to her, the guard was Serbian, “Excuse me, the toilets?”, and then going down to the basement, she pushed me down the stairs. Her name was Rozika. They called her Rozika, but I don’t know…
Anita Susuri: Did she speak Albanian?
Afide Topalli Kuka: No, no, Serbian, Serbian.
Anita Susuri: Ah, a Serb.
Afide Topalli Kuka: Yes, I spoke Albanian and she spoke Serbian. Because I never spoke to them in Serbian, ever. They kept us there for one night and the holding cell was the size of this room {refers to the interview space}, this was the size, I can’t explain it, it was this size. Then there was a prisoner, because usually there was… it was to boost someone’s morale with songs, with poetry, and he sang a song, Në Dardani bjen ni tupan [Alb.: A drum plays in Dardania]. And that voice felt like it came from the ground. Where is this voice coming from? Where is it coming from? The next day they placed me in the women’s pavilion, in cell number 3. And after the investigations, because the investigations ended, we were sentenced. We came to Lipjan.
We had a strike there in Lipjan and the strike was the reason they transferred us. But first… because sometimes I may mix things up. Earlier, in the month of May in ‘85, there was a tailoring workshop, they made us sew clothes for the prisoners, what do I know? You had to work, to sew. The workshop leader was Mujedin Mulliqi. He said… he brought me the flag of Serbia to iron, he said, “Iron it!” I said, “I can’t.” “Iron it!”, “I can’t.” “Touch it!”, “I won’t touch it.” “Touch it, okay, just touch it,” “I won’t touch it.” And then the director and everyone was notified, and they punished me with about 15 days in the cell. The prison was a cell on its own, but anyway, I meant solitary confinement which was at the youth detention center. Because in Lipjan there was no women’s prison, but they sent me to the youth prison.
Then they came, I don’t know, it was time to get a visit after two-three days, my family came. They didn’t tell them where I was at all, “We don’t know where she is.” My brother went through State Security, through SUP to ask where I was. But, after some time my friend, my cellmate, Nazife Xhemjli, received a visit and told them to let my family know. She said, “Go to Afide’s family and tell them what the deal is, so they don’t worry because she’s here and they can come visit at this time, at this date.” Then my family came at 8:00 AM, but until it was 1:00 PM, or who knows what the time was, they weren’t allowed to visit because I had to do it at an exact hour, exact minute.
When I got out of solitary confinement, it was two weeks, 15 days without showering, without brushing my hair, without changing clothes. I told my friends, “Come, give me clothes to change into,” I had Akile Dedinca in my cell and one of them was brushing my hair, one of them was blowing on my hands to warm me up a bit so my family wouldn’t see me like that. I went to the visitation. Fortunately, because my mother had health issues, she only visited me twice, fortunately she made it. “Are you well?” “I’m well,” I said. “But you are so pale bre, daughter, very cold.” I said, “No, I’m well,” I said, “but it’s Sunday, we have the right to nap, and I was asleep”. She said, “You are not well, but God bless, hopefully you’re alive.” I said, “I am alive, don’t worry.” After this case, the same leader again, he was problematic, he behaved in a way to make our lives more difficult than they already were…
Anita Susuri: He wanted to provoke you?
Afide Topalli Kuka: Yes. And then they instigated a friend, Ajshe Gjonbalaj, she had a twelve-year sentence, related to work: she works, she doesn’t work. They took that friend, Ajshe, and transferred her. They didn’t tell us, we wanted to know her location, “Where did you take her?” And we went on strike, all the political prisoners, no distinction. I actually remember that we had, there was a woman older than us, Rexhie Mala, and we told her, “Auntie, auntie, you wouldn’t go on strike if you listened to us”. She said, “Are you insulting me?” She said, she said, “No,” she said, “that won’t happen,” and all of us went on strike.
Anita Susuri: A hunger strike?
Afide Topalli Kuka: A hunger strike. Now here’s something, because they took from us all the food we had there. There was Teuta Hadri, a physician, Teuta Bekteshi, a physician as well. And they said, I am not sure which one of them, “Do you girls know what we should do? We take some coffee, and we put it behind the radiators in the bathroom, because when the physicians come, we will eat a spoonful of coffee and it will increase our blood pressure, so we don’t fall down”. And we also did that for three days in a row. They would say, “They are eating, where are they getting food?” But not even 20 minutes would pass and we would lie down, all of us. Sometimes we’d get energy, we would fix up some personal things and then we’d lie down.
And then they, five of us, at the cell again, they sent us to solitary confinement, Kadrie Gashi, Nazife, Trëndelina, and me. I hope I’m not forgetting somebody, and for one week we stayed there. From there they transferred us to the Mitrovica Prison, Mitrovica Prison as far as I know, for a week if I’m not mistaken, because it’s been a long time. When we went, they took me to the cell where Ajshe was, I found Ajshe there and after a week they transferred us to the Požarevac Prison.
Anita Susuri: You were on strike for a week?
Afide Topalli Kuka: No, three days. On the fourth day, we broke the strike because that was our agreement. We broke the strike on the fourth day, as far as I can remember, as far as I can remember. When they took us to Požarevac, we were all handcuffed, tied for the whole day. We left sometime in the morning, Požarevac isn’t far from Mitrovica, we got there in the evening. We didn’t know where they were taking us. Somebody said, “They are perhaps sending us to Croatia?” someone else, “Perhaps to Slovenia?”, “Where are they taking us?” Sometime in the evening in Požarevac, they didn’t even tell us where we were. They took us to some quarantine and the Serbian prisoners spread the rumor, we were wearing trainers, “Some women came from the sports field, some terrorists came.”
The next day in order to know and properly verify that we were in Požarevac, Nazife Xhemajli said, “You know what? You stay here”. Because there were Serbs in that quarantine too, “You stay here, distract them with chatting, I’ll pretend I’m making the beds and”, she said, “I’ll see”, she said, “if Qesfere Mala is here.” When Qefsere finished her tasks she came out with këngë e lehtë, singing a këngë e lehtë. [Nazife] heard her and came back and said, “We are in Požarevac,” she said, “because I heard Qefsere.” We had enough turmoil and for me it was three-four months, not a lot because I was at the end of my sentence.
When they released me, they released me a day earlier. My family didn’t know, my family was expecting me the next day. They [the police] told me, “You will be released from prison tomorrow and you will have to take the train.” I went back and told my friends, I told them this and that. Nazife had the most experience in these matters, because her brothers had been imprisoned before and she got to visit them and deal with blackmail and all that. She said, “If you asked me, Afide,” she said, “don’t take the train.” She said, “You’re better off taking the bus,” she said, “and follow public roads.” “Alright.” And that’s what I decided to do. The next day when I was about to leave, they said, “You have to take the train,” “Alright,” I said, and went to the bus station. When I went to the bus station those two people who were…
Anita Susuri: Those who told you to take the train.
Afide Topalli Kuka: Yes, by the prison premises, those two individuals were there. I went, bought a ticket and went on the bus. And then I heard two individuals speak Albanian on the bus, but in a different dialect. “Luckily you didn’t fall into the hands of the Serbs, you look like you were just in prison, you…” Because I was released wearing prison clothes and nothing else.
Anita Susuri: Did the prison have some kind of uniform?
Afide Topalli Kuka: Yes, a uniform, a uniform, a grey uniform, it was bad. There were some knee-high socks and they were kind of loose. There were some shoes, old women used to wear them, I don’t know. I didn’t say a word. When we went to Belgrade, because I went from Požarevac to Belgrade, when we went to Belgrade, they took my box [with personal items] and said, “There is no bus, you!” they said, “we will help you, you have to come with us.” I left my box, but I didn’t have anything in it. Maybe a book, I didn’t have anything important.
I went to the station and got my ticket. There, because fortunately my brother had sent me money a week earlier and they gave me that money, I gave them all. I don’t know because I don’t remember the amount of money I left them and the woman in the ticket office knocked, “Come back to take your change.” I was thinking to myself, I didn’t care about the change, I wanted to get on the bus as quickly as possible before somebody could see me. I got on the bus and when the bus was about to leave, they brought me the box and left. And then, they provoked me again, two other people from Belgrade again. They began again.
And then from Belgrade we stopped somewhere on our way to rest, I wasn’t sure if I should go out or stay inside alone. I looked, everyone got out, so I did too. I got out, I sat at a restaurant, I ordered something and maybe it’s inappropriate to say, but I had physiological needs. I didn’t dare to, I was thinking they might lock the door, it was a bigger problem. What I did, I went out in the yard and outside there was a turn and some trash cans, I did it there. And then, I didn’t touch my food at all, I didn’t touch it at all, and we got on our way. And I didn’t walk first nor last, I walked in the middle.
That also went on until Merdare, when we entered Merdare everyone started speaking in Albanian, the whole bus was with Albanians. A man said, “Let’s stop here in Podujevo,” he said, “because it’s far, there are no buses.” I said, “You’re speaking to me in Albanian now, huh? Now you’re speaking,” I said, “it’s not a problem, arriving here is like going home.” And I came back. Fortunately, I arrived at the bus to the village in time and the first person I saw was my cousin, Islam Topalli, Ylber Topalli’s father. And we went together. He said, “Afide,” he said, “don’t go inside right away. I will go in and inform them.” And so, we went back.
