Part Three
Anita Susuri: Did you manage to graduate before it closed down?
Nerimane Kamberi: I graduated during the parallel [system]. Actually it was the last years, because as I said I started over, I started university over. But, then, of course I finished my Masters in the parallel system from Skopje to Shkodër(laughs), from one hill of Pristina to another hill.
Anita Susuri: Can you talk to us a bit about this period?
Nerimane Kamberi: So I was, I was a young student, I was doing my Masters and we went to Katër Llullat [neighborhood], there was an old house, where we would learn about philosophy. Now when I think about it, it’s very surreal (smiles). About existential philosophy among others, at an old house which isn’t there anymore. And now in the arena, what do we call it, where De Rada [restaurant] is, as they say whoever showed mercy (laughs) to leave a place, whoever gave us a place [to hold classes in].
But it was very, very effective learning, so I had Professor Rexhep Ismaili, Sabri Hamiti, Professor Metaj, Professor Stavileci, we were a small group of Master’s students. I mean, it was and it wasn’t a university, of course we didn’t feel it, but knowledge was important, the knowledge being passed down because it wasn’t important where we were because we would have wished to be in the faculty [premises], but [it was important] for the knowledge to be passed down and it was being passed down well. We would have exams and… but then it was interrupted, the war happened and I graduated.
Korab Krasniqi: Do you remember the facility where you finished school, what did it look like, how was the function of the object organized, how were classes organized?
Nerimane Kamberi: Now I have two, two parts, one part where I myself was a new assistant. At the Katër Llullat we also had an old house with a small wood-burning stove and the students. One day I found my notes [from] when I used to teach there. And in Dragodan where I taught, I mean in Arbëri, at an Albanian man’s house, where you had to walk down the stairs, like students who rent apartments today, you walked down the stairs, there was a room in the back of the house. While we studied at the house at Katër Llullat as Master’s students, it seems like now there is a tall building built there and it was in front of De Rada now, there is a narrow street as far as I remember, it was a one-story house and we held classes there regularly, with a regular schedule.
But learning was, when I used to teach, it was something interesting because starting your career as an academic and teaching in basements was a difficult feeling of course. And what always concerned me was for how much longer? How much longer? How long will it last? How long will this last? How long will the war last? How… something nobody knew, but it lasts long, it lasts long because it’s something which I mentioned earlier, you pass it down generation to generation. This happened with your great-grandfather, it happened with your parents, it happened with you, it’s happening to your child, it’s endless, as I said, a terror with no end.
And that’s what it’s about, when would we go back to the faculty premises, to a decent place and have a… a, now of course there is the ones who assess how long it was, how much we worked, how we worked, et cetera, what was its impact, the quality, but we did our best of course. And the students had will, they would come, and now when you’re free… it’s always that, it’s psychological when something is forbidden, when it’s accompanied by a hundred risks you commit more, and when you’re comfortable you let go because it’s something you take for granted, with no problems.
Anita Susuri: I also wanted to ask you about…
[The interview was interrupted here]
Anita Susuri: Studying at homes, I wanted to ask you about that and then continue. About the Blood [Feud] Reconciliations, not sure if you were engaged with it or only the documentary?
Nerimane Kamberi: No, no, I don’t… only the documentary, I didn’t participate with the other students, with Myrvete and the others, no.
Korab Krasniqi: To continue [talking] about the war…
Anita Susuri: No, because it’s the demonstrations…
Korab Krasniqi: Yes.
Anita Susuri: The ones the Women’s Forum did…
Nerimane Kamberi: Yes, I always participated in those, together with the mass, but I mean not as an organizer.
Anita Susuri: Not necessarily an organizer, but to talk about the atmosphere, maybe to talk a bit about the Pristina of the ‘90s, the city atmosphere, political pressure, survival, culture? How did all of these connect?
[The interview was interrupted here]
Nerimane Kamberi: I forgot to mention about the students, the image I mentioned with the crowd, but on the other hand Pristina was empty. And so there were two hot points {opens her hands and puts them together} it was the hall where Kosovo was breathing in the 25 maj hall, the students, and the mines. And in those mines there was everything political, diplomatic happening, there [at the hall] were the students and Kosovo was completely silent. That feeling like in the war, nothing moved, I remember that a lot. And then I mean, then I participated in many protests, in women’s movements, not as an organizer. I never wanted to and I still don’t want to be part of organizational councils, as a leader of these but I only, I followed everybody else’s steps.
And with the case of, as I said with the blood [feud] reconciliations, with the documentary but never as an organizer, I don’t know, that is my choice. But, I always wanted to be part of them, to be there, to follow it through writings as well and also meetings with foreigners. I belong to the ‘90s generation, to relate it to the fact that I was in the field a lot, but then I really was a quote {quotations gesture} adopted Pristina woman, however you want to call it. So I followed them and I have a report in my book about the coffee bars in the ‘90s and after the ‘90s.
So, I did a report of… a long writing, Kosovo’s History through coffee, the bars. I started it with Papillon which was our bar in the ‘90s and then of course Kurrizi, I know that there was also a documentary made about Kurrizi. Hani i Dy Robertëve, Papilloni, these were the bars where we would go, we would meet with foreigners, they would be brought, we remade the world, the history, we would make decisions. I was there among other things, I organized, in the youth parliament which we created, I mean as a, as a party, let me not call it a party but a movement, among the first movements at the time that were coming from parties. So, they were different, they differentiated from the Communist Parties or Socialist Parties of that time.
And Pristina, it’s interesting when I came to live here I said I will never love this place, because that was my idea. And then of course you fall in love with a place where you live and especially when you experience this many things whether they’re good or bad. And I was still part of the group of journalists, young intellectuals, we would gather in houses. Of course we experienced the curfews together, the arrest of our friends, the killings of our friends. And so they were very difficult years, very dynamic years, for us, very euphoric as well because we would do stuff. We had the feeling that we were really contributing to Kosovo and each of us contributed in their own way.
Anita Susuri: In the ‘90s I wanted to stop a bit at the demonstrations you mentioned and there were the marches, the march holding bread loaves…
Nerimane Kamberi: Yes, the bread march.
Anita Susuri: Do you remember that day, how did it go?
Nerimane Kamberi: I remember the bread march… I’m sorry, I’m sometimes confused by the photo images of Hazir [Reka] because there are photographs with bread loaves {raises her hand} and of course that at some point there is a mixture of my memories and his photographs. Of course, and I always have that image of those women and it’s good that it’s being continuously treated and their protests and their contribution, because they were really decisive and had no fear at any moment.
Let’s not forget that we always had policemen in front of us, armed military and let’s not forget that we had a history of Kosovo behind. Especially when Croatia and Bosnia happened after, everything was expected. But these, these women I mean were really, were really fearless, they were decisive and… again their walk, those leaders, let’s say those pioneers, I will use a stronger word. The pioneers and the crowd, always the moment they called, you always had the others behind you.
Anita Susuri: You probably remember that you reached a point and then you were stopped by the police?
Nerimane Kamberi: Yes, yes. I remember that we would discuss, I mean the pioneers were always trying to negotiate with the police. But there was no violence used back then, fortunately there wasn’t.
Anita Susuri: You mentioned these cultural activities that were happening, for example at the Hani i Dy Robertëve, Papilloni, and Kurrizi, can you tell us anything more specific for example? There were exhibitions there I think?
Nerimane Kamberi: Yes, yes, but also, I mentioned in my report, but also a few weeks ago I attended the promotion of the book made by the owners of Hani i Dy Robertëve which is really a memory of ours, I mean for the ones of us who were around those circles of journalists, of artists. We were a group that knew each other, translators. At that time I also worked for the Information Center of Kosovo. So at the Democratic League, where the Democratic League of Kosovowas founded and I was there as a translator of French news. So, we were a group that knew each other. And of course I was there too in the beginning of the Democratic League of Kosovo. And we were almost always the same figures, the same people, we were a little younger, the intellectuals of that time, the artists, Agim Çavdarbasha, there was Nekra who did caricatures.
So we were a group, a group of artists, translators, journalists and Hani i Dy Robertëve and Papilloni were places… But especially Hani remains a place of diplomatic, journalistic movements, a piece of the Balkans with a vision towards the West, with a call, an SOS to the West. And these places, back then there were fewer places like that of course, it was also dangerous because the police could enter at any moment, they could arrest you, they could beat someone up. For example the case when the actor Adriana [Abdallahu] was killed, and we were invited to be part of the opening of… so at Santea because we also live there close to Santea. And we didn’t go that night, fortunately, we had the invitation and the murder happened. I mean, it was…
Anita Susuri: What year was it?
Nerimane Kamberi: Mon Dieu [Fr.: My god]…
Anita Susuri: A little before the war?
Nerimane Kamberi: It was a little before the war. Anyway I projected later now, but I want to say that the ‘90s, especially ‘97, ‘98 when we began to work in the field too there was always a contrast, because we would be in Drenica, in Rahovec, in Suhareka where there was only conflicts, where UÇK was, where people were fighting, where there were displaced people, in the mountains of Berisha, in Pagarusha et cetera. And then when we came back to Pristina it was a different reality from what could be seen. It was an abnormal normality, if I can call it that. We were in the field the whole time seeing the terror, seeing the war actually and Pristina was trying to live a somewhat normal life.
Anita Susuri: You said that it happened several times that you went to rural places as a journalist, what were the things that maybe left an impression on you positively or negatively?
Nerimane Kamberi: Yes, I mean, ever since the time that I explained that episode of… so during the blood [feud] reconciliations, it made me understand a lot of things which we maybe didn’t think about. I remember that with a family, I think in the Municipality of Suhareka, the women would plead to me, they would plead to me because I spoke Albanian, I was the one they could communicate with easier. They would say, “Do anything you can so they will reconcile, so this blood will be forgiven.” Because they had become the backbone, they had unintentionally become the backbone of their families, at a time when everything functioned through the men.
So these women mainly didn’t have an education, and then they had to do everything which is normal for us today, somewhat. Back then, from the simplest thing to driving the tractor, because the lands were left [unworked]. The men were either confined, or they were… I mean confined at home or confined in prison. And so there was working the land, administrative work, as much as there were, shopping. So, they were women who were at once put as heads of the family, to lead the family. And in those families they didn’t have… they had the role of giving birth to children, raising children, making food, but they didn’t have other duties. And I remember they were really calling on that, as a plea, “Please do anything you can for them to really reconcile.” And I mean maybe history left these women in the shadows from the beginning.
Whether the role they had in war, let’s not talk about what they faced later, but also the role they had. The men either joined UÇK, who fought or they hid and the women were actually left alone and they were left alone to look after, to look after… To take care of the elders, to take care of the children, the house and always in danger. So, ever since the time of the blood [feud] reconciliations. Of course even from earlier in the field, because of course we were very uneducated as women. We had very few leading roles, first of all at home, where the roles were divided, sociologists explain this very well. But I also experienced them myself, I mean.
But of course in these extreme situations, situations like the blood [feud] reconciliations. And then it’s very understandable that there were girls even in the reconciliations movement and let’s not forget on the other hand there were women who were political prisoners, who were leading in ‘81, and then leading the blood [feud] reconciliations. And it’s very normal that they came out then, but on the other hand they came out because they were brave from the beginning, they were pioneers, but on the other hand [also] because their figure was accepted easier because they were imprisoned. I mean, they had a name which society accepted much easier.
And so when I saw it at the reconciliation [campaign], because as I said I knew Kosovo very little. I was from Presheva, I mainly came to [visit] family circles. I didn’t know the rural areas, the oda parts, with a lot of respect for everyone of course but again the work in the field and meeting people made me understand these much better. And [when it came to] the blood [feud] reconciliations, so the side when a woman had to forgive was much bigger because until then the women weren’t asked at all if they agreed or not, but actually their son could have been killed. Now let’s not forget the mother-child dimension… For example, in the case of when I did the documentary, her child was killed, but she was like every other family member and of course her husband didn’t ask her if they should forgive or not. Their own opinion, because that’s what it was structured like.
And of course the ‘90s afterwards, all the protests we did in the street and whether women were students, because your status still gave you a different value. And whoever the women were, intellectual women, women who were professors in UP, so the pioneers, but then also all the other women, women from the village, women with no education, with education, they all became the same around one cause, one ideal. And this is good that in recent years it’s been highlighted more and more because it’s been forgotten, the role of women was forgotten, their position was forgotten.
As I said, in the war too, I met a girl who was raped in the war and [she had] the feeling of abandonment, “They left us.” I mean, in the sense that they were left in the hands of the Serbs, in the hands of the Serbs. So, their fathers left them, their husbands left them, their brothers left them. Those who until that time were the ones protecting them, protecting their honor, protecting their name and they vanished at once. And so this girl had ended up as a sexual slave with no protection and this is of course a different debate, it was surely talked about less, one of these reasons.
And then, the other thing, a documentary we did at the Bogujevci family, of the MP Saranda, that was one of the most difficult for me because we did it immediately in ‘99. And there was the whole family, because there was the idea that nothing happens in the city, they don’t touch the women, like a Second World War idea. And [they thought] it would be a war between men and so the women and elders were left and the worst happened. I mean, there were wrong ideas that only men would fall victims and unfortunately we have the example of Bosnia which was more recent, which was known, but I am not retelling history, there are people who are more able for this.
So women had it difficult at every moment, at every moment. They had husbands but in the sense that, of course the family pyramid was taken down at one point, it wasn’t the elder, the man, the one who led anymore, I mean I saw it from the blood [feud] reconciliations, and then of course until the war. I tried even in my reports, although that wasn’t always my only focus, but to show that role and… because there was a state in ‘99 that I recall and hope God doesn’t let another war happen again, we are in a different situation, a different mentality.
That time found us poor, found us uneducated, it found women in many roles we didn’t have until then. To the point where they maybe didn’t even go outside their village, and suddenly they had to go around Kosovo from one edge to the other, and they had children, and many different risks. It was war, there is no other way to explain it.
Anita Susuri: You mentioned that you fled during the war, but I want to know how that happened and what was the moment when you decided, how did you decide?
Nerimane Kamberi: I said that we, both men and women have worked a lot in the field, we put ourselves at risk often, the mines, the arrests, the interrogations and we of course saw the terror throughout Kosovo. So, I was a humanitarian and in ‘98 I worked for the Doctors without Borders where I was responsible for human rights, Human rights officer. And so… and I explained to my students because there is a French theatrical play which takes the ancient theme but it talks about the Second War in France and the whole dialogue is about whether the war was going to happen or not, the decisions that would be made. And we watched it there, so what was happening in Rambuje. And of course that nobody wanted war and it happened.
So it was decided that it would start, the bombings would start and we, at the Doctors without Borders, they told us, “Whoever wants to can come with us.” Because the organizations received the order to flee from Kosovo and so I told my sister, who was unmarried. I told her, “You are alone, you make the decision for yourself, you flee.” And the day before I took my son who was four years old, I took him away and sent him to my parents in Presheva. I thought that he would have it better there and Serbs ripped my ID card. So, I couldn’t return here. Very difficult because during war it was very difficult to make decisions. It’s always hard in life to make big decisions, but in those circumstances it was very difficult. But there was the decision that I was returning to Kosovo anyway.
Hazir, my husband, was working for the Reuters agency, he was a photographer and they of course knew him from [his work in] the field and he thought we should flee from the beginning. I… and I think it was a really wrong decision of mine for not leaving. I had the idea, I felt like a traitor. Again, [it was] the idea I had from my youth that I should be there. And we thought of staying. Our child, our son, was safe. And we would gather with friends, it was very interesting because sometimes there were comic moments in all this tragedy. We would gather with our neighbors and a journalist from France called me and said, “Neriman” he said… the phones worked back then, and he said, “we can see that the NATO planes are taking off from Aviano, what is the atmosphere like in Pristina.” And I described it and in that moment the sirens started going off.
And it was an experience straight from the movies, I had only heard war sirens in movies. And when I told him that… he could hear the sirens too and he hung up the phone (smiles). It was a very terrible feeling. And we would gather at our neighbors and they had sent their wives and children away, I was the only one with the lady of the house, so the mother of those two brothers. And I wasn’t afraid, I want to say that in ‘98 I was really afraid. When the Jashari family was killed,when I fell into a mental state that I was so afraid I didn’t even take my child to daycare, I would sleep with the lights on. It was a fear which I couldn’t control, I couldn’t defeat it, I was afraid to even go to stores.
And I had an invitation to represent Kosovo at a conference in Paris, in June and when I went there, I saw how beautiful life was, how beautiful I was, I had a floral dress… and I was healed. I came back to Kosovo. So, I never was afraid anymore; which on one hand is stupid because you should be afraid in war. But I remember my sister lived in Arbëri [neighborhood in Pristina], in Dragodan and the phones were working, I told her, “I’m coming to see you.” And she said, “You have either gone mad, or you’re taking drugs,” she said, “we are in a state of war.” And maybe I also rejected it in my subconscious.
But there really were Serbian tanks near Santea, and in my building there were… because there were these three story buildings, I had Serbian neighbors. And when they bombed the cantonment which is now called Adem Jashari, it was really close, but I was asleep. And a journalist called me and my husband answered. He said, “A journalist is calling for you.” And he said, “Neriman,” he said, “the main cantonment of Pristina was bombed,” and when I told him, “Excuse me, I was asleep.” He couldn’t imagine and even I can’t imagine now, because it was really close to me. But, maybe that big fear in my subconscious and I didn’t hear it. He said, “Your city is being bombed, you are sleeping” (laughs).
He couldn’t imagine, even I can’t imagine now, but it was like that. And it already began, we went out in Kurriz to buy whatever was left to buy. We wanted to get bread and they told us at the bakery, “Go away, go home,” they said, “because a Serb was killed just now, the problems,” they said, “already began.” We went back, and I was watching my Serbian neighbors out the window, they would hit the Albanians, whoever had bags of… that they bought something, they would shoot it [out of their hands]. And every moment started becoming dangerous. Fortunately, the radio was working, we heard that Bajram Kelmendi and his sons were taken.
I knew them because I was, now I’m going back to my story, I was a member of the Council for Human Rights, in ‘91 I went to the US with bac Adem Demaçi, with a delegation to tell them what was happening in Kosovo. We met with Bob Dole. We were in Amnesty International in the New York Times, we did a trip to raise awareness, to inform them about what was happening. Hazir was part of the delegation with photographs of the ones killed, the ones arrested. And he followed bac Adem, who had just been released from prison. And there were obstacles because we went to Vienna and they didn’t give bac Adem the visa, and then they gave it to him in London. Of course we were with him and his stories the whole time.
And as part of the Council for Human Rights, I mean we worked together about human rights. And so, also as part of the humanitarian work I did with Doctors without Borders, I did reports on what happened in the field in the areas we observed, that we watched over. And so those days we already started knowing that it was time to flee. At home in the apartment we were hiding we would put, back then there were these radiators {opens up her hands} that weighed hundreds of kilograms, so our cabinets wouldn’t be broken. And then we found out after the war that there were Serbs at the rooftop because we found the weapons, and the bags of… because they observed Dardania [neighborhood in Pristina] the whole time and our street at Santea.
[The interview was interrupted here]
So, every moment started to become dangerous and last week I published… because for the 20th anniversary of the war of Kosovo I did three reports for the newspaper Le courrier des Balkans, the portal. And one of them is about our time as refugees in Macedonia. And we decided with our neighbors, because our car wasn’t working, to leave, we thought of going through Gračanica to Gjilan. The paramilitaries stopped us, they didn’t let us [through], we returned and that’s where it was, “Are we returning to our apartment or are we leaving for Skopje?” And we decided [to go] to Skopje and the paramilitaries stopped, we gave them 500 marka and we crossed to Macedonia. Fortunately, it was before the terror in Bllacë when we left.
And my husband’s colleagues from Reuters welcomed us, who felt really sorry. Of course that somehow they had left us in Pristina. And that was another comic and painful moment when they took us and sent us to a hotel but there were no more rooms in the hotel. At the ContinentalHotel, because that’s where all the journalists, and all the foreign delegations were, the only [vacant] room was the suite. So we had a suite, but we didn’t have a house anymore (cries). And… so we hugged, we started crying that we were alive and we started the refugee life in Macedonia.
I am saying I could’ve gone to Belgium, because I was Belgian [citizenship wise], but I wanted to be close, near Kosovo and to continue the small contribution I could give. And we stayed, I mean, fortunately we didn’t live in a camp because we arrived at the right time, we rented a house. And it was very interesting because I was working with Doctors Without Borders, I mean I was in Bllacë, mainly working in Bllacë and then I worked in the neutral zone no man’s land [speaks in English].
There where we had the right to go as an organization {extends hands} to receive people who were wounded, who had it worse. And there I waited for Fehmi Agani’s family, I recorded their testimonies, the first case, the first person whom I met. And then we had the first war prisoners, who were released, 36 men were brought by bus to the border. The physician checked on them, they were in a very bad condition because of the torture. I recorded the testimonies, I wrote them down. Of course, I always reported to Paris, about what they were doing.
Anita Susuri: Were those [war] prisoners Serbian?
Nerimane Kamberi: Not them, they were war prisoners, they were caught in the column, wherever they were, each of them had a story. Then they were beaten up, they were imprisoned and were surprisingly released. And what was interesting is that Doctors without Borders came for reinforcement and there was no more room in the house we were renting, so I rented it out to them (laughs). I said that even in war you will always find a way. They didn’t know that I was a refugee and they said, “Rent is a little expensive,” I said, “I don’t know how long this war will last, I need money.” And then they felt sorry, I said, “I am a refugee,” I said, “maybe war will last long and I need money.” That was the comic side, but I thought I was proficient, to do something.
So, I mean we stayed for three months, we did reports, Hazir took photographs. There was an old woman who was found by her family members, I spoke about it in the report… (tears up) Her children… they were living somewhere in Scandinavia, Sweden or Norway, they found their mother through the photographs of Hazir and they found it in the Reuters agency, they found the photograph, they called us at home. And the next day we went to the camp to search for her based on the photograph, but they had taken her to Turkey, they used to send people with humanitarian transfer. And at first there were no… at the camp in Stankovec, let alone Bllacë, but there were no phones in Stankovec, there weren’t.
So, I said, there were people who stopped me, because I had the humanitarian vest, they would give me numbers, they would tell me, “Call this person, this girl, this boy, tell them I am alive, that I am well, that I am here.” And when I went back home there at the Doctors without Borders, at the office, I would grab the phone and call them around the world. And they would say… you know I received different reactions, someone would scream, someone would give well wishes, someone would cry, on the phone, it was very difficult. And then the conditions improved a little for them, I mainly worked in Bllacë and in Stankovec. It’s interesting because even when the portal asked me to do it two years ago, it was very difficult for me to accept this story, and then I did it. It was difficult for me to reread it, it was difficult to submit it, but it’s good that I did because of course there is something from that time left.
Although, very difficult (tears up), I mean when I think about where I was and where I came from and what I experienced personally. It’s very interesting because at the Doctors without Boundaries we had a collaboration, a partnership with the International Federation of Human Rights in Paris and a woman came, she was a lawyer, she dealt with the refugees in Albania. And she said, “I asked a refugee what they wanted to tell?” But, she said, “Nothing happened to me.” She said, “Sir, how did you come here?” “Well,” he said, “they kicked me out of my home,” “but isn’t that.” That idea we have that the worst should happen, but it was enough that you left your house because that is a basic right of yours.
This is where I, I draw the line that I was raised with those enlightening ideas, the human rights declarations that we have the right to education, to a home, to a dignified life. And I ended up seeing them, it was something that [I didn’t think] would become a reality and was happening to me, I never thought of it of course. I mean, kind of like a, like a saying, never think that the worst cannot happen to you, even if it’s the worst, war. Because really when I came back from Belgium here, the war was happening somewhere away or at a different time, it was the Second World War that they had experienced, I mean grandparents and great-grandparents, my parents were little, whether in time or in distance.
I mean, war was happening in Africa, in Asia, but the war in Europe that I would experience myself and I mean from my return, all of this ended fortunately and I didn’t experience a loss in my family, I found my son, I don’t want to… (tears up).