Part Two
Lura Limani: But before we continue [with] that, they took you to Pristina, in jail, I wanted to ask you if they tortured you when they jailed… when they arrested you in fact, in Kaçanik?
Rexhep Bunjaku: I mean, well…Lura, their torture was the cold and hunger. We had 150 grams of bread and boiling water once [a day]. Not a dish, but boiling water. With that water…it was for washing one’s face and to wash entirely. My body didn’t see water in seven months. I was all scabby, my body. Without bedding, without covers. Calculate it now, one would say, “So what, big deal!” But let one try it in the summer, not the winter. Let them sleep on a mattress, not on boards or concrete, without a bedding or covers if they can endure it. I endured that for 15 years. However, until I almost surrendered. Of course! And the body, the organism has its own limits. But I was young! 18 years old! And I withstood it somehow. But thanks again, I say, to Esat Lubishta and God, who brought Esat into my cell. Because I was going to die.
And after the formalities ended, they united us. In the meantime, on the first day they put us together, the head of UDBA came to Kosovo. When he saw me…he didn’t know me. He said, “What do you want in the midst of these honorable people, you sworn enemy of Yugoslavia! March, alone!” In a cell of course, they separated me. And my friends were sent to Gjilan, at the Circuit court, and me to the martial court in Pristina. After seven days, on the February 1, February, they sent me on February 7 to trial. And within a day, they sentenced me to death. They put manacles on my legs. But here’s one detail. The court was… my trial was a secret. A secret. Without the public. However my father saw me. He came to bring me food, he saw me being sent and then… without me knowing, they let my father inside.
When they sentenced me to death, and the head of the court asked me, “Are you satisfied?” They sentenced me to death and [asked me] am I satisfied! And I looked behind me {turns head back}, when I saw, my father. Ooh, of course I was hurt. I felt bad, [for my] parent. I said, “I am satisfied. Now you are being questioned are you satisfied?” And I said, “Please, can I just see my father?” “Yes.” He said, “No hugs!” “Fine,” I said, “I know.” I approached [him], my father was crying, a parent, of course. I said, “Don’t cry bre, man!” I said, “Because tears don’t suit you. You have two other lions.” Two more brothers. “Oh, my son!” he said, “If I was in your place I would have said the same words. But I’m a parent!” I’ll never forget those words. I wasn’t a parent. Eh!
And, when they returned me from the trial, immediately a gipsy waited for me with manacles, Ottoman manacles, eleven kilograms heavy (silence). He braced them with barbs. Like in a black smith’s venue. Believe me, the gipsy who was bracing them was also crying. And I came, I entered the cell, they saw me with the manacles, they knew that I was going to be executed. A man came, he said, “Oh Bunjak, may you carry them with honor!” I said, “For as long as I can man, I will carry them with honor.” Time after time…the Supreme Military Court, confirmed the death [sentence] again. And the prosecutor came, he said, “What do you think?” I said, “What am I supposed to think!” I said, “What, you and them!” “Yes” he said, “For death, again!”
And the time came to shoot me, of course. We were five people sentenced to death there. There was Mulla Ramadan Govori, an imam. He was forty-something years old. There was Isuf Visoka, the grandson of that famous Visoka in our history. Abdurrahman Gërguri, Sabit Qazim Llashtica and myself. We were five.
When the day for my execution by shooting approached… it was expected any day, an old man approached me. “Oh Bunjak!” He said, “You haven’t washed in a long time. Can you wash?” And I thought the aim was… to have me kill time, to not be engaged, to not be preoccupied in the moment of execution. He said, “My man! He hasn’t seen water for seven months.” “But how to wash with manacles on my legs?” He said, “Oh, don’t worry about that.”
Lura, if they had told me, “Go home, undress,” I wouldn’t know, I swear to God! But these people of ours have lived in manacles their whole life. I stretched my legs, I was naked in 15 minutes, with only manacles on my legs. Now I know, I undressed! They took me with a blanket over my shoulders, you know, they took me to the toilet, because we didn’t have a bathroom. They washed me with cold water. They dressed me again… then I realized why they insisted on washing me. As a Muslim, not to go to execution by shooting without being washed. And I, as a young man expressed this. 70 year old men cried, sobbing, they mourned there, ah, ah {imitates the sobs}. I was 18 years old! “Oh men!” I said, “Don’t, please” I said, “To spite (laughs), the guards.” So, the Presidium spared my life by one vote.
Lura Limani: Who?
Rexhep Bunjaku: The Presidium of Yugoslavia. It was the Directorate. That’s what it was called, the Presidium. Albania also had this institution. This was the third instance [institution for appeal], the last instance was the Marshalate, Tito. There you saw… if the Presidium confirmed the punishment again, then you had the right to send an appeal to Tito. If he accepted. However, the Presidium [pardoned] me, because I was young, surely. However, and in the meantime, not only had my youth… as Sylejman Aliu, says, “It was a humane regime. They spared your life!” No, not their humanity, but in the meantime, Gjon Serreçi, Ajet Gërgurri, Ukë Sadiku, Osman Bunjaku were arrested – they were the men who led the movement – with the orders of the Central Committee in Skopje. Of course! However, here in Pristina, in Kosovo, they were the ones who led the Movement. They were executed by the firing squad, they spared us. Egjeli, as old man said, is theirs, lives are ours.
In April, in ‘47, they transferred me to Niš. I was kept there for twelve years in Niš. Then, with the pleadings of my parents, because my parents were in Skopje, Niš was 200 and some kilometers [away], here I was closer. They didn’t let me go to Skopje. The head of UDBA, said, “Yes, to free him! For you to go and also ruin those Albanians in Macedonia. No, here, here you’ll leave your bones!” However, they freed me after 12 years, I went to Idrizova, in ‘59. There I then found some friends of mine. And these could… in the other period. In Niš, what to tell you! Twelve years! During those twelve years, I spent three years in isolation. Precisely three years: April ‘52, April ‘55, because [I was considered] dangerous in jail, they isolated me.
After three years, a person came, entered there and… I got up. I reported because we were ordered, “I the convicted Rexhep Bunjaku, present to you that I am so and so, identification number.” He said, “Leave that! Do you have the decree, that you were placed in isolation?” I said… I didn’t know, what decree! I said, “No.” He turns to the guards, he was with the guards, “How…” he said, “there’s no decree?” “How do you not have it?” “Forgive me,” I said, “who am I dealing with?” “I’m the new director.”
He had come from Sremska Mitrovica, where he was the deputy director and there were better conditions there. In Sremska Mitrovica. Because there were also foreign nationals who were convicted. There were Germans and Hungarians and… he said, “Take your things, get out!” I had nothing. Things, nothing! (laughs) As soon as they caught me in the cell, they sent me like that, three years. We only had a bed there. We had a bed of straw and a blanket. We had that there. I got out that day. And he left, he looks around in the direction of four people, further, he said, “Who are these?” He asked the guards. They said, “They are activists.” “What activists?” He said, “For revisionist stances.” He said, “March, to work! What revisionist stances, what activists!” They really were activists.
To tell you, a Daut Feka from Goli Otok of Yugoslavia brought us this system. Goli Otok is where the other communists were. It was a desolate island. That’s why they call it Goli Otok. All the communists were there, all the high officers were there. And we nationalists were in jail in Niš, Pozarevac and Sremska Mitrovica. They were activists, they forced you to revise your stance and become loyal to Yugoslavia. And if something was lacking, that you didn’t accept during the trial, now show that you are sincere. And they were activists. It was, unfortunately, the son of Isa Boletini, Kapllan Boletini, one of the activists! Hamdi Berisha, whose father and brother they had killed. A Milos Čalasan, a Serb Četnik who had cut people with saws. And another who killed his father, Boško Slukić. There were four activists. And he, as soon as this director came, he unorganized them (laughs).
I was in isolation every two months, the head would punish me… that director… the deputy director of the jail, the head of UDBA in fact, he was the head of UDBA. Milorad Obrenović. I’ll never forget his name. The idiot. He came one day, I was in isolation, he said, “Why are you wasting your life for one million miserable people, for Albanians?” And I, for my own trouble, read a book before going into isolation from Dolores… from Tomáš Masaryk, the shaper and creator of modern Czechoslovakia. He had gotten his name… the last name of his wife. His wife was American. Tomas Garik. The title of the book was Zapise Tomasa Garrika [The writings of Tomas Garik]. He said, “The greatness of a person, just like the greatness of a nation, is not measured by millions, but by the quantity of values that the nation has or owns.” He said, “This is a Marxist stance.” Now, I was also a loudmouth, I said, “Marxism has nothing to do with this. This was said by Tomáš Masaryk, in his book Zapise Tomasa Garrika.” “Bando jedna!” [You bandit!] and closed the door.
After about five minutes the guard came, he called me. He beat me, Lura, like this… here {touches both sides of his neck with his hand}. There I endured it somehow, but when he grabbed my head and… to the wall {imitates beating a head against a wall}, I totally lost consciousness. I grabbed him with these two hands. I said, “If you hit me one more time, I’ll choke you like this, you idiot!” I pushed him. I really endangered myself. I was a goner, but at least I was leaving bravely (laughs). He was bewildered, he left me. I returned. I striked, I didn’t eat food for eight days thinking they would have mercy on me and ask me why I was striking.
Luckily an officer from the Yugoslav Army came. He had tried to run away to Bulgaria, they caught him at the border, they sentenced him to 20 years, they brought him to my cell, in isolation. He looked at me, and looked at me, day and night, he said, “Bunjak, I thought you were a smart person.” He said, “You surprise me with your stupidities!” “Why?” I said. He said, “You will die, but how will prove why you died? Are you crazy? Protect your health, go out and write about what you experienced with these idiots.”
He was an Cominformist, I don’t know if you know what the Information Bureau was? The Communist Party isolated Yugoslavia as reactionary. I was convinced and started eating. After the years, I say they freed me from isolation, but before isolation I was… they had formed a disciplinary battalion, for six months. We worked 16 hours a day as a punishment, as convicts. I was the only Albanian in that battalion. I (inc.) in every stew (laughs). There I experienced, because there they even did… in the meantime they brought… this was in ‘49… they brought some Albanians from Albania who had run away from Albania, and they brought them there in the prison. And they got in touch with me. They had found out who I was, we decided to run away from prison. But because of one them who had connections with UDBA in the prison, they had… had informed them, they mowed us with submachine guns. And that was interrupted, we didn’t do that job [the prison break]. We stopped, we didn’t run away. Then I went to Idrizova. And during these times in Niš there was also… every day of course had its own details, its own importance. Twelve years! But these, some details are more noteworthy.
There was a Svetko Stelić, from Zagreb. They called him subotari, on Saturdays they didn’t work. Adventists… now you call them the Jehova’s Witnesses. I don’t know if you’ve heard of them? Jehova’s Witnesses. They don’t take up arms, they don’t want war, they’re only for peace. And I took him one day, to convince him that the time hasn’t come yet, that the whole word is getting armed and we have no choice but to also be armed, to fight. Because your time hasn’t come yet. Humankind hasn’t reached that level of consciousness, to know that it’s a crime to kill a person. An hour of me [speaking], believe me my mouth got dry talking to him. We said, “Svetko, what do you think?” He spoke slowly, “Bunjak, everything you said, you spoke, you came in here, and went out here {gestures to ears with hand}.” Me. “Ka, ka, ka!” “What’s wrong?” I said, “This animal made my mouth dry for one hour…I laughed” (laughs). We had cases, when the director told him, “Just one day, work one Saturday, I’ll free you!” Heaven forbid, he didn’t work. No.
And when they sent me one day, one time in a cellar, downstairs, it was under the stairs. It was called “zero,” the cellar. It didn’t even have windows, just a door. And you went in, but you couldn’t move. Because the stairs obstructed you. As soon as I entered, I stepped on someone. I said, “Who is it, who are you?” “Ja sam, Svetko.”[It’s me, Svetko] When, what happened? And on the door [I went], “Bam, bam, bam!” And the guard came, “What, banditu!” I said, “What did you do?” He was working outside, the sun, believe me his skin was falling off. Wetness below, there was no place where he, it was wet. I said, “Look,” I said, “Not even the Germans did this.” I said, “Please, the director or…” I said, “I’ll strike again. I will do something.” They called the director, the director came. I said, “Look…” He was a Miso Vosiljević… he was a partisan, he had lost his hand here {touches his left wrist}. Of the year ‘41, a partisan. But he was very just. And he freed us, both me and him. They sent us to another cell. He said, “I didn’t know Bunjak,” he said, “I’m sorry!” The director told me he was sorry! I was well known by then. These are some details…others…
Lura Limani: Just tell me one more time. Because you mentioned these activists… what kind of system was that system of activists, which the director apparently removed? How could he?
Rexhep Bunjaku: Lura, those activists were ordered to force inmates to revise their stances, to be loyal to Yugoslavia. Or, if you hid something during the investigation, to tell it now. And they had success. Because the prisoners were beaten, they beat the prisoners. Do you believe me when I heard the screams of the prisoners, they could be heard up to the heavens throughout the prison cells?! With those idiot people beating them, the prisoners.
Lura Limani: Meaning they themselves…
Rexhep Bunjaku: The prisoners beat prisoners. They had privileges, they had a room filled with food that they took from other prisoners… cigarettes, bread, lard, jam… they had a whole room at their convenience. And the saying was, “Kill the enemy, no more than 14 cellars.” Not the court’s punishment, but 14 days in the cellar.
One day…and this is an interesting detail. For around two years they fed us, in ‘52 and ‘53, with the waste from the Juhor factory, in Kraleva, with the waste of pigs (silence). Two years, ‘52 and ‘53. And I was in isolation, without a package. Of course, skin and bones, skinny. And every month, every two months, they punished me with 14 days in the basement, on concrete, of course without bedding, without blankets. But it was easier for me because I put one shoe on my foot, and sat on the other shoe. And in Ferizaj no, I didn’t have where to. Here, I would go out…I wasn’t that upset in Niš. But here in Ferizaj it was very miserable.
And in my room, in my cellar they brought a man from Drenica, he had just arrived to the prison. Of course he, still didn’t know what hunger is. He wouldn’t eat that waste. Believe me Lura, it had… the hooves of pigs in mud. I swear! The skin of a pig, that had its lard taken away, as they call it bacon, it was covered in mud. The muzzle of a pig with a ring, the muzzle. That… that’s what they fed us with. The waste of a pig! However I saw its worth. Why?! Because he wouldn’t eat the food. Rarely any of us would take it. Only those who were hungry. And I said, “Oh brother…” I said, “Do you see what I’ve become. Skin and bones! Can I have it?” He said, “I’m sorry, I swear to God!” And he… I had two plates of pork.
I took that skin between my teeth, like this {brings hand to mouth}, I gnawed at it, the bit of lard that remained. On the 15th day, I had done my 14 days in the cellar, I went upstairs. The man who punished me appeared in front of me. The head of UDBA, Milan Obradović. He asks me, “Who are you?” I thought he was joking, I swear to God. I said, “Are you joking with me?” “Who are you, bandit?” And he swore at me, as is the custom of Serbs. “Bunjaku.” When he did {grabs head with both hands}, “Komandiri! Komandiri!” He called the guards. They ran over. “Good, you idiots. Where was he? Was he in a sanatorium, or the cellar? Idiots!” I didn’t noticed that I had improved, with pork (laughs). I built up of a reserve for about six months in isolation, then I continued, thanks to pork (smiles).
(Silence) These are some interesting details. I…I suffered a lot. Albanians especially, because of the poor economic situation and šiptarski paket was different, the Albanian package and the Serbian package. The Albanian got bread and half a kilogram of sugar, if he took it or not. And Serbs got lard, pork, chocolate or something. It was miserable! Poverty played its part. Hunger. There were people who didn’t have who would send them food packages. I’m saying so, I didn’t get one in three years. I only received one package. Every two months the head of UDBA would punish me by not allowing me a package. Two months without the right to write a letter home and without [access to the] canteen. We had a canteen in the jail, we had the right to buy cigarettes. Or sometimes they would bring an apple or something. Not other food. Not bread, of course. Because even these, every two months they punished me. For 36 months, I only got one package of food. I turned into skin and bones, of course afterwards. Until the new director came and freed us. Luck! That director was changed.
Lura Limani: Which year were you freed and what did you do afterwards?
Rexhep Bunjaku: The strike?
Lura Limani: No, when were you freed? When did you leave the prison?
Rexhep Bunjaku: No, I went to Idrizova afterwards, Lura.
Lura Limani: Where?
Rexhep Bunjaku: I went to Idrizova. In ‘59, because of the pleading of my parents, they transferred me to Idrizova. There…because I also had a…I forgot a detail. My war in Niš was to speak Albanian with my parents. However the order was [to talk] only in Serbian, and I didn’t speak Serbian. I couldn’t speak Serbian with my mother, Lura. And my poor mother cried. “Please, just to see you Rexhko!” Because my mother called me Rexhko. “Mother, I’m sorry, please forgive me but I can’t talk to you in Serbian!” And of course, as soon as they went back, they immediately punished me to 14 days in the isolation cell two, two, two. I did this for about four or five times until I forced them to bring an Albanian police officer in order for us to speak in Albanian.
When i came to Idrizova, the first visit…And for the first time, I sat like a human being in a chair, a table in between, in front of my parents in chairs. I talked sitting down. Twelve [years] in Nis, it was like a stall for animals, Lura, like a stable for tying up animals. Here, one there. We could barely hold each other’s hands. The noise! You couldn’t hear anything. And here first of all I sat down like a human being and I was almost surprised, Idrizova. And I immediately spoke in Albanian, of course. The guard, behind me, “Zboruvaj makedonski!” [Speak Macedonian!] And I didn’t know Macedonian. Because in Kosovo, and then in prison all in Serbian. I only looked at him. Mother [said], “Rexhko, please don’t start here as well!” You know how she begged. “Mother,” I said, “You speak!” Now he was confused, because he hadn’t seen a case like this. I said what I said, directly to the director. The director, “What are you thinking? This isn’t Niš.” “For me,” I said, “This is Yugoslavia.” I said, “I, don’t want anything. My right to speak my mother tongue. Since the constitution allows it, please don’t cause problems for me here too!” “Eh, bandit, don’t, because it isn’t like Niš here…” or something. However they didn’t punish me. During the second burst, they had brought some Albanians from Reka, Gostivar, who were slavicized but who still knew Albanian and we spoke in Albanian. And there I broke the ice. In Idrizova too.
And in the room they put me in, I saw the group of NDSH members from Skopje, Tetovo and Gostivar. They all were intellectuals. Raif Malaziu was there, [from] the Faculty of Philosophy. Adnan Agai was a teacher. Sherafedin Agai, his relative, an architecture student. Naxhip Purta, a French language professor. Abaz Dukagjini, an English student. Eshref Hoxha, a teacher. Later they also brought this Hamzë Shala. And this period with Hamzë Shala was interesting. It was really an environment…we had around two spies there but we didn’t pay them much mind. And every room had a separate toilet and, excuse me, a water closet with doors like this, separated. One day, Abaz Dukagjini came, he said, “Rexhep, we heard who you are, we want you to socialize with us.” I said, “Abaz, with great pleasure! But do you know who I am? I’ll cause you trouble!” He said, “We know, that’s why we want you in our company.” And I started socializing with them.
After about three, four months, they brought Hamzë Shala. Hamzë said, “Kapllan Resuli is in the temporary room.” Because when you come into the prison, you spend about two weeks in that [so-called] temporary room, to learn the rules of the house, of the prison, to learn the rules of the house and adjust. However, he said, “He says he’s not Albanian,” Kapllan Resuli. And I, unfortunately, had read a story of his in Nis. “Pogaça.” I liked the imagination of that idiot. Precisely an idiot now, he turned out to be an idiot. In short, the partisans went and entered a village. One of them enters a room, and finds the chimney hot. And takes a hot pogaça. He puts in his bag. Because the people ran away quickly, out of fear and the order arrives, they continue their journey. And while travelling, at rest, he calls his friend and said, “Come, because I took a pogaça. I found it when we entered that room.” They try to break it, they can’t. He tries harder… the poqaça has rough edges. It is a rough edged pogaça (laughs).
And for trouble’s sake, they came and brought Kapllan, when I was in that room, room number 21. I didn’t know him. Eshref Hoxha, the brother of Mehmedali Hoxha, was a poet in Skopje, he knew Kapllan. When he came, he called me, “Rexhep, come!” I see a short little man, and, “Yes Eshref?” He said, “To introduce you to Kapllan Resuli.” I looked at him, I said, “You’re Kapllan, ah?” “Why,” he said, “Am I not impressive enough?” I said, “No, not really.” I said, I put him, believe me, in the same row, in that turn where the washstands were, in the room, and closed the door. I said, “Kapllan, when you came you didn’t have to choose. You had one road. To get out, you have two roads: you have the road of honor and the road of shame. If you choose the road of honor, you’ll suffer…” He had one more year left, because he was sentenced with a year and a half. I said, “You’ll do heavy work, they’ll follow you, maybe they’ll punish you the same way the punished us, they persecuted us. We work heavy work. “ I said, “If you choose the road of shame, then you have two friends in our rooms.” “No,” he said, “I’m with you.” I said, “Think well!” And no, he honestly never separated from us, Lura. The year that he stayed, he didn’t separate from us. However, he never received a package with food in Idrizova. We fed him, we shared our mouthfuls. Because Adnan Agai, Eshref Hoxha, I…
Those of us that were, that got packages there nearby, we fed him. He even became like an otter, I called him fatty, he became fat, he became…And he went out, he was good with me, he slept at my house for two weeks, when he left the prison. And I didn’t know how miserable my condition was, even though we read the newspapers, Lura, we thought that milk and honey were running through the streets of Yugoslavia. When I got out, one room – my parents, brother, sister and myself, all we had was one room, I went crazy.
Lura Limani: Which year did you get out of prison?
Rexhep Bunjaku: Excuse me?
Lura Limani: Which year did you get out?
Rexhep Bunjaku: In ‘61 I got out of prison. [It’s] even, interesting, on Sunday my parents came and my father said, “Rexhep we didn’t measure the food package” I said, “The package, father you are obsessed with it.” And the next day, I was at work, they called me, they called me to the directorate. And I had argued with a guard, I thought I’m going to get hit with isolation, God damn it!(laughs) And I got ready. When I went, a guard told me, “Go get your clothes and come here.” Clothes, again I thought, isolation. “No,” he said, “surrender your clothes.” I said, “What’s going on?”,He said, “You’re free!”, “What?” “You’re free!” I couldn’t believe it. The next day I went, I left my food package to my friends. I took, I had a notebook with electro-technical notes, I took that notebook with me, I left. A Macedonian, as soon as we exited the door outside, went “O sloboda” [Oh freedom] and he fainted. I saw him, I said, “How long was he in prison?” “Six months.” I said “What? Six months, I haven’t been out of prison in 15 years!” (laughs). I mean … it was interesting, he fainted, I lied down, the corn had just ripened, Saturday, I was freed on Saturday. On my back, looking at the sky, I still couldn’t believe I was free.
When the bus came, I got on the bus, we had a little money from our work. And I don’t know… I went to my house on a market day, there’s a bridge there, I don’t know if you’ve been to Skopje, when you leave Skopje. My aunt was there, and in front there, the river called Serava flowed, a small river. When I saw her, I greeted her, I went home in that direction. I opened the door, the door creaked, mother, father, sister and a relative of mine were breaking walnuts, for money, to live. They kept the shells to light the fire, and the walnuts they preserved, I mean the nuts, to sell. I don’t know how many kilograms, I don’t remember. Father said, “Who’s at the door?” Mother said “The children, probably.” I laughed and went in, without thinking. When mother saw me… I thought she would lose her mind, I swear to God, yes. “Mother,” I said, “why are you quiet, I have returned [did I]?” “Oh,” she said, “son, 15 years were enough.” I hugged her.
And now, the fight for existence, when I saw what life my own [family] had, because they don’t give me work, they don’t give identification cards. I swear to God, Lura, I went to the head of UDBA in Skopje. I said, “Look, you either find me work, employ me, or I swear on the Albanian besa that I will do a scandal, that you’ll remember for as long as you live.
Lura Limani: A what?
Rexhep Bunjaku: To remember for as long as you live. There I thought, to throw a bomb, to… the situation was catastrophic. I’m saying, a room, me, my parents, sister and brother, one room. Because my father’s brothers in the meantime moved to Turkey. And father’s part was in a building with only one room and one narrow corridor there, that’s where it was. He said, “Look, I know who you are” the head of UDBA, picked up the phone, called the municipality, “So and so will come, give him his work booklet, without an identification card.” I would end up being the first to get a work booklet without an identification card. And I got the work booklet, I went to the labor bureau, they found me a job as a fitter, I started there, I slowly started work. They gave me a shed, because the earthquake caught me in ‘43, the Skopje earthquake. That day the earthquake, I went as a soldier, they drafted me, (laughs) 33 years old I left the prison.
According to Yugoslav law, he [who] was in prison and in the hospital, had to do their military duty up until the age of 40. And I finished my military duty. I settled down slowly, I got married, I have two daughters. Lirjeta works in the Academy of Sciences as a graduated economist, she does finances. The youngest, she doesn’t work, takes care of the grandson.
