Part One
Sali Cacaj: [I am] Sali Cacaj from Deçan, born on September 1, 1951, in the Cacaj family of Deçan.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Mister Cacaj, can you tell us about your early youth memories, your family and the rreth you were raised in?
Sali Cacaj: Yes, we have lived in a family community since the time I can remember, around over forty family members. We lived in the old part of Deçan, of the village of Deçan. The infrastructure of our house was… a house on the western side of the main street on the way to the village, a house on the right side, a three story kulla, followed by another two story kulla, and inside [in the yard] there was a well, there still is. It was around thirty meters deep, there was a part for the cattle which we called posllomi. We had baskets, two baskets. There was the black mulberry tree as well as the rainier cherry tree, the garden and everything else that reminds me of it, the quince tree and everything else that reminds me of my early childhood.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How was life in a [family] community?
Sali Cacaj: To be honest, I value the life of that time. I realize it was a very sophisticated organization, there was a family hierarchy which I remember, the head of the household was like the president of an organization nowadays, or someone who was highly respected.
It was an unique harmony. I never noticed any arguing between men and women. Everybody had their tasks. I only realized that later, because I didn’t understand it at the time, but I only understood the hierarchy and the very good organization later, not to say a very accurate organization for the time, and I can say, a pretty perfect organization.
The males, or men of the house shared work, somebody looked after the sheep, somebody else after the cows, the other one was at the mill, because we also had a mill near the center of Deçan. It was around one hundred and fifty meters from our house. The mill is still under the protection of cultural heritage. The mill was very old, yes, in front of the Old Municipality Assembly of the municipality of Deçan, and the mill had three stones, that’s how we called it, and I know that the people who came to grind [wheat] were from the region of the river Drin, from Ura e Shejtë [The Holy Bridge], foreigners, people, and all the surrounding villages, not only of the municipality of Deçan, but from Gjakova as well, from the surroundings of Peja, because the mill was in the center. When people went to the hills, they brought their wheat to grind on the way back, and [they took it] two or three days later, the mill stayed opened for twenty four hours, so people could take it any time, they found it there, so that they didn’t have to carry it [to the hills] then send it back home.
The mill was… two-three people worked there, in case one of them was sick, the other one replaced him. Since we are talking about the mill, baba Zymer worked at the mill, then baba Isuf, who was the head of the household. In the meantime, for short periods of time, it was usually not a very hard physical work and the other ones worked there as well, such as baca Demë and then my father Asllan or Azllan, that’s how people called him. Baca Hamëz worked there as well as baca Bekë and we, the youth, used to hang out there because there was a lamp at the place where the miller stayed.
There was a fireplace there, a bed that was higher than the nowadays sofas, the bed was not exactly for two persons, it was small, for one person, a little wider than for one person. It had a characteristic because it was made of planks, the mill was made of stones, while the divide was made of planks. There was a window in the inner part which served to see whether someone was entering the mill during the cold season, that was its function at the mill.
Another characteristic was that beyond the bedroom, the room where the miller stayed, there was a door which could not be noticed, the plank was a cut similar to the planks that were used inside, that was a 3×2 area, and they used it to hide the important stuff, such as food, or a person, in case they had not pleasant relations with the [ruling] power, there were always things that were hidden back then.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Can you tell us about your close family?
Sali Cacaj: Yes. My grandfather had four brothers. One of them had no children, Tahir. While others, Halil had children, Imer had children and my father was alone, he had one sister who had died very early from tuberculosis. Then my father had two children, twins… but they didn’t live, then other children of his didn’t live either, then it’s us, two brothers and six sisters.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Where did you go to school?
Sali Cacaj: I finished elementary school in Deçan. Middle school… I finished elementary school in Deçan, it was three-four hundred meters from the old part of Deçan. Riza Alaj was my first teacher, who also taught me in the second year of elementary school. He was a person with an extraordinary look. He looked like Hollywood artists, he was tall, with a look that I can freely say for that time… later we watched Hollywood movies, Rock Anson [Hudson] and many other artists, such as Humphrey Bogart and so on, but our teacher, I only noticed later that he didn’t differ from them in looks, nor in beauty, nor elegance.
He was a perfect man, very strict, very mature, very wise, very authoritative, very charismatic, and in a sense he was the inspiration of my pedantry, maybe I am not that pedant, but I got it from him. Later, he was the director of the [school] in Deçan, later he became a director in Prizren and later I know that he was the director of the Kosovo Television for a very long time.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: What do you remember from elementary school, I mean, something more?
Sali Cacaj: I remember many things. I remember that our teacher was very committed, because those times were different from nowadays, because we only took the knowledge, writing, the knowledge of the world and other things from our teachers and professors. While nowadays it is a time when everything is learned from the internet, from everyday life. I remember our teacher Riza Alaj with great respect, first he was very close, very friendly, very warm, how to say, very soulful, but at the same time very strict. Once he said that something is like this, there was no other way.
Back then, at the time of our childhood, we played with soccer teams, we would divide [in teams] and play, when the snow fell we would play with snowballs. We built snowmen many times. Then, we held the soccer tournaments which were played among classes, which class would win. I remember them, because I have always been an activist of games, of soccer as well as of running.
Then, my second grade teacher was Qemajl Doroshi, in third grade. Professor Rizaja had a misfortune sometime by the end of the second grade, he was injured. I remember it since then, I don’t know who, but I remember they shot him here {points to the injured spot}. I don’t know, they had an indirect conflict and we cried because we thought our teacher was killed, and I remember for a long time then, when I watched Albanian films on the Albanian Television [RTSH], there was a film about a teacher being killed, and it always reminded me of… our teacher was killed very early. But, fortunately he survived. It was just a small injury, I guess it was indirect, a conflict, I don’t remember more about it.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: What do you remember of your life at that time, because you are also the generation right after the Second World War. What do you remember about that social aspect, how did change happened, I mean socialism?
Sali Cacaj: Back then we didn’t…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Did you know that?
Sali Cacaj: We were in Deçan, we knew that there was… as children we were afraid of the police, of course we were afraid of the ruling power, of the army, of… Pleqtë told us about the wars that took place in different periods of time. My father, I like to call him my at [ father] because this is Albanian. He was one of those who participated in the the Second World War. He was injured. Actually, they told me that our relatives were forced to participate in wars because the ruling power of that time forced people to do it.
Their orientations weren’t communist in any way and… but they were part of some other patriotic things, at their level, with the capacities they had. They had a very wide circle of friends. They were a very generous family, bogatstvo, because I don’t remember my house, because we went there late, because it was a house hierarchy in men’s oda or in a kuvendi of men, because it should be called kuvendi, not men’s oda, because oda and soba are both Turkish. I know that we had that hierarchy, we had kuvendi or men’s oda, how they call it now, in the three story kulla. There was a wooden part outside, there was another area for the youth on the third floor and it had a fireplace as well.
Instead, in the house below, in the two story house, there were four bedrooms inside the kulla, on its second floor. Each of the bedrooms had its bathroom, the way it was at that time, in order to warm the water at home and carry it to clean upstairs. It was a characteristic that in our house there was only one staircase, because the cattle were on the ground floor, I mean mainly cows and horses, while the sheep were in another part because they needed more room.
There was the same characteristic almost in every kulla, but they changed them with time, because I worked a lot on kulla. I photographed them, I have around ten-fifteen thousands photographs, maybe a lot more. Over fifty thousands slides were burned in my house in total, but we will talk about this later. And that characteristic was that the back door in the lower part of the stable was locked. There was a shul [latch], some call it shul while some other call it drom. It was taken out of the wall and its dimensions were about 12-13 X 12-23 centimeters, it was made of chestnut tree, very strong, and we took it out of a part of the wall in order to put it inside the other part and lock the door, and there was no chance for anyone to open it from the outside.
But, it was characteristic that there was a staircase inside and they went upstairs through it, then the second floor was connected to the other part [of the kulla], and it was also connected with it from the outside. On the second floor, there was the house, on the right side of the ground floor there was a living room, how to say, the nowadays living room. There were some shkëmb [wooden stools] on which we used to sit, the floor was not paved. There was the area where dishes were washed, there was a big fireplace which was used to boil the water for everything and where the cooking was done, and there was a three meter-long window, like this with some small windows where tamli [milk], which now we call qumësht, was kept in buckets in order to make cream, which was one of the family processes to prepare food. And there was a part which they called çarranik, or the dairy place. That’s where cheese and yogurt were kept, as well as pickles and other kitchen stuff, how to say, they were small storages, the [dairy] coming from the hills were not worth just one, but ten-fifteen dinars. Everyone [in the household] had thirty-fifty kilograms until spring, because they “caught” the cheese, this is how we say it, we ferment the cheese and the dairy in order to be safe with food until, until the spring season starts, so then we can gather food again.
And there was a staircase to the second floor there, our house is still burned, it’s not totally demolished. It had a distinct trait, because it only had an around two meter-long corridor, and it was connected with the windows which were oriented to the street and there were six rooms, a high corridor, just like the ones in the schools, the rooms were bedrooms of people and their families. While in the upper part of the kulla there was a room, the women assembly or the girls room, as it was called. Its dimensions were around 5X6 meters or 6X6 meters. Women, girls, children, young mothers, the girls who were preparing their çejz for marriage, the ones who prepared the kana and the carpets, always. They made various things, handmade things, in order to sell them mainly at the market of Peja, but sometimes in Gjakova as well, in order to provide the financial means for their closer family’s goods, besides the housekeeping that they did.
The housekeeping was done, I remember, everybody was given a certain part, how to say, a certain part of the money for their own needs. Then it is very interesting, I have also mentioned this in some of my memoirs which were destroyed during the war, some people whose last name I don’t remember took from us…. They came from Prizren first, then from Gjakova, later I remember, when I grew up, they came from Peja. I remember one or two tailors would come and stay at our place for two nights, more than one night, two nights or three, took the measurement of every member of the family. Very interesting! I only understood its importance later. They took the measurement, and they would make the models of the pants as they were at that time, the tirqe for the elders, they would prepare them two-three weeks, and after two-three weeks they would come again and they [family members] would try them on, whether they were too small or too big, and the tailor would cut them right away with the scissors. It was, how to say, an extraordinary thing.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How many generations lived in the kulla?
Sali Cacaj: Three-four generations. Four generations lived in the kulla, yes. I mean, the grandfathers of almost each of us were alive, in most cases. There were cases when the great-great grandfathers of ours were alive as well. I don’t remember my great-great grandfather. The ones who are older than I, some… baba Syla, then baca Hamëz, baba Zymer, they are older, they also are… 87 or 90 years old, but they remember, they remember. I only remember my grandfather. I wore, and all the elders, wore the opinga which were made of leather, they were made of leather and they were embroidered in the upper part, wool socks, like they were…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: You made all these on your own, right?
Sali Cacaj: Yes, yes, they made them themselves. No, they made them themselves. Women made them at home. They made the socks, the shoka of the waist, they made the shoka for the tirqe themselves. They also made the shirts themselves, but not the tirqe. The tirqe and the vest of the tirqe and the japon, that’s how we call the cape, and there was also the herrka. Herrka is a kind of bigger jacket with a headgear. It had no buttons, it had a wire which was tied this way {shows with hands}. I remember it as if it was today. I still see them sometimes here and there.
It had the headgear, and it surprisingly had short sleeves. And I remember it with short sleeves back then, yes, short sleeves because they needed to move, the woolen mitan and the zhgun made free movement impossible to work as much as it was needed at the time, while the cape, how they are calling it now, or the japonxhë how we called it back then, that was very heavy, I remember sometimes when I went to take it for my father, I was little and I could hardly carry it, it was all made of zhgun. It was only put on the shoulders, this part of it {points to his arm} was open for the arms, it had its headgear and the colors were white with a black rope and they were with… the dyeing of the clothes was made at home. It was dark brown, we called it “the black of the nut,” I mean with nuts, they were dyed with the peel of the alder. But it was a coloring, I remember they never lost their color. The color stayed like that. I remember when they dyed them, I remember it. I was always interested in these old things, I still am.
I had many ethnographic things such as jelek, tirqe, some kinds of opinga, I also had the long underpants, surprisingly they didn’t wear the tirqe during the summer, but they wore those long underpants. They had a layer of around seven centimeters, maybe a little more, it was, how to say, in the lower part, and was decorated with flowers and such, not in colors. They tied them at that time, there was no elastic, no.
To my surprise, the shirts were very distinctive, they had no collars, the ones we call Russian collars, they were without collars, they only had this part that comes out like this, open until here, here they had a square {points towards his chest} maybe a little bigger than 6X9 [centimeters], around 7X10, because I am a photographer and dimensions are a little professional deformation. And then they were tied, they used them during the summer. They were exactly like… they remind me of the Mexican movies, they were long a little over the knee, and they tied them in the waist with a shoka or with a scarf. But, they used them for some time, the white ones, they looked exactly like Mexicans with the white hat.
And the winter clothes, made of zhgun, as we call them, tirqe and the other things they wore, my grandfather had them all. I mean, until the day he died in ‘69, around 118 years old. My grandfather had the white plis, a white beard until here {shows with hands}. He was a shepherd. He was very soulful. Two elements which later, how to say, brought me to life during my readings, during the filming, when soulfulness came up for discussion, besides soulfulness and generosity and care of the children, they were very careful to… it is not like that nowadays maybe. We were even a little passive, because they were too caring.
I remember two things of my grandfather, he was a shepherd, as the elders tell. There is a part of the hill which we call Nërkungje and while walking down, after the summer season came to its end, and the cold weather started, while climbing down to the plain, there is a hill near the spring, it is called Nërkungje, he found a deer, a very little deer. And he took the deer in order to feed it, he kept it in his stable during the whole winter and fed it, an extraordinary care, and to my surprise, when they went to the hills again in the spring, he left it in the exact place where he had found it earlier. This is something that would make me feel good no matter who did it, but now it makes me feel good exactly for the reason that it was my grandfather the one who had such a pure soul. They believed in God very much. They weren’t declared as religious that much, but they believed in God. They went to the mosque to pray time after time, not always, but only in the Juma, because the mosque was near. But, they did it more… because I noticed that there were no religious elements at home, there were no explanations for the things that we should not do, such as not whistling at night, cutting our nails at night, and many other things, we just shouldn’t do them and that’s it.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How was it, as far as decision-making in the community goes?
Sali Cacaj: Let me not forget another thing about the old man, my grandfather. I remember when we were young and went to the mountains to work for the household needs, he said, “Wait a moment!” He took the strajca, you know what strajca is? What you put the axe in. He said, “No, because the trees in the mountain will cry, ‘he will cut me, he will cut me’.” We joked about it at the time, but later on I realized that it is a spiritual feeling, it had its own meaning to them, maybe it has little meaning to us today.
I think the decision-making was very good.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How was it?
Sali Cacaj: When we grew up a little, because they didn’t allow children to go to the oda, we would gather at night. For some period of time they allowed us to stay in the small çerga but only if we were disciplined, because they didn’t allow us to stay very long. I remember we only stayed for one hour, not longer. It was like that for one month. Then after one month we were allowed to stay for two hours, the next month for four hours, five hours. Maybe they had a hierarchy, a kind of step by step in order not to be spoiled.
I know that when dinner was served, nobody started before the head of the household, he split the bread and I know that once he finished splitting the bread, he said, “Bon Appetit të gjithëve” [to all]. They actually said tanve, të gjithëve was used very little back then. We would start eating and the order of the meal was like that, that the one who is the last to finish, is the one who will clean the sofra or the sinija. Very interesting, you know. At first they did it in turns, week after week. Somebody did it one week, the other did it the next week, but then they made it like this.
During the time before the family community split, the one who finished the last, the one who wanted to eat slower was the one who cleaned the sinija. It was something that they called ferratë, it was made of wood with an integrated part which was used to put the crumbs, which then were used to feed the birds with. We had a part in the yard close to the well where we put the crumbs to feed the birds, and we used other food to feed the dogs we had.
I remember that after dinner, the head of the household would sit in front of everyone, the older people would sit, my grandfather on the other side. Isuf was the head of the household, we called him baba Isuf. And he started, “Shall we start?” “Yes.” “How was today?” he asked the shepherd. “Where did you send the sheep today” “Here, here, here.” “Did you have any problems?” “No.” “Alright.”
To the other one, “Where did you send the cows?” “Here, here, here,” “Any problems?” “No.” I mean, he asked each of them about the tasks they were given, whether they had any problems or troubles or disagreements with anyone. He did that all the time. And the next day he said, “Where do you want to send them tomorrow?” “I want to send them to the other part to graze, because there are several areas where I can send them.” In case somebody had to go, the shepherd had to go to his wife’s family or had any other need to see someone or go to a party, a wedding or something, then he was replaced….He said, “Demë, you will look after the sheep tomorrow. Be careful, because you are not used to them. He will come with you as well, take a boy to help you, because he will not be here today.”
We were constantly engaged, ours were engaged… they sold, we had a lot of apples. I remember apples, “Hasi pears,” how we call them, hasi and hesë have two different meanings. Hesë refers to eating while Hasi, things are from Has, the region of Has. I think in the Drenica region they call them kakiqka pears. Eh, we sold them in our region and later on we put them in baskets. We took the pears with big baskets, maybe as big as the half of this {points towards the seat in the room}, it had enough room, they put them there and sold them by the kilograms.
And as for the apples, I know they also sold them in Belgrade as well as in Zagreb, Subotica and Varazdin, Rijeka, Ljubljana, and here in Split, I remember it from that time. But, the train system was like that at the time, they sent them to Peja first, then in Peja they put them in a wagon. Then I know that we didn’t see our parents during the whole winter, we only saw them in the winter break that lasted 21 days back then. We didn’t see them because someone was in Zagreb, someone in Rijeka, Ljubljana, they sold a little in the market, [in bags of] two-three kilograms of apples, but they stayed there longer.
Many people told us how many people slept in the same room, I mean, people from different places, and others from our region went there to sell. Sometimes they sent us postcards from Ljubljana, I remember it seemed interesting to me, Franc Porsernin [unidentified] if I am not mistaken, then Emona, Ljubljana, the river Emona and so on.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: What happened with this co-existence? Did you ever spread?
Sali Cacaj: Yes, yes, the increase in the number of family members and the needs of someone to live alone… because usually before people lived in family communities mainly, because we, I told you that we also had our mill. Our family had around three hundred ares of land in a village at the outskirts of the municipality of Gjakova, it had the part for which they obtained the right of çifçia, which was given to some locals for a long period under the laws of old ex-Yugoslavia and I don’t remember whether it was over three, five or ten years where you were supposed to work the land, then they would be able to take around sixty-seventy percent of it.
The family community, I was around 13 and a half years old, I mean almost 14, we lived in a family community until around ‘64-’65. I was around 13 years and something old, 13-14 years old. We split as a family community by our own wish. One of my cousins came. There was no disagreements, no unpleasant feelings, no troubles, the [property] was split based on lot, there is a distinct trait that people don’t get very mad when things like this are done based on lot, they say that that’s their fate and it’s done. The youngest one was the first who could choose in the lot, always, and the oldest one was the last. Like this, so in my family, my father was given the old kulla, the old kulla with the well where we had rainier cherry trees, black mulberry trees, the basket and a part of the posllom.
The posllom belonged to baca Demë, who took it and sent it to another part which was farther, and around two hundred meters from that part, he built his house in another field. The two story kulla belonged to baba Isuf, the head of the household who was an extraordinary worker, he was a man who worked day and night, but he only had one daughter, he had no son. He died a little before the war, in ‘98. He was around 95-96 years old when he died. My grandfather was one hundred something years old when he died, my grandmother was 99, like this, they lived long. Some more, some less. So, there was no conflict.
Then we lived in the kulla until ‘80. We lived in the kulla until around ‘79-‘80. In ‘80 we built another house in the center of Deçan, a part of which was taken from us for the needs of the municipality in order to build a five-six story building which is still there. They took 16 ares at that time, and with that money we build a house behind that part, it was around 240 square meters. We had a very good house. There were 24 ares in the part where we lived, and it was burned during the war, it is still burned, and I was an activist of the reconciliations in that house that was burned during the war. Anton Çetta, Azem Shkreli, Bajram Kelmendi, Ramiz [Kelmendi] and Esat Stavileci slept there. Pajazit Nushi mentioned it in one interview before he died that they slept there, they were all part of the elite. It is interesting that after we [the family] split, I met arbëresh in ‘78, during my studies, but maybe later…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: What did you study?
Sali Cacaj: I was in Subotica, [I studied] Foreign Trade for some time. Then after two years of studying Foreign Trade there, how to say, they made an announcement for us to show up at the office of the university registrar. I went to the registrar. They said, “No, you didn’t register in Foreign Trade, but Agronomy.” I said, “No more, I passed my exams, I have my transcripts, I have this, but no.” “No,” they said, “You should go to the dean.” The dean told me that, “It is an order and this is the rule, there is nothing you can complain about, the law is the law the way they told you.” I was surprised because I lived near him, my house was near his, on the opposite side, I am talking about when in Subotica. And when I left, he came to the door, I didn’t expect him to, he said, “Don’t bother with that business, because the state is behind this.”
Then I didn’t know, I didn’t understand those things. I wasn’t interested in Agronomy. I returned here. I talked to my father. We went to Gjakova, Bardhyl Çaushi was a family friend. We talked to him, and according to Bardhyl there was a trend to orient people mainly toward Agronomy and not the profiles which… in a sense, the state had selection power over many things like this, and that was the selection of the state. Then…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How did you decide to go to Subotica?
Sali Cacaj: I liked Foreign Trade. You know, like youngsters, some of us liked film, a friend of mine went to [study] Film, Murat went to Czech Republic. He went to Zagreb first, then there, but I had no opportunities to go there. It seemed very far from my family. I liked to become a cameraman, we like it more in the sense of image, because cameraman is a service that we all know, we thought differently about at the time.
My father was given the first signals of my orientation toward Foreign Trade in Subotica by Ibrahim Mushkolaj, a deçanas who was the head of custom and he told my father that this profile is important and has a strong perspective, and to be honest that is true.
Then I returned here to the [Faculty of} Economics. Like that.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: In which year?
Sali Cacaj: In ‘74, ‘73, something like that.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Were you part of the protests of ‘81?
Sali Cacaj: No, the protests took place later, because I went to military service in ‘78, ‘79.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Can you describe that part of your life. You studied, then you went to…?
Sali Cacaj: In the studies here we had x number of people of various generation. Even during middle school, I was engaged in sports activities as well as drama. I played for the school team in sports activities, I played [soccer] for the team of Deçan for several years, the team Kurrsdier at the time, it was named after a hill and competed in the sub-league, this is how we called it back then. Sub-league, one sub-league consisted of around four-five cities such as Klina, Istog, Peja, Gjakova and so on, it’s like the regions nowadays, we can call it regional.
I played in the sub-league, I held number two and number five. I played friendly matches at the time, three matches under the Kosovo representation, one of them in Peja and two others in Gjakova. I had the first place in the Gymnasium of Deçan in the three thousand meters race, and once in the Kosovo [national] level together with my cousin who has passed away, we both took the first place, both of us Cacaj in three hundred meters, the Cross [English] that was at that time. Like this.
And as for the studies, we had friends from our generation, we lived in the dormitories that were located near the Faculty of Law and the Faculty of Economics. In the old dormitories, the former military barracks. Then I lived in the Dormitory number 1, 2, 3. The third, I also lived in the Dormitory number 3.
Then in ‘74-’75 the Seminar for Albanian Language and Culture took place. That is where I met arbëresh. There was Antonio Belushi who is still alive, as well as Karmelo Kandreva who was a regional director of Education and Culture in Cosenza, then there was Zef Keramota or Mozakaj, who still often comes to the seminar, then Ernest Stoqi, who was a geologist. There was Nat Furtino, who passed away three years ago, an arbëresh priest, one of the greatest miracle workers of the Catholic Church in the Vatican, he wrote many books on the unity of religions.
Emanuelo Jordani was also a priest, then he became a Cardinal, he was a good friend of mine. I know him, I was….At that time I knew them through the arbëresh, the desire to know our people, the arbëresh. There were two-three books: Shpirti i Arbërit Rron [The Spirit of Arbër Lives], Gjaku i Arbrit Rron [The Blood of Arbër Lives] and Gjaku i Shprishur [The Blood Undone]. And, there were some very different motives there, very different, to me it was a different motivation to go beyond the rreth we were in, because at that time we only watched, we only listened to [Radio] Kukës. We listened to [Radio] Tirana and the television, we were mainly… we watched movies. Maybe the main motivation to save our identity was firstly the family, secondly the school and then the television, maybe the inspiration of national feeling [was] through various films and drama.
That was with the arbëreshë, then I met Ymer Jaka in those times, Anton Çetta, professor Anton, Mark Krasniqi, even though Mark Krasniqi visited our house many times when I was young. He was collecting oral stories, he asked elders and people from the closer rreth about kanunore things. That is when I met Latif Berisha, President Rugova, we knew each other since then, I also knew Zekeria Cana since then, I had a friendship with him.
I went to Skopje with them maybe twice. We met Xhevat Gega and Petro Janura there, they were professors at the time and I remember their houses, they had 4X6 meters libraries, something I didn’t get to see in our private houses because we were coming… I was coming from a totally rural zone. And since ‘74, I went to the arbëreshë maybe seven-eight times…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Did you study them or what?
Sali Cacaj: No, I went for a visit, they had invited me and I went. To be honest then in those villages, that is where the motivation to be oriented in photography came, from the kulla, the motivation from our pleq, I saw movies with cowboys and such, and I saw some kanunore customs and some distinctive dresses of ours which I didn’t get to see in any movie. I only got to see them in some Albanian movies later, then at school, the Kapedan Lleshi movie, and two-three other movies where our costumes were used. That was where my inspiration to deal with photography came from.
Then when I came here from Subotica, I had some problems of such nature that then I got totally oriented toward photography. More in order to contribute to the kulla, to the figures of pleq as creators, I had around fifty thousands slides of that time. There were over ten thousands [slides] af Calabria, arbëreshë, various stills, all of them…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Did you take any training or was it just a hobby of yours?
Sali Cacaj: Photography? I was provided with literature on photography in Zagreb, two-three books that they had. I remember Milan Fiz had [the literature] and I thought within myself he must be like… because there was a movie, Kulla e Fizajve [The Fizaj’s Kulla] and I thought there must be a connection, you know, our deformations are such… and I had such knowledge. Then I went, I followed some photography magazines, and I had maybe five-six books that one had to learn in order to become a photographer. I also asked for the books that were taught at the Academy, the Department of Photography in Zagreb, I went through all of them, I studied them because I had no opportunities to go, and there was not much needed to do for what I wanted.
So, I was in Calabria, I even have two photographs which happened to be in my [pocket] accidentally… of the arbëreshë at whose place I was at the time and a memory which was saved for me by my friend, he gave it to me last October when I invited him… I know many arbëreshë, back then I thought that it was a big deal, and one of the arbëreshë sent me a postcard of that time with the University of Albania and with the arbëreshe eagle and a very particular text. {Gives the postcard to the interviewer and tells her that she is free to take it}.
What I want to say is that… I had the inspiration for the national identity from my family, from my grandfather, my maternal uncle. My maternal uncle, the brother of my mother, was of the same generation as Esat Mekuli and professor Mark [Krasniqi] who went to Albania, then they went to Italy, the Second World War found them in Italy and then he went to England. From England he moved to Australia, where he lived and worked as a doctor and a lawyer. He passed away five years ago. He said that he had two children, whom we never met. He said that one of them was part of NATO, a pilot, and two daughters in France. We don’t know their names, neither do we have contacts with them.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How did you begin with the first shop? I know that you had a photography shop, I guess?
Sali Cacaj: Since then, first I began in ‘75-’76 in Deçan with Foto Ulëza [Ulëza Photo]. Then I went to the military service and I began with Foto Drini [Drini Photo] when I came back in ‘80. In fact, this year is my fortieth anniversary of being engaged in photography with the permit I had in ‘76, I really have… I was engaged in photography even earlier, in ‘72, ‘71, ‘70, even during middle school, I was constantly engaged in photography.
The reason was a very close friend of mine who was also a relative of mine, his last name was Cacaj and he was a cousin of mine and his father had a camera, but they wouldn’t give it to us at that time, but after his father passed away, the camera remained with his mother. We took the camera and it was not difficult, two-three things, we went to the photographer who taught us how to photograph. And I took almost all the middle school photographs. Then from there it was the desire because I didn’t mention this….There was mother Raza, whom we had to beg in order to give us the camera when we went on trips as students, it was a Rule 2B camera, I will never forget this, she had it.
And this is how photography continued, because I wanted to leave my marks in life, since it didn’t work in Foreign Trade. I am a member of the Shoqata e Artistëve the Piktorëve të Kosovës [Kosovo Artists and Painters Association]. I am a member of the Shoqata e Artistëve dhe Piktorëve Gjithëkombëtar [Nationwide Artists and Painters Association]. I was a member of the Shoqata e Fotografëve Evropian [European Photographers Association]. I am a member of the association, academy… of the association, not academy but Shoqata Akademike Evropiane [European Academic Association]. It is an association with its headquarters in Brussels. A professor from Gjilan is in charge for our region, he took that position after the war, while the…
I was the official photographer of Miss Europe 1996. I competed in a fair, I have been following photography fairs for 30-40 years now. Maybe I couldn’t be part of two-three of them because of the war, and some other times since I was busy with the president.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: What of your work did you exhibit?
Sali Cacaj: No, I didn’t exhibit my work, but I took care of the technical aspects, of the technology, shape, the way of photographing, then the lenses, cameras, printers, photography machines. I officially had [the Kodak franchise], just like McDonald’s, the boy {refers to the cameraman} might know it. There was Kodak Express which gave you [the franchise] according to a standard, a quality, we had to test, everyday in the morning, to test the chemicals in the machines, save it and send it to the person who was in charge in Zagreb, every three months they had to renew you the right to keep [the licence]. Nobody had it in Kosovo but me. Nobody had it in Skopje either, there was one in Belgrade at that time. I mean, I [officially] had the Kodak Express franchise. I have their permission, I had the permission from them. This is it as far as photography goes.
Let me tell you one motive with arbëreshë in the Gymnasium of the Lyceum De Rada, in ‘74, ‘75, ‘76, I was at the arbëreshë’s at that time, with arbëreshë….She is my fiancée [points the photograph] at that time, my wife. As youngsters, adventurers, we went without being rational in the economic and professional sense, but simply led by the desire to know our people there.
But I used the time there to also take many photographs of the elders and the streets, and I can say that I know at least three-four streets of over 50 arbëreshë villages, the ones that are called arbrishë, but they don’t call it rruga [street], but udha, udha De Rada, udha Garibaldi, udha Iliria, udha Skandërbeg, while in Saint Mitri (San Demetrio Corone), where de Rada was from, the square was named Skandërbeg, the driving school was named Skandërbeg as well as the Radio, the movie theatre, everything was Skandërbeg inspired, literally everything.
I participated in some arbëreshe public events, which usually take place in the fall. Some of them in the spring at Easter time as well. The costumes are extraordinary and I feel very bad that they [the photographs] were burned in my house and I can freely say that I had no desire to live anymore, maybe I am wrong but my life felt like nothing because I consider that my identity was burned because I had photographs of an artistic, but also documentary level. I was there four times and in….So, Arvanitas were my inspiration. I took many photographs there, I personally knew Aristio Kola. I lost everything…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: What about the photographs of the Reconciliation Movement?
Sali Cacaj: No, I have no photographs of the Reconciliation Movement and the violence anymore. I took photographs of the Reconciliation Movement since the very first day until Verrat e Llukës.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How did you become an activist for human rights?
Sali Cacaj: Human rights, it was my own will and desire, because in the ‘90s, at the beginning, after the announcement of the Lidhja Demokratike e Kosovës, of the founding of the Lidhja Demokratike e Kosovës, I was active with President Rugova since the very first day, I told you that I met him in ‘74-’75, we had meetings with arbëreshë, we met each-other. It is important that the president was part of the Writers Colony that was held in Deçan where writers and artists met.
That is where I mostly met him, he was even at my house twice. We had dinner, then we sent him at night, we had no car, there were two kilometers from down to up and at night, at around 10pm in the summer, 11pm, we sent him to his hotel together with the son of my paternal uncle. We accompanied him in order not to leave him alone. The second time we sent him with a neighbor, we took his car and sent him because he didn’t want to go there on foot. He didn’t like cornbread, he didn’t prefer it. We were in constant contacts with the president, and we had very good relations with Bardhyl Çaushi. He left his bees at my house for some period of time, he is a family friend. I also knew professor Mark, especially since the ‘90s in the Council for Human Rights as I told you, when a beating from the police happened, they beat my cousins Idriz Caca and some others, and my brother photographed them quickly, then I photographed them as well, because my brother was younger, but however he photographed them very quickly. Then those photographs went viral, because photography was important because of its visual side. Then we took photographs, maybe, maybe over ten thousands shots only about the violence until close to the war. I have nothing from the war.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Do they [The Council] have any copy that has remained? I mean the photographs that were used for documentation?
Sali Cacaj: We mainly worked in the Council for Human Rights, it could sound unbelievable to someone, but I took over three-four hundred photographs in ten years, five thousands, four thousands, because I had my own laboratory and I didn’t hesitate to do it. I developed them on my own. I closed the shop. And then I worked from the moment I closed the curtains of the shop until late at night, because I also had some employees but I didn’t want to force anyone, and I always did them on my own except two-three times, I also brought them to Pristina on my own. Then I had a part of the car just like a bunker, it’s like the jewelers had made it like that, with the purpose of hiding things, and a guy taught me how to put them under the [car] seat, and there were two-three hundred photographs. We put the bobbins of the car sponge and it seemed like there was nothing there when somebody looked at it. Osman Cacaj, an activist, accompanied me many times.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: What were the cases that you documented?
Sali Cacaj: Violence, beatings. I have some…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Of the police?
Sali Cacaj: Yes, of the police. I have some, I have some [photographs] at home, but I don’t have most of them because I had the negative [films] at home. Everything that wasn’t at home survived, as for the others, I don’t know whether they were burned or they took them. Because the police stayed at my house for over two-three weeks, then they left and they burned the house, and maybe they burned the photographs as well. The house is still burned.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Which were the places you [photographed] mostly, in the Peja region, all around Kosovo?
Sali Cacaj: No, no, I was all around Kosovo. I was there when Ylfete Humolli was [killed], I also was in Drenica as well as in Mitrovica, I was in…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Can you be more detailed about the cases, because it’s good to have them…
Sali Cacaj: The cases… the cases are terrible. One of the most difficult cases was the rape of Elizabeta Katanolli in Peja. It was one of the case where I couldn’t hold myself, that case was different from the other ones. It looks like when women are touched, one finds it more difficult to hold themselves, I mean, to bear it. My tears flew and I couldn’t photograph her in the hospital.
We photographed many people in the hospital, thanks to doctor Mahir Morins and his team, as well as some nurses who were there because they were connected to each-other. Sabrije Rrustaj was another case in the school protests, whose ear was totally removed by a truncheon, Samile Popovci and some others, if you only saw their faces… those photographs are terrible. The newspapers Il Corriere della Sera, La Repubblica, Der Spiegel, and The Times had them, as well as the Turkish Hürriyet, they all had those photographs on their first pages. Of course they took them from me, we gave them to them because I was a member of the Council for Human Rights in Pristina as well, and we gave the photographs to them.
I had, we had a priority because we didn’t need money to develop the photographs, because I did that, I had a very good machine and it could develop one thousands and five hundred photographs in one hour. The machines were big back then, with big capacities so I can say that we spread over five hundred thousands photographs in ten years, because there was no scanning nor internet back then, we gave them to the delegation, two thousands, three thousands, one thousands, five hundred, sometimes more, sometimes less.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How would you define photography, as documentary or more?
Sali Cacaj: Me? No, it’s documentary, there is no other meaning. There was the other specific case, it was on the first page of La Repubblica, if I am not mistaken, of Isuf Rizi, because I might confuse it now. There was Zonol Lushaj of the village of Gjonaj in the Has region who worked in a bakery for over 20 years in Belgrade, and he gave pie and bread and the whole breakfast, he fed them for 24 years, and in a sense just like a raven, as the people’s saying goes, “No matter how much you feed the raven, it will rip your eyes off either way.” And they ripped his eyes off, I have the photographs, I was also at his funeral. It is a unique case, the two teachers who were killed in the village of Uqsh.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Did this all happen during the ‘90s?
Sali Cacaj: No, no they are a little… ‘90, ‘92, ‘93, ‘94 and a little later, these things vanished with time, with some exceptions. But there was a peculiarity back then, that no matter where a little beating happened, we felt it as a thorn in our body. But after the war, people’s hearts became, victims unfortunately became numbers and nothing else. There was the case of the teachers, we went to the village of Uqsh together with Zenun Çela and Bajram Kelmendi, as well as Ymer Jaka and Pajazit Nushi, we went to the village of Gjonaj of the Hai Region, Zonol Lushaj.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: What cases?
Sali Cacaj: The case of the baker from Belgrade. The process of photographing it was terrible. We also photographed some soldiers who returned dead in coffins, there was Selman Meta of the municipality of Peja, I don’t remember the village at the moment. It was peculiar that I didn’t realize it until the moment when I had to face it that there were very difficult cases, that it was very difficult to see beaten and raped and mistreated people in such a cruel way. There were, how to say, easier cases, they were not easy but as far as physical injuries go, they were a little easier…
The soldier, I remember Selman Meta, because I have memorized hundreds of them. He was in his uniform, tied, just the way they come in coffins, we took his corpse out of the coffin and put it in the yard behind the hay, he had an unbearable scent, trust me, I had to get close to him two-three times in order to take his belt off, then I had to get farther in order to breathe. Then, I returned, I was the one who did it mostly. I can say that I have turned over hundreds of people with my own hands. That was a bit special because he was a little… the corpse had stayed for too long, it had swollen and when I undressed him, because I had to undress him in order to photograph his whole body, like this and like this {shows the sides with his hands}. I accept reality, his leg was black and the skin broke, I thought, I thought that he was wearing leggings. I thought he was wearing them because of the cold winter weather, only later did I realize that the skin broke. You know, very difficult.
Then the last ones just before the war in the village of Sllup, Gllogjan, Sllupqe, twelve, thirteen people in the village of Gllogjan, all of them together, because people couldn’t stand it anymore, it was difficult. People, my father and I were strong in cases of misfortune, my brother died on a hill, he fell from a rock, and nobody saw a tear in my father’s eyes. We are strong, but such cases sometimes… it was more difficult for me in the beginning, a lot more difficult because I had to photograph them, my eyes would fill with tears, I felt pity, I was very emotional. Then later somehow I perceived it as my task which I had to do and I began to adapt, I did it differently.
And the case in the village of Sllup, there were 13-14 people, one of them worked in television, there were two-three teachers. We had to take them out of the trunk, there were some… some plastic bags just like the ones that are used for suits, they had their numbers and we had to open them. There were many people from the Hadërgjonaj family, they had ripped the eye off of Selman, the worker of the television, there were massacres of every kind.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Did you find out about these cases through the Council or… did they invite you?
Sali Cacaj: No, in fact I knew them mostly because they were from my region, everybody would come to me also when the police [conducted] raids, because I was also a member of the Council, and I went to most of the cases alone. I took two people with me twice, but it was difficult with them because I saw that it was hard for them until they got used to it, so I went there on my own mostly. There were cases when my relatives accompanied me and so on, but the Council also told me from a distance when something happened in Mitrovica or Kaçanik. I don’t remember the name, Zekerija Cana called me once and we went at around 1 or 2 am with a taxi driver whose name I don’t remember at the moment. They found a dead person. The moon shone just as if it was the sun and the dog, when we went to the place, the dog had taken the hand and I was younger at the time because it’s been twenty-six years since those cases. And it took us [a run of] two-three hundred meters to remove the hand from the dog and Zekerija couldn’t run, the taxi driver ran faster than I because he was even younger…
And I mean, there are many cases, very difficult ones, and the one in the village of Gllogjan when the protest took place… the protest in which the police shot Agron Mehmeti and Him Haradinaj, and another one, when the police killed the three of them right away. Hima was killed behind the school and they told us that another one is killed somewhere else. We looked for them, we took the other ones and we didn’t find the last one. We went with the journalist Curr Mazreki, Emon Selmanaj, we went with Osman Cacaj as well. We looked for him in the pool of Radoniq but we couldn’t find him. They told us that Nuhi Bytyqi, Nuhi Bytyqi knows… Nuhi Bytyqi is a journalist.
Nuhi was a son-in-law in the village of Gllogjan and he was more connected to the case, and I called him through a satellite telephone, I said, “Oh Nuhi, we have been at the Radoniqi pool all day long, there is nothing there.” “No, bre,” he said, “Sali, look for him twenty meters down the school of Gllogjan.” We found him when we went there. He had two bombs and one kalashnikov with him, he was injured.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: In his body?
Sali Cacaj: Yes, yes, he had the bombs and the kalashnikov as a soldier that he was, a UÇK soldier without the uniform.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Did this happen very late?
Sali Cacaj: As a more specific case. And I know that poor him, he had died, he had crawled a little and died. We saw that he died because of blood loss and nobody could help him, because it had happened two-three days earlier and you know, because the injury was here and here, nothing more. There were various cases.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How did you get in touch with people from the Blood Feuds Reconciliation Movement?
Sali Cacaj: With people from the Blood Feuds Reconciliation Movement, I started to tell you earlier, I am sorry for the digression, Nimon Alimusaj, he was a professor in the gymnasium with some of his students. Nimon came to my shop, which was not right on the street side, but it was a little deeper and we knew Nimon personally from his son, he was also part of the Shoqëria Shpresa [Association Hope] where I was an organizer, and his brother Ilir was my geography teacher, a teacher in the elementary school and he said, “It would be good if you came to take photographs and help,” because he said, “You are good at organizing, you have been an organizer before and you were an organizer of the soccer matches where you played, as well as in the Shoqëria Shpresa,” he said, “And I believe you could help us a lot when the Blood Feuds Reconciliations start.” I said, “Yes, I am available at any time.”
Erëmirë Krasniqi: When did this happen?
Sali Cacaj: This happened in the early ‘90s.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Do you have any date?
Sali Cacaj: If I am not mistaken, it was February, the beginning of February, something like that.