Part Two
Anita Susuri: We were going to return to the part about the article in the pejton, which you said was written intentionally to show what kind of family you came from…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, yes, that’s true. In March 1964, I was on my way to school when I ran into a classmate, and he asked me, “Did you get the newspaper?” I said, “We don’t buy newspapers. Why? Was there an article?” He said, “Yes.” I asked, “Is it about your father?” He replied, “Not about mine, about yours.” For a whole month, I was, I don’t even know how to describe it, like a symbol of Pristina. When I walked down the street, some people looked at me with sympathy, the daughter of Ajet, and others with hatred, I’m talking about Albanians. That’s how much attention I drew during those days.
For a month, Rilindja wrote about it: “How was Ajet Gërguri appointed leader of the Ballists of Kosovo?” Both Večernje novosti and Rilindja. A whole month. I’d actually love for a journalist to take the initiative to find and republish that pejton again. To run it for a month like they did back then. There was even someone from Albania who made a very good show about my father after the war, titled I harruari (The Forgotten One). Because few people know about him, and we’re not the type of people to push ourselves forward, not like this or that. If someone else had my background, they’d say, “The daughter of Ajet should be an MP by now.” But I’m not into that. Whoever deserves it should move forward. That pejton caused a big stir in ‘64.
Anita Susuri: Still, you said that you met your husband and…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Oh yes. We met in ‘66 and got married in ‘67. People asked him, “You want to get engaged to the daughter of Ajet Gërguri?” He was from Montenegro, how would he know who Ajet Gërguri was? He had finished teacher training school in Pristina and university in Belgrade, so he was outside of those events. He was into sports, politics didn’t interest him much.
But he’s a patriot, more than anyone else, and he said, “Precisely because she’s the daughter of Ajet Gërguri, I want to marry her.” We used to joke, “Look, the Kosovars didn’t dare to marry you,” and I said, “Even you, a lucky guy from Montenegro,” and, “In ‘74 Ranković fell, everything changed.” That pejton was written because, I’m telling you, it happened to come out at a time when we both were of marrying age.
Anita Susuri: And was your sister also involved in these activities?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, my sister only finished fifth grade and said, “I don’t want to go to school anymore, I want to help mom with sewing,” and she quit.
Anita Susuri: So she learned a skill.
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes.
Anita Susuri: And later, after you got married, it seems you didn’t continue the activism anymore, or had you stopped earlier?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, no, after I got married, I didn’t anymore. Once I got a job, I wasn’t involved in activities anymore. I only helped in humanitarian ways when I could. When it comes to politics, honestly, even that little bit… In ‘90, I think, when the repressive measures began and the principal from Belgrade was brought to Pristina. She was a very good professor who taught some of my friends. My friends had finished higher education in Belgrade, and I studied in Zagreb.
She was a very good professor, not politically charged. But they brought her in saying, “Things aren’t going well over there, you need to fix the situation,” and handed her the laws, like, “This and this needs to be done.” She came to where we worked. We were writing [Serbian] in Latin script, and she said, “No, you need to write in Cyrillic, because that’s what the law says.”
And now, you know, when you’re used to speaking up, everyone else went silent, but God didn’t let me stay quiet. I said, “Well, professor, no problem. I’ll be the first to write in Cyrillic. But the status of Kosovo needs to change, because the current law says, ‘The language most widely spoken by the majority population must be written first.’ Here, it’s known that we Albanians outnumber the Serbs.” That’s what I replied to her. I said, “I’ll be the first to write in Cyrillic, just let them change the law. Let them declare Cyrillic the official language of Kosovo.” She said, “Irredentism has gotten into your head.” I said, “Far from it,” I said, “I don’t engage in that stuff,” I said, “I’m just speaking based on Kosovo’s law.”
I had read that truly, wherever Serbs or Albanians were the majority, the dominant language would be used first. We Albanians were the majority here, so we wrote in Latin script or Albanian. Then they ordered that medicine prescriptions be written in Cyrillic. Nowhere does it say that, it’s written in Latin. But it wasn’t really her fault, the directive came from above. Apparently, one of our own doctors went to Belgrade and said awful things about her, about how she was letting Albanians take the lead. So I know that everyone else went quiet, but I said to myself, “I’m not going to stay silent.” I couldn’t hold it in. I’m the stubborn type (laughs).
Anita Susuri: There’s also another important event that happened in ‘68, the demonstrations where, for the first time, there was…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, in ‘68, yes, the Republic, yes. That’s when I had just given birth to my daughter. I told my brother-in-law’s son, whom I loved dearly, “Go out and join the demonstrations. Even if they fire you from work, I’ll support you,” I had a job. I said, “Go on, join the demonstrations.” They did go out, and they were massive. The demonstrations at that time were something to be proud of, the whole population came out. No one was on the sidelines. Everyone joined in.
But I’ve always had a kind of fear. I’ve been a strange type, still am. For example, with all these movements, I always suspect that someone [who is] involved [might have ulterior motives]. That they’re negative and are trying to get you to speak just to get you arrested. You know, I have that kind of mindset a lot. If I don’t know a person well, if I don’t trust them, who knows why you’re speaking out, what your goal is. Because so many people were arrested at that time. So many. We were always scared, every time an organization would form, are all the people behind it really clean? Because people think one way but act another.
Anita Susuri: Do you remember that day, anything from those demonstrations?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Honestly, since I had an apartment across from the soliter, I saw the youth running, the police beating them. They’d run wherever they could, trying to hide in people’s homes. It wasn’t far, they’d come back… They were beaten badly. Albanians have spent their entire lives being beaten.
Anita Susuri: And how did you feel when you heard about the imprisonments, for example, Adem Demaçi’s arrest, or people being killed in prison? What was that like for you? Were they people you knew?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Honestly, yes. I actually knew Fazli Grajçevci very well. Poor guy, he was young. A boy from Drenica, a teacher. He had come to pursue his education, but he was a great patriot. He didn’t say a single word in prison, that’s why he died. He didn’t want to give anyone up. It’s hard when your son dies and comes back to you… and they didn’t even allow his coffin to be opened.
Because when someone dies in prison, the soldiers don’t let the coffin be opened, and also soldiers, none of them died naturally. Either they were poisoned or killed. Not a single Albanian died of illness. Later on, they started poisoning Albanian officers too, those who were in places like Niš and elsewhere. It was a covert war. Many of our youth died in prison, but we don’t even know their stories.
Anita Susuri: Did you ever attend any funerals, for example, of those who had been in prison?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, no. I went to Adem’s and the others where it was normal. I swear, when Adem was released from prison the first time, I think the whole of Kosovo went to see him. Regardless of the situation, and things weren’t exactly calm back then, everyone went. I don’t think anyone stayed home.
Anita Susuri: And you went too?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes. It was massive. And thank God, he lived a long life, lived until he was 80.
Anita Susuri: And we’ve been told earlier that even when people were released from prison, they were still followed, even those coming from…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: My brother, for example, was never able to go out without being followed. Constant surveillance… After he finished his prison sentence and his studies, when he was looking for work, the Janova family from Drenica helped us a lot, they had also sheltered our father many times. One of the Janova men, I don’t know if he was a municipal chairman or had another position, told him, “Apply in Gllogoc and pretend I don’t know who you are.” That’s where he got his first job after prison, as an economist. Later, he was transferred to Pristina.
He was very meticulous about work hours. Exactly at 07:00, by ten minutes before seven, he’d be at work reading the newspaper, and at 07:00 sharp he’d start working. I used to tell him, “Brother, they’ll throw you in prison again.” He was the last to leave work too. “Stop it…” because at the hospital nobody would leave at 15:00, at 15:10, We’d arrive at work at 7:10. “Don’t go so early, they’ll arrest you again. They’ll say, ‘Why is he going so early and leaving so late?’ Just relax, don’t stick to the schedule so tightly.”
Anita Susuri: Ms. Shazije, in the years ‘80–‘81, you were certainly working…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, yes.
Anita Susuri: Demonstrations happened then too, in the year…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, in ‘80–‘81.
Anita Susuri: How did you experience those events?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: That, I’m not sure, might’ve been later, when the children were poisoned. That was a catastrophe too. Those [events] started, if I’m not mistaken, at the Student Canteen. That’s where it all began… it had been planned, but they happened to get caught with the dishes, and that’s how it kicked off… and the events of ‘81 pushed us, I think, toward the idea of the republic. They had some success. Those protests were very massive.
Anita Susuri: Where were you when it…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: At work, at work, at work.
Anita Susuri: Do you remember that day, how everything unfolded? What was the city like? What was the atmosphere?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: It was a disaster. A total disaster. People were running, others were opening their doors for whoever needed to take shelter, so they wouldn’t get caught in the street. Because there were students from outside the city. At the time, I just remembered this now, thanks to you, there was one from Prizren, I think… or from the villages around Prizren, but who lived in Prizren.
My son brought him home, because my son was a student at the time. We took in students into our homes because the canteen and dormitories were shut down. I had completely forgotten that, now you reminded me. I took in one boy and kept him at our house for about a month. They had nowhere to go, since many people were housing students who weren’t from Pristina.
Anita Susuri: Were they taken in because the dorms were closed or because it was dangerous?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, no, the dorms were closed. They had nowhere to eat, nothing, even the canteen was closed. There was this one boy from Prizren, I don’t remember his name, he’s in Germany now. He was a dentistry student, studying with my son, and I took him into our home.
Anita Susuri: Were there others who took…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Not in my building entrance, but yes, people took them in, everywhere. They didn’t leave the students on the streets. They opened their doors, especially those who lived in houses, they let them in. Our people are very generous in such cases. They even put themselves at risk and don’t care about the consequences of taking someone in. They opened their doors a lot. That’s where we shine, except when it comes to choosing positions, then we like to argue over who deserves it more. That’s where the trouble starts, but otherwise, we’re generous.
Anita Susuri: On April 1st and 2nd, there were the largest demonstrations, when the working-class people also joined, as they say…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: You mean the miners?
Anita Susuri: I’m still talking about ‘81. Did you also go out [to protest]?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, no, just the kids, the boys. Not me. My oldest son went. But it’s known how it was back then. It was clear, everyone… people were saying it openly and officially, “Kosovo Republic, either peacefully or through war!” That’s what they chanted at the time. It was openly about demanding for Kosovo to become a republic.
Anita Susuri: How did things continue at work with your other colleagues after that? How was the cooperation? Did things get tense?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: We had some Serbs there. But look, this is just about my department, I’m speaking personally, ours was kind of a closed unit, we didn’t really socialize with people from the rest of the pavilion. We had just one Serb from Prizren who spoke Albanian very well. She would speak Albanian with the children during the sessions. And she didn’t even socialize with her fellow Serbs. The four of us just stayed separate. The other Serbian women looked at her with hatred, but she didn’t care at all. She didn’t hang out with them. She stayed with us.
Back then, people were really divided, they formed groups, and were making their own plans for the future. But I think they [Serbs] were much more united than us in times of need, really. They fight, curse each other, everything bad, but when it comes time to make a decision, they all take the same stance. That’s the difference.
Anita Susuri: And how did those following years go?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Those years… I’m not sure if it was that year or which year exactly, when the workers were removed from their jobs?
Anita Susuri: The ‘90s.
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Oh, in the ‘90s then? Around the time they started removing people, yes. But in places where they hadn’t done that yet, I was always saying, “Don’t leave your jobs until they drag you out by the arm.” I don’t know if it was in the ‘90s that the union guy, Hajrullah Gorani, was organizing…
Anita Susuri: About the marches or something?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, no, it was about quitting the job, it was a strike organized by Hajrullah Gorani from the union. But I can’t remember if it was in the ‘80s or the ‘90s. I would tell people, “Don’t leave your jobs. What’s the point?” For example, they would remove an Albanian director and people would say, “I don’t want to listen to a Serbian director.” And I’d say, “Listen to him, for the sake of the people, because all the patients are Albanian. There’s not a single Serbian patient. Just stay to treat the people, even if it’s only ten or twenty of you. Don’t give up your positions. And if they drag you out by the arm, then fine. But until then…”
But those clever Serbs, they emptied out the surgery department because of the Albanians, not because they removed the Albanian director and brought in a Serb, they got up and left the job themselves. Surgery… gynecology too, where people needed care the most. Because internal medicine, ophthalmology, you can manage some of that at home. Not many left internal medicine, only a few who wanted to leave, but they were wrong to go, because unless you’re dragged out by force… they wouldn’t have been able to remove the entire department by force, maybe just two or three people.
They should have kept their job, because injured people were coming in, Albanians, injured people were coming in, women were coming to the gynecology department to give birth. That’s why I’m not in favor of those who left their jobs. Because by doing so, you’re handing someone a favor on a silver platter. That person’s been waiting for you to get upset and leave your post. [They’d say,] “Oh, so you’re working for the shkije?” [And I’d say,] “I’m not working for the shkije, this isn’t shkije’s land, it’s Kosovo’s.” My daughter was working in internal medicine, and I told her, “If you listen to me, you won’t leave.” She said, “Are you crazy? Everyone’s gone, just me left behind?” I said, “If I were in your place, I’d stay. Let them all go.” Don’t let it come to the point where no one’s left…
I’ll never forget this one woman, during the ‘90s, or maybe it was ‘99 when the war broke out, people were still on the streets, everything had emptied out in Kosovo. I was coming from Ulpiana to visit my mother here. I’ll never forget that detail: a woman in a wheelchair, her son was pushing her to get her to dialysis at the hospital. God, I was shocked when I saw it. She asked me, “Do you have a sip of water?” From that day on, I’ve always carried water with me. I said, “I swear I don’t.” I said, “Where are you going, young man? If you even step into the hospital yard to get your mother to dialysis, they’ll kill you.” He said, “What else can I do?” He was cursing the doctors under his breath for handing dialysis over to the Serbs.
I said, “Look, where did she go?” I’ll never forget it. I asked my daughter after the war, “A woman like this, this and that, I saw her,” I described her to her. She said, “Yes, she’s alive. She told us that she was on dialysis during the war.” And I’ve never forgotten that woman. She died later, but it was that boy who broke my heart. He was 17, pushing his mother in a wheelchair all the way from Vranjevc. A trash cart, the kind used for garbage, that’s what he used to take her to dialysis. And even once you get there, you have to wonder: will they give you proper dialysis or not? You have to consider everything. Because really… I hope not all Serbs are the same, God forbid you judge them all when illness is involved. That case has stuck with me.
Anita Susuri: And did you continue working?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: I kept working almost until those things started happening, I continued practicing with the children. I only stopped when the children stopped coming. No one harassed me. In my department… we used to help some of the patients when they came from ophthalmology and didn’t know where they were, we’d notify their parents, “They’re here,” and so on. I think it was before the ‘90s when they changed the directors and people started quitting surgery and gynecology. Or maybe it was during the ‘90s when people left their jobs en masse. When Gorani from the unions organized that, I don’t remember the year. He had organized it, “Don’t go to work,” like a protest. The Serbs took advantage of it, “You didn’t come to work,” and they had people hand in resignations. That was it.
Anita Susuri: Do you remember the miners’ marches, when they began or afterward…?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: I don’t remember the exact year…
Anita Susuri: In ‘88.
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: In ‘88, huh? Well…
Anita Susuri: Do you remember these events?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, I only saw them on the news, I didn’t witness anything directly.
Anita Susuri: And the ‘90s in general, how were they for you? What was the atmosphere like?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: I would sit on the balcony and start taking random notes. When I saw the Serbs going into houses and stealing, I was in my apartment. I started writing down license plate numbers, then I thought, “Who’s even going to look at these numbers, have I gone mad?” We went near the Hasan Prishtina school, they had brought tons of packages, loads and loads of packages. Then they would come, pick them up, take them away… I’m talking about the Serbs. They filled the school with something, and then they would unload it. Paramilitary, paramilitary, paramilitary. Oh God, that was terrifying.
Anita Susuri: During the war, did you stay here or go somewhere else?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, here, here. My mother… not in my apartment, I didn’t have this place until after the war. My mother stayed at my sister’s place on the next street, she used to park there, it used to be called Morava Street. She said, “The paramilitaries are coming,” and there were magjup neighbors above them. She said… they were happy because they cooperated with the Serbs, “Daughter ,” she said, she was lying down. I told her, “Get up, get up, the Serbs are coming,” and she said, ‘Well, let them come, what can they do to us?’” she said. And those magjup said, “These people are like Turks, don’t bother them too much.”
When they came… we weren’t “like Turks,” but the neighbor said that to protect us. Her husband was a villager from Gllogjan. When he said, “Go inside.” My mom slowly got up, and they said, “Dobro jutro, baka [Serbian: Good morning, grandma],” “Dobro jutro,” she said, “What are you doing?” “Oh, I’m just lying here,” she said. “Is anyone bothering you?” She said, “No, no one.” “Alright, go back to sleep” (laughs). They came in, saying, “Get up, get up, they’re coming,” and she was like, “Let them come, what could they possibly do to us?” Because they had already harassed people. They didn’t enter our apartment. In our building, only two homes had people in them, the rest had all fled.
Anita Susuri: Did they force you out of your apartment?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No.
Anita Susuri: Did you ever have to move somewhere else?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: We stayed together with the Spahiu family from Prizren, not sure if you know them. With teacher Emine and the others, we all stayed together.
Anita Susuri: Somewhere in the center?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, in Ulpiana, right across from the Hasan Prishtina School. We’d sit there and watch. When the Russians came in and started shooting nearby, I got scared, even though the others were with me. You know why? The war was basically over, and the children wanted to look out the window, not mine, but the other kids. I kept saying, “Stay back, they’ll shoot you, the Russians are firing.” I thought, “What’s the point, after surviving the whole war, I’ll die at the end.” They still laugh at me: “She got scared when the Russians came in” (laughs).
Anita Susuri: Was it… I think there were problems just getting bread and so on…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes. Only us women went out, teacher Emine and I. We’d line up in Ulpiana for bread, we didn’t let the men go out at all. For a month and a half they were shut in. The late Emine was a very capable woman, she had stocked the house with everything: pasta, rice, the kinds of things that last even without bread. Then we’d wait in line, get the bread, and come back.
Anita Susuri: Did anything happen while you were out, anything you saw?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: We would go out and… frankly, I resented some people from Vranjevc who came over begging for tea. They’d bring their kids, as if tea were the one thing missing, someone could have killed them on the way. Then some rumor spread, fake news , I think, telling people to go register in a makeshift office at the park to “get numbers” or something. I told people, “Ignore that,” but many were fooled and waited in line.
Whenever we queued for bread in Ulpiana, everyone was young. I kept thinking, “God, if they throw a single bomb, they’ll wipe them out.” I was over 60 at the time, and the queue was full of youth, mostly Albanians, with only a couple of Serbs here and there. I was always afraid that in that bread line, one burst of automatic fire could kill thirty Albanians. Parents often sent their children to buy bread, and they wouldn’t sell you just one loaf, sometimes two, so two or three people from each household had to stand in line. I don’t know what else to say, it was terrible for everyone.
Latra Demaçi: And you said your brother died in ‘99…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, in Germany.
Latra Demaçi: Do you remember the time when he got out of prison? How did you experience that? Did the persecution continue at that time?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, yes, he was continuously persecuted. And those prison authorities were like thieves: when they rob you and then come looking for something, they just grab everyone. Whenever a delegation came from Belgrade, they had the obligation to round up all the former prisoners and detain them. Then they would release them again. They just put them in prison to make sure they didn’t do anything. That became like a routine, almost like a custom. All the politically imprisoned were gathered, detained for a night or two, until those visits were over…
Anita Susuri: Like a kind of isolation.
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, they were taken in for isolation. They were the persecuted ones, the prisoners. My brother always said, “Every step I take, there’s someone following me, and I’m sure he’s Albanian.” He was the type who didn’t talk much. I deeply regret never being able to get him to tell me who that person was. Because he knew. Maybe now that guy presents himself as the greatest patriot. I believe those people should be exposed, even if it were my own son, why not?
Anita Susuri: And in ‘99, you said he passed away…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, he died in Germany. Because…
Anita Susuri: Was it during the war?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, he went to Germany before the war. When all the unrest started, he went there alone, his wife didn’t go with him at first. They had one son. Later, his wife managed to get there, crossing the mountains like everyone else. She stayed in a refugee camp somewhere, God, it was rough. When he died… he was born in Fier, so to avoid being buried in Germany, they sent him from Germany to Fier, and he was buried there, with his grandfather. Because there was no burial plot elsewhere. So that’s where he was laid to rest. But the funeral ceremony in Albania was done very nicely. There was no way to bring him here.
Anita Susuri: What year was this?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: In ’99, it was during the war when he died.
Anita Susuri: During the war, huh?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, yes, yes.
Anita Susuri: You weren’t able to go?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, no. We didn’t see him, we hadn’t seen him for ten years. There were no phones back then like there are now. He died young, honestly, 63 years old.
Anita Susuri: Was he sick?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, he had liver cirrhosis. In Germany, they even tell you when you’re going to die, the doctors. Whether you accept it or not. He was a real patriot. He didn’t care about wealth, didn’t care about anything. He only cared about the nation. Even when he was dying, he wasn’t bitter. And he had suffered a lot in prison. God, the torture they had done to him in prison…
Anita Susuri: Which prisons was he in?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: In Niš. Because he served two sentences, one for our father and one for himself.
Anita Susuri: You said that in ’99 you were constantly in Pristina, but also near the end of the war, you told me about an incident when you went out…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: That was the kind of incident where you could’ve lost your head for no reason. We went out because my husband hadn’t gone out for a month and a half. “Let’s go to the post office,” we heard they had reopened the phone lines. When we entered, there were some people dressed in a certain way, now whether they were paramilitaries or something else, I don’t know, but they were sitting down. Two counters were operating, one on the right, one on the left. My husband went to the left and said, “You go that way.” I saw a man from Pristina over here, so I thought, “Let me go to him.” I didn’t speak Serbian or Turkish, just Albanian. I said, “I heard the phone lines are back on, is that true?” Then the paramilitaries jumped up and cursed my mother and my father. They said, “This is Serbia, why are you speaking Albanian?” One of them looked like he was about to do something physical, but I heard another say, “Leave her.” Because we were older, not young people.
Now I was afraid that the moment I stepped out of the building, they’d shoot at us outside. I thought, “What have we done? At the end of the war, we’re going to die for no reason.” When we got outside, I didn’t even dare turn my head back to see what was happening. I walked up the stairs. When we got to the post office, at the top of the stairs, we stopped to talk with someone, and I said to myself, “Let me turn my head and see what’s going on.” No one had followed us. Then we went home, and I said, “Look at us, we were about to end up in two coffins for no reason.”
Because my husband felt guilty the whole time about staying… he must’ve been around 65 then, bout staying home. I told him, “Go fight! Who’s stopping you?” He’s very brave. “Go fight! Who’s stopping you? I’ll stay, I don’t plan to leave Pristina.” I was such a coward, but I ended up acting brave. I guess I toughen up when it’s really necessary. I said, “Let’s just do this, get it over with.” He really felt guilty… and I seriously told him, “Go fight, I’ll stay, nothing will happen.”
My sons, my youngest son was in Austria, a student, the older one had just left as a refugee. And let me describe this to you, I’ll never forget it. I escorted my son and my niece, because many were being drafted for the army. They were headed to Skopje to catch a plane to Slovenia. There was this plane ticket valid for one month to travel and stay like students. On the way there, police, police, police, I was freaking out. “They’re going to stop us here, they’re going to stop us here…”
We somehow made it to Skopje. Those youths were looking out the window, and I yelled, “Get your heads down!” When we got to Skopje, I’ll never forget that moment, it’s a pity I don’t know how to write. There were Albanians, elders, bringing their kids to get them away from the army. You couldn’t even take a step because of the crowd. Full, full, everyone trying to get their children out. What struck me most was an old man with a 15-year-old village boy, the poor kid didn’t know anything. He was just taking his son to get him out of here. I asked, “Where are you taking him?” He said, “I don’t know.”
Now, these kids had a plane ticket, but the plane wasn’t landing. What could I do, I had no money on me. You know how I was acting? Like a beggar. Whenever I saw a familiar face, I’d ask… just to buy a new ticket to go somewhere else. I asked people I knew and could pay back, “Do you have 500 euros?” 500 marks, “No, I don’t,” “Please, my kids are stuck here.” No one would give me money for a ticket to Switzerland or anywhere else. But they also had limited seats.
I said, “Stay in Skopje tonight, maybe tomorrow or the day after the plane will land.” They spent one night in a hotel, and I was scared to leave them alone. We had some neighbors from Pristina whose daughter had married in Skopje, I called them, and they welcomed them really nicely. The son-in-law, I didn’t even know who he was, said, “Don’t worry, if there’s no way to fly from Skopje, I’ll take the kids to Sofia and get them on a plane from there. Don’t worry, they’ll get to where they need to go.”
That’s what happened. The kids left from Skopje. But that old man and that boy, those two never left my mind. Because our kids, at least, had already been out and educated and had traveled before. They knew how to manage. But that elderly man, the 15-year-old boy… There were moments where I had to cry, and I couldn’t stop crying along the way, because I didn’t know how to help.
Anita Susuri: Did they make it in the end?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, my sons made it, they went to Germany.
Anita Susuri: From Skopje?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, from Skopje. They traveled a lot. Left on their own, on the road, changing from one train to another. [My son] said, “One woman, she was some kind of manager at a factory, would avoid us when she saw us like that. But when she started talking to us and saw we weren’t rebels, weren’t thugs or anything, she offered us jobs at her factory,” he said, “because she saw we weren’t the type to be out stealing or wandering the streets,” he said, “she offered us factory jobs,” he said, “we must have made an impression,” he said, “we hadn’t washed in two or three days, traveling.” There were a lot of hardships. It’s not good to mourn over the past.
Anita Susuri: Do you remember when KFOR arrived ? Did you see them?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, I didn’t see them, just the Russians scared me a lot when they came in (laughs). But the kids were thrilled, the kids were thrilled. All of them at the windows, all of them, kuku, what the children did! How old were you then?
Anita Susuri: Seven.
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: So little. And what the children did out of happiness, so much, so much.
Anita Susuri: And how did life continue for you afterward? Did you return to work?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, yes.
Anita Susuri: When did you return? Immediately?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: As soon as the war ended, as soon as KFOR came in, I mean, NATO that stabilized the situation, we immediately started working. The hospital functioned normally. Doctors who had left for Skopje and other places returned, and work resumed normally.
Anita Susuri: Until what year, when did you retire?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: I retired in 2009, I think. When did the student poisonings happen?
Anita Susuri: Yes, I wanted to ask you about that…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: And during that time, the hospital was very busy. I personally wasn’t directly involved, since I worked in a more separate unit, I told you, it was like a lab, but the wards and other departments were very active.
Anita Susuri: Did you witness any cases?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Yes, plenty, even my own son was poisoned. The one who lives upstairs. He was in the gymnasium at the time.
Anita Susuri: How did it all happen?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: It was a kind of fainting, like hysteria, some kind of aggressiveness . You couldn’t tell whether it was real or… God knows what they were given, just so they wouldn’t know what they were doing. They weren’t aware of their actions. They screamed, made uncontrollable gestures. It seemed to affect the nervous system, that’s what it looked like. Because when they disturb your mind, that’s more effective, it’s like giving you an illness. Your mind is everything. The children were in a really bad state.
Anita Susuri: And how did you find out that your son was affected? Did the school call you?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: No, no. He was in the hospital, and when he came back, he told me. I didn’t let him go out for three or four days, you know, to isolate and mentally calm down. He was young, maybe in the second or third year of high school. But there were many cases. Around 100 a day came to the hospital. I don’t know how the nurses managed to handle it all. Everyone was mobilized. Really, we are good people. In such cases, we don’t care if it’s our child or someone else’s, we just try to help. That’s why we’re an example to the world, but with other things, we still can’t get along (laughs).
Anita Susuri: And how did your son describe it? Did he have any struggles or symptoms?
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: That, he said he felt unwell and had tremors. There was a lot of shaking. Also vomiting, and, “It felt like psychological distress,” he said, “we were shaking.” They put something in there. They did, because I’ve heard things from younger people… anyway, this isn’t for recording, we’ll talk later. These things aren’t part of everyday conversation.
Anita Susuri: Alright, Ms. Shazije. If there’s anything else you’d like to add at the end, or if you feel like you’ve forgotten something…
Shazije Gërguri Hasangjekaj: Thank you for coming, so the youth can also learn about the past and what people went through. I hope you have success, and greetings, may all the politicians unite.