Life in Security Zone

AIM Mitrovica, October 29, 2000

A day in the life of an ordinary person often doesn't mean much, not even to the one concerned, but a day in the life of someone living in a security zone, a multinational one for that, may mean all the difference in the world. Days vary according to what might and might not happen to those living in security zones. This is merely an introduction to a certain kind of a story that hasn't been told for a long time, at least not in Kosovo as it is today.

Once a multinational community, Kosovoska Mitrovica, a city divided in two by a bridge over the river Ibar was split into two separate worlds after the war: the northern and the southern part of the city. The first is mainly inhabited by Serbs, the second exclusively by Albanians. The northern part of Mitrovica is divided into three security zones: one in the Bosnian Mahala (Bosnian Ward), one in the vicinity of the bridge, and the one our story takes place in - the coal miners' zone, Rudarsko Brdo (Coal Miner's Hill) as the Albanians call it, Mikronaselje (Micro settlement) as the Serbs name it. Of the approximately 100 houses in the zone, 20 are Serb, 40 Albanian, the remainder are owned by other ethnic groups. KFOR patrol units are posted at both ends of the zone.

The few people we met in the streets pass us by in silence. Anyone living in the security zone possesses a yellow card, a sort of an ID. Even the babies have them.

Some houses are in ruins, some burnt down, a testimony of last year's war Few children are to be seen, no hubbub of joyful voices to be heard, none of their games going on... Nevertheless, the people we came to know testify to the fact that all is not as dreary as it seemed at first sight.

When asked about the owners of the burnt down and looted houses and those responsible for it, a Serb living in the zone tells us: "Who did this? A child, a thief; no religion, no nationality. The houses belong to the Albanians and what is left of them would not be here now, were it not for captain Pekovic who took our Albanian neighbors under protection during the war, warding off the criminals". According to him, relations between the Serbs and the Albanians have remained "neighborly" in this part of the divided city, for, as he put it: "They cannot be blamed for decisions made by others they had nothing to do with."

There is an alimentary store in this zone of the city. It's owned by an Albanian and a Serb woman. Zeqiri Rushiti is the one we come upon. "Yes, that's right", he tells us in answer to our question if, in fact, the other joint owner of the shop is a Serb. "But you're talking about a Serb woman, her name is Vujovic Ankica", he adds, correcting our imprecision. At the moment, Ankica is in Serbia, providing stock: "Ankica takes care of supplies coming from Serbia. Once a week, I take the truck to the southern part of Mitrovica to buy the needed merchandise. We travel in a group, myself and sixty-odd others, under the escort of KFOR. The time of departure is 07:15, return-time 18:30. Personally, I don't make the trip as often as before, because the prices there have gone up lately", says Rushiti. The store, we find out, survived hard times thanks to the three refrigerators and a scale donated by KFOR and a couple of humanitarian organizations.

A house at the back of the store serves as an improvised primary school for children up to the fourth grade. We consult with Rushiti if we may visit it. He offers to take us there himself... A middle-aged woman in a pink apron opens the door for us. The pupils stand up in greeting and salute us in Albanian. For a moment, we fear their mood will change when they find out we are Serbs - without foundation, as it turns out. The school, better said an ordinary dwelling turned into it, makes an arduous impression on us. The dirty walls, the small stove in a corner of the narrow hallway, the gray light - all disclose old age and neglect. While the kids cast smiles at us, the teacher tells us she is glad we came to see the conditions these children study in. We are the first journalists ever to visit them, she informs us.

Since the departure of the "Doctors Without Frontiers", there are no physicians in the vicinity, but KFOR has promised to set up an infirmary for the children to provide at least the basic medical care for them. "Local Serbs have helped us a great deal, bringing us medicines and transporting the sick to the Serb hospital. They never asked for our nationality there", the teacher told us.

So, after everything they've told us, why do not Rushiti and the teacher ever go down to the center of the town if, as they claim, they get along so well with the Serbs? Because of the burnt houses and the kidnapped local Serbs, they answer. "When you're in pain, you might wish to inflict pain on others", explains Rushiti. Thus, the story goes on, repeating itself. Burnt down houses and kidnapped on both sides.

On parting, Rushiti conveys his hope that, judging by the relations between the two nationalities in his zone, the Serbs and the Albanians may, in time, learn to live together in other parts of Kosovo as well.

To end the story, let us say that this is not a tale typical of Kosovska Mitrovica. Particularly because the other two zones of the city can hardly be defined as "secure", due to numerous incidents of grave violence that have taken place there. Finally, time will show what sort of an ending the entire Kosovo story will have.

Valentina Cukic

(AIM)