Kosovo Romanies Spinning the Wheel of Fortune
AIM Skopje, November 2, 2000
A stale odour hovers about the barracks of the refugee camp in the largest Romany colony in Macedonia, Shuto Orizari. The pale light bulb keeps blinking, as if ready to go out for eternity any minute.... Some are sleeping, some talking about the rain that is drawing nearer, asking themselves if the roof is going to leak.... once more. A group of women and children are trailing the humanitarian workers installing wood stoves, repeating a single question over and over again: "What about us, when are we going to warm up?"
Familiar scenes, seen uncountable times before in the past two years of the Balkan cauldron. Even the setting to our afternoon visit to the refugee camp is adequate: heavy fog and low, threatening clouds. The mind struggles to adapt to the surreal atmosphere of the place. If, shortly afterwards, the uncanny details of the surroundings seem almost ordinary, this is because - and only because - of the familiarity of the images. Well-known sights seen last year when Macedonia witnessed the inflow of 270 000 refugees from Kosovo, mainly Romanies. And here they remain. Were it not so, our seeming indifference to the fate of these people doomed throughout their history to nomadic wanderings from place to place, country to country and our imperturbable ability to note the horrid details of their lives, would be inexcusable. Nevertheless, the tragic Romany wheel of fortune is in motion again.
Swedish journalists eager to visit the refugee camp of Kosovo Romanies in Macedonia situated within the largest Romany colony in the world - the Shuto Orizari suburb of Skopje - had trouble understanding the scenes they witnessed. How do the women manage to go on washing their laundry in the open, in the cutting November air, under the ice-cold flow of the sole water tap in the center of the camp and yet show no discomfort? How come there is no visible sign of pain on their faces while they watch their barefoot and scantily clad children splashing through the icy puddles in pursuit of a muddy football? How can thirty people eat, sleep, dress and undress, fight and make love in a single room at the same time? How do you explain the utter indifference of 1359 people to the circumstances of their own lives?
"What's your name?", is the question addressed to me, while a tiny hand tugs at my sleeve. Taken by surprise by the piercing gaze of the radiant black eyes I say to the little girl at my side: "And yours?" "Solenita", she answers. "How old are you?", I ask. "Eight", she says. "I too have a daughter and she's just as pretty as you are." "Me, as pretty as your daughter!?" - says Solenita with disbelief and, as if afraid that I might change my mind, promptly adds: "I love to draw. Want to see my drawings?" Not giving me time to answer, she takes off in the direction of one of the camp barracks and disappears in the thick fog. In an instant, the sound of her threadbare second-hand "Nike" tennis shoes splashing through the muddy pools is the sole evidence of her recent presence. "Her fifteen-year-old sister got married in nearby Sutka", informs me Solenita's mother. "No wonder", she adds. "One of the camp workers chose to marry a refugee", she concludes in way of an explanation.
Middle-aged Djunes Rakipovic from Mitrovica tells us of the rumors that, in addition to the 15 existing, in cooperation with the Macedonian Red Cross and the Ministry of Labour and Welfare the UNHCR is building three more barracks in the camp for the 300 Romany refugees from Cicino Selo and refugee center "Dare Bombol", about to be closed down. "Life is hard here. There are just a couple of toilets, showers and water taps every three barracks. The cooking is done in communal kitchens and we depend on the humanitarian aid parcels for our meals. We are not permitted to leave the camp without passes issued by the camp management," says Rakipovic who speaks a few words of Serbian and fluent Albanian. He went to an Albanian school because there was no other school in the village he grew up in, he tells us. Djunes is an Ashkali, as the Macedonian Romanies call the group he belongs to, a body of Romanies who in general do not speak the Romany language and avoid giving a straightforward answer to the question if they are Romanies or Albanians. "I was given this last name under the Serbian rule", we learn.
Why doesn't he return to Kosovo, asks a Swedish journalist. Uncertain who he is speaking to, Djunes answers through clenched teeth: "It's not safe there. I don't know what might happen if I go back. I think things are all right over there, but people from the camp who have been to Kosovo tell us that Romanies have been mistreated there, that they cannot leave their homes and that NATO has to guard them." "Who is mistreating them?" "I don't know".
A stale odour hovers about the barracks of the refugee camp. A pale light bulb keeps blinking, as if ready to go out for eternity any minute... Trailing the IRC humanitarian workers installing wood stoves in the camp at the time of our visit, the children and women keep asking:" What about us? When are we going to warm up? Why don't you come over to our barrack?" Disputes on the proper order of the distribution of stoves flare up from time to time. At least the stoves are at hand... but what about the firewood? Last year, the families in which the Romanie refugees were placed were provided with free firewood.
A petty black-market of chocolates, candies and chewing gums thrives in the camp. A number of the refugees are trafficking in humanitarian aid goods at the Skopje outdoor markets. There is no way to put an end to it and even if there was, would anyone who has ever caught a glimpse of the misery of these people ever want to do so?
The drawings Solenita hands over to me at the camp gate say it all. Her home in Kosovo, most likely a crumbling one, is depicted in a shower of bright colors. The camp barrack she is staying at at present, in greys..." You'll visit us again? If you do, bring your daughter..."
VALENTIN NESOVSKI
AIM Skopje