Three months ago I was having a conversation with Fatjon when he asked if I would go with him to his grandparents’ house on the 19th of August. The tiny mountain town of Maqellare, Albania is walking distance to Macedonia; where the end of Ramadan is celebrated atop Albania’s 3rd highest mountain in a special way.
The trip from Fushekruje to Maqellare takes between 3 and 4 hours depending on traffic and the time of day. Our driver was determined to deliver as many people as his forgone would hold in as little time as possible. With Fatjon’s sister on his lap, and stools deployed down the aisle way for additional travelers, we wound our way up and down the twisting roads of the alpine skirt; stopping neither for vomiting passengers or road obstructions. As frequently as stretches of these highways wash out, it is surprising that they have not all been replaced with tunnels.
Fatjon had not seen his grandparents in three years, but Maqellare is full of people related to his mother, so on the way into town we had to stop at his cousin Alban’s house. From his back porch he pointed out to me the mountain dividing Albania from Macedonia. Alban spent five years in Italy, working at a fire-works production facility before returning home with enough money to begin a proper life. Fatjon later told me that due to special relationships with some people in Rome and Casserta, most of the boys of Maqellare will one day work in Italy. They will return as men to claim their birthright, build a house, and take a wife.
Fatjon’s grandfather is a woodsman, and his grandmother is a traditional Albanian woman. Rifan will leave the house most mornings at 4AM. His trade is to clear and gather wood from the surrounding forest lands for people to stockpile for the coming winter. I found myself covetous of his homemade hand-axe.
Hajrie cares for every need of the house first. Metaphors are difficult when it comes to Albanian women. If society is a body, then Albanian women are the red blood cells of that body. Their work in and for the body is never completed. They are constantly delivering oxygen to any part of the body that needs it, seeking out and ridding their surroundings of weaknesses or things out of place. They also make really delicious bread from scratch.
As we settled in for the evening I was once again in silent awe of the love and respect Albanians give to strangers and travelers like myself. Making every effort to show the greatest care comes as naturally as breathing to these beautiful, strong, people with huge hearts.
albaniacalling 