I received this letter in my inbox today, and I must say I am truly touched that my work has made even just one person happy. Reading these words and these memories of Tirana, I really felt like I could imagine it, smell it, feel it, hear it, and taste it. Amazing, and thank you so much for taking the time to write this for me.
Dear Alice,
I am writing you this message / electronic letter for different reasons after I recently bumped upon your Balkanista page on Facebook.
First of all, I would like to congratulate you for the amazing work that you are doing for our beautiful motherland, Albania. I read some of your articles, where your sincere emotions were expressed through beautifully embroidered words and I can tell you that I was amazed in how accurately you expressed the bright side of our customs, traditions and everyday life in Albania and mostly in Tirana. I would like to encourage you to keep up with your work because every Albanian need to read your opinions and views.
Continuing I would like to share with you a story describing my personal relation with Tirana through the years. Before that, I would like to quickly introduce myself. My name is Ixhino ( I guess by now you are used to the Albanian letters) and I am originated from different part s of Albania and partly from Tirana, where I was born in the early nineties and where lived periodically, in discontinuous periods of time, for more than half of my life. Nevertheless, it is my favourite city and most probably will remain as such. It is the city where my parents were born and met and transmitted me their love for “ her”. For the last 6 years, I’ve been living and studying in Siena, Italy hoping someday to return and contribute in making a significant change.
My story begins s from my earliest memories, under “Ismail Qe mali ” street’s mid-afternoon spring lights, between high – pitched, happily, yelling voices of running children on the grassy spaces , following bee-like , chaotic trajectories, sometimes bumping to each other, falling into the ground , only to stand up and continue their unpredictable movements and unknowingly transmitting positive energy vibes to all the bypassers . I remember stopping my frenetic actions at sight of my mother, returning from work and following a straight line into her direction. Only after giving her a hug I would always ask her with a short breath: “Çam’ ke pru? ” – which translates as “What have you brought me? ”, secretly hoping for those present – bearing milk chocolate eggs. I remember those spring afternoons when all the children from the building used to go with their parents to the playground café next to the historical house of the dictatorship – era leader and play until dark. I also recall the times I used to go to the Piramida and watch all the brave teens which hurriedly climbed its steep walls, only to slide down by releasing satisfactory howls.
The set of memories that is most vividly carved into my head, regards the path, that with my parents, used to take every time we visited my maternal parents. Either going by foot, on my father’s shoulder or on his bike, that path seemed infinite, especially when we had to return, and I was too sleepy to follow a straight line. From that path, I remember the large chestnut tree street, which I later realized had another name, “Sami Frashëri”, the bridge on Lana River with the non- matching time tellers , which must have stopped functioning in diverse instants , the sweet s shop with the protected roof , which served as a shelter that time that it was heavily raining and the school next to it . I remember the butcher’s shop in the successive street because of its firm, cutting noise constantly echoing outside. I also remember the other school in the onward street, which my uncle had frequented. Briefly afterwards, my grandparents’ house was located and, once arrived, I could do what suited me best at the times, either be an autodidact musician by signing and imitating the radio artists or being a superhero by wearing a towel – cap, just like the mighty Batman did.
It is hard to believe by looking Tirana’s today composition, but back in those days, there were very few cafés and the buildings had mostly five storeys, with the exception of the “nëntëkat ëshet ” which had nine.
I was impressed by the drastic metamorphosis that the city underwent when we returned to Tirana in the early 2000’s. Everything seemed noisier, more hectic. Cars were everywhere, new buildings seemed to have gone through a puberty phase. Old buildings had taken new colours, some vivid, others eerie. The one that impressed me the most, maybe due to the fact that I had briefly started learning English, was a brown building in the “Zogu i zi ” with the phrase “ These are the things we are fighting for” painted on the side of it. The grass surface we once played had transformed into a block of cafés and restaurants, the friends I once played with had moved out. Luckily, I could remain in touch with the closest ones and fortunately, I still do. In the remaining decade, Tirana changed, and rapidly expanded readily to host new inhabitants.
I left Tirana on 2011 for my University studies. I usually return once a year, during summertime, for about 50 – 54 days. The first things I do are mostly habitual. I usually go down all over “ Ismail Qema li ” street, glance at the former dictator’s villa, pass through one of the Lana river’s bridges and arrive straight through by father’s best friend’s barber shop in the “Shallvare” area. I always hope to find customer s in front of me, so I can stay more than the usual fifteen minutes, sit and chat about the year ’ s main news and events, hoping that they are mostly positive and encouraging. Briefly after, I follow the same old path to reach my grandparents’ house. First, take down the chestnut tree street, pass through the now clockless bridge, salute the still functioning sweets shop next to the elementary school, the butcher’s shop, the school my uncle studied, only to soon arrive at my destination. In between new buildings, new shops, restaurants or cafés, new faces. All sharing the same city, either for a significant amount of time or for only a heartbeat, each and everyone leaving a personal trace, without which Tirana would have possibly been a bit more different.
Tirana may not be the most liveable city in the world, as many studies show, but it has been home to the ones that had sought a shelter. Tirana has mutated and will continue to do so like any other living organism. One of my wishes is to return someday and start my own family, as my parents did since that is the place which truly feels like home. Every time I think of Tirana an old Albanian proverb comes to my mind: “Guri i rëndë në vend të tij” – “Heavy stone in its own place. ”
To conclude, I hope you liked my story and I wish I have transmitted through these words a part of my love for our city. Keep up with your marvellous work and thanks again.
Sincerely,
Ixhino
