The present of Kosovo is its youth

 By Anna Canals

     It is often believed that the youth are the future of a country. In Kosovo, the youth are its present. Today, the 20th of June, was a different day. Unfortunately, we cannot go to Mitrovica due to the existing tensions in the North. “It would only take one shot for conflict to spark”. These are the words of Ljubisa, who comes from Mitrovica and has been working relentlessly for international organizations here in Kosovo. He came for dinner with us yesterday, and we had the chance to have a long conversation on Kosovo’s state of affairs over a delicious risotto and a glass of white wine. He believes Kosovo’s youth are more prone to ethnic hatred and violence. Contrary to himself, they have not experienced the war. The fear, grief, and guilt that come with it are unknown to them. Ljubisa is not the first one to express this opinion. We keep on hearing about the power youth hold in Kosovo, in caring for the ethnic tensions but in fostering reconciliation initiatives too. Now more than ever is when the voices of people in the North must be heard. For this reason, we were reluctant to cancel our meetings with civil society organizations in Mitrovica and, instead, we decided to meet with them through Zoom.

One of the organizations we had the pleasure to talk to was Community Building Mitrovica, known as CBM. CBM is composed of 18 members who work towards fostering inter-ethnic dialogue, creating safe spaces for people to meet, and changing the image of the bridge. It is a small yet powerful force of change. Today everyone has talked to us about the bridge. For those of you who don’t know, the River Ibar divides the city of Mitrovica, and a bridge crosses the river providing people the opportunity to cross from one side to the other. However, people do not want to cross the bridge. “This is our reality. Young people are reluctant to meet each other, and the city remains divided”, Milika Jakovijevic from CBM stated. However, Milika believes, Kosovo has the potential to be a multi-ethnic and diverse society. “If they met the other side, they would understand we are more similar than distinct”, she expressed. For this reason, CBM was created as a multi-ethnic and grassroots organization that maintains political openness, pursues an honest mission, and serves as an example of peaceful coexistence being possible. 

CBM focuses its initiatives concerning vulnerable people, with a special concern for youth. The “Reconciliation and Conflict Transformation” project identifies which activities must be done to foster reconciliation. They work with multiple experts who conduct research in Mitrovica and meet with these and local institutions to provide recommendations for initiatives that can contribute to the process of reconciliation. The “Civic School Education” project creates safe spaces with the purpose of preventing violent extremism and fostering societal tolerance and inclusion. The personnel at CBM talk to the municipalities and schools in Mitrovica North and South, identifying vulnerable individuals who would benefit the most from their initiatives and invites them to their offices to participate. To lead these discussions, they adhere to a curriculum written in English with themes they want to cover, including citizenship and participation, discrimination, human rights, religion and belief, and peace and violence. Lastly, one of the initiatives CBM personnel are most proud of is “Mitrovica Rock School”. Mitrovica used to be a city of rock music. To honor that, the School of Rock provides youth from all ethnic communities the chance to come together, play music, and overcome the existing ethnic divide.

            Once the meeting was over, I spent some time in the hostel room reflecting on everything that we heard today. Zoom meetings never feel the same as meeting someone in person. They are cold and, at times, they can become awkward. However, all the people we talked to were lively, and honest, and trusted us to be vulnerable. I’m grateful for them. Milika expressed the situation in Kosovo is very unstable. However, she is proud of being where she is. “Kosovo is my home. I’m not doing this because I need a job, I’m doing this because I’m passionate.” The words of Milika reflect her will to create a society with open minds and open hearts, a society that will move from a divided past to a united future. However, how does one accomplish this when youth do not know each other’s language and thus, grow up carrying ethnic hatred? Inspired by Mitrovica Rock School, I came to realize a manner to do this is through art. Motivated by this thought, I left the hostel room and walked to the National Art Gallery of Kosovo.

            This was not the first time I walked to the gallery. Laure and I walked there a couple of days earlier. We peeked through the glass door but, despite a cold light that illuminated the room, we saw no one inside. Today we were more successful. We walked in and met in the hallway with a couple of young women. They were wearing extravagant and trendy outfits, so we immediately thought they were artists. It turns out they were not. However, after a long conversation, we discovered they work for Mural Fest Kosova, a festival that occurs every year in Kosovo where artists from all around the world are invited to create a mural and celebrate the power of art to convey meaning and bring people together. When they were explaining to us about it, I thought to myself ¨this is it¨. This is a unique manner in which young people found a form to get to know each other and be united through their passion. In Mural Fest they are not Albanian, Serb, or Roma, they are all artists. Today was a different day. Considering all our meetings were on Zoom I had the time to reflect and explore by myself the power of reconciliation that all civil society organizations we met with talked about. The day ended with another delicious dinner and a good night's sleep for some and a lively night of music and drinks for others.   

Zoom day: Unveiling the veils in Mitrovica

 

By Anne Li Verheijen

 

Hello, dear readers! Our journey, which was meant to lead us into the heart of Mitrovica, was thwarted by a resurgence of simmering tensions. Like an uninvited guest, conflict has invaded the city's soul, rendering our physical arrival perilous. Yet the spirit of inquiry remains indomitable, and in these modern times, digital solutions such as Zoom step in as our shield and chariot.

 

We started the day (of Monday 20 June) off with a zoom call with the NEW SOCIAL INITIATIVE (NSI), is a civil society organization working in the Republic of Kosova but also cooperating with the key stakeholders in the Western Balkan region, to ultimately impact inclusiveness, trust-building, democratization processes, and good governance in the Republic of Kosova.

 

This was follwed by Community Building Mitrovica (CBM), a local non- governmental organization (NGO) operating in the field of peace and community building in the wider region of Mitrovica, northern municipalities of the Republic of Kosova.

 

Last, The International Business School Mitrovica (IBSM) opened its virtual doors for us, an educational institution that prides itself on its international community. As the discussion unfurled, the narrative felt almost rehearsed. An orchestra of words celebrating the school's diverse programs, internships, and exchange opportunities rang in our ears, echoing the promise of global inclusion.

 

"Diversity" and "bringing together ethnic groups from all over the world" were phrases painted with broad strokes across the digital canvas. Yet, despite the vivid palette, the intricacy of the local ethnic mosaic — the Serbs, Albanians, Romas, and other Kosovan minority groups — seemed conspicuously omitted from the school's masterpiece.

 

I ventured a question into this gaping void, "Are there any activities the university arranges to foster cohesion among Kosovo's different ethnic groups, with the aim of contributing to peacebuilding?" The silence that followed was deafening.

 

The response, when it finally came, was non-committal. It seemed the university, while encouraging diversity, remained reticent to take a hands-on approach to cultivating unity among the diverse ethnicities within its own walls. The obligation of unity was relegated to the students themselves.

Living in proximity is not the same as living in unity. Interactions between ethnic groups should not be an exception but the rule. While some students did vouch for friendships across ethnic divides, these were but pockets of harmony amidst a general reluctance to engage.

 

Following our third virtual engagement, we sought solace in the comforting embrace of Shpija e Vjetër, a quaint restaurant tucked away in an old house. Its warmth seeped into our souls as we were surrounded by a symphony of plants, twinkle lights, and wood. The Dutch have a word for it, "gezellige plek" — a place where the heart feels at home.

 

Furthermore, some of us, still hungry for cultural insights, attended the Roma film festival. We could not go to Mitrovica, but through these visual narratives, Mitrovica came to us. It was a poignant reminder that while barriers can hinder movement, they can't stifle the human spirit, nor the power of storytelling.

 

This Zoom day, albeit not what we planned, served to underscore the criticality of our mission. To engage, to listen, to learn, and to seek a deeper understanding of a world fraught with invisible lines of division. Today, we sought to hear the voices from the North, and though they came through digital windows, their resonance was no less real. Today was a reminder that we still have a long way to go, but every dialogue is a step towards unity. And that's a journey worth taking.

 

 

Generation hope: Youth as catalysts for change in Kosovo

By Fabian Kuzmic

Kosovo is not only the youngest European nation, but also boasts the youngest population in Europe, representing enormous untapped potential. To tap into this potential and empower today’s youth to shape Kosovo’s future, Anđela and Petar work tirelessly for the Centre for Cultural Diversity and Minority Development (CCDMD) and Young Active Gracanica, respectively. On Monday, 19 June, we visited the CCDMD youth centre in Gracanica and eagerly listened to their stories, expertise, and enthusiasm.

Both the CCDMD and Young Active Gracanica are non-governmental, non-profit organisations aimed at embracing cultural diversity, especially among young people. The organisations gather young leaders from all ethnic communities in Kosovo to make a positive difference through art and engineering. They play games, teach each other languages alongside other skills, and issue certificates to enrich their qualifications – all with the goal of uniting the youth through shared interests and challenges.

When I scrolled through the CCDMD’s Facebook page prior to the meeting, it became clear that there is an emphasis on providing young people with as many opportunities as possible, especially for familiarising themselves with technology. This immediately reminded me of the direction that Prime Minister Albin Kurti has in mind for Kosovo’s future: improving education and building technological capacities. 

Peace, Youth, and Security – these three essential themes have not only guided us throughout our trip and research so far, but are also front and centre in Anđela’s and Petar’s projects. Both NGOs are part of a wider implementation effort of UN Resolution 2250, which was adopted by the UN Security Council in 2015 and marks the first multilateral policy framework that acknowledges “the important and positive contribution of youth in efforts for the maintenance and promotion of peace and security.” This monumental resolution signalled a shift in how we perceive youth and their contribution to peace and security.

UNSCR 2250 urges states to establish mechanisms that would allow young people – defined as those between 18 and 29 years old – to actively participate in peace processes and to give them a greater voice in decision-making at the local, national, regional, and international levels. Indeed, when Anđela and Petar were talking about their work, Resolution 2250 often came up, as it forms an important basis for their work and grants young people crucial legitimacy by recognising their role as peacebuilders.

However, perhaps one of the most shocking statements I heard on this entire trip came from Petar: “The most hate exists among young people”. Whereas older Kosovo Albanian and Kosovo Serbian generations usually know at least some Serbian or Albanian and still remember the horrors of the war, young people usually only know either Albanian or Serbian. Such a language barrier significantly hampers any inter-ethnic and inter-cultural exchange.

Furthermore, Anđela mentioned that young people are more susceptible to radicalisation through social media or other internet fora. Learning about this was unsettling and directly contradicted one of my previously held beliefs. I had thought that with all the possibilities the internet offers today, young people must be the most open-minded generation, having access to so much information and so many perspectives from all around the world. 

But according to UNMIK Deputy SRSG Barrie Freeman, statistics from the Kosovo International Organisation for Migration (IOM) show that more than 72% of young Kosovo Albanians and Kosovo Serbs have never spoken to peers from other communities. I was shocked by this number, considering that these young people live in the same country, in the same cities. Faced with such unexpected facts, I was even more inspired by the initiatives of the CCDMD and Young Active Gracanica that aim to bridge these divides.

An especially memorable project was the United Nations Youth Assembly, which happened for the 5^th time as a two-day event in Prizren. The assembly brought together 125 young leaders and activists from across Kosovo communities, in addition to 25 youth delegates from Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, North Macedonia and Serbia – as well as more than 50 experts from the region.

UNMIK Deputy SRSG Barrie Freeman commented on the success of the event on Facebook: “Our world today faces unprecedented challenges, from increases in armed conflict to the impact of climate change, to the rollback of women's rights in many countries... [but] over these two days, you've broken through deeply-rooted boundaries to create partnerships and friendships that will hopefully go beyond this event.”

All this underscores the importance of Anđela’s and Petar’s work. It was incredibly refreshing to hear their stories and how, even in their personal lives, they make a conscious effort to engage with people and media from other ethnicities and minority groups in Kosovo. For instance, Anđela, coming from a Serbian background herself, told us that her best friend is Albanian and has even invited her to meet her parents. While this might not appear to be a big deal for many of us, such a simple act speaks volumes about their level of friendship and can have enormous inter-ethnic significance in Kosovo, given its long and complex history of ethnic tensions.

We were all reminded that working with youth and forming meaningful connections can have a much wider impact than just among young people, as it also shapes how older generations think about others and cooperate with each other. Even though positive change in people’s attitudes and perceptions takes time, the process starts now. Just as Anne mentioned in our meeting with the Global Shapers Community Prishtina:

“Young people are not just the leaders of tomorrow; they are the leaders of today.”

Peace of mind

By Maria Mazurek

 

How do you make peace within yourself? For Anđela, being in nature helps. Petar finds it in beekeeping and spiritual martial arts. For us, spending a day in Gračanica seemed to do the trick. ‘Be present: hear the birdsongs, memorise the smiling faces around us, the love and laughter’. This is how Anne greeted us today in her good morning text. Though at first I didn’t give it much thought, now I really believe this text set a tone for the day.

 

10:00 at Newborn. By now, the café behind the distinctive sign – where, again and again, we spread around the tables and cross our fingers for the macchiato to come before we have to leave – has grown to be our true friend, a familiar rallying point. The routine brings us comfort. And yet, today was unique in that we got picked up by a UN-marked bus for the first time. Amusing how such a detail stirred up everyone’s excitement to the point of triggering multiple photoshoots. Talk about the significance of symbols.

 

Peace of mind first came up at the meeting with aforementioned Anđela and Petar, respectively from the Centre for Cultural Diversity and Minority Development and Young Active Gracanica. Asked about how they take care of their mental health in between peacebuilding activities, they both had a ready and heartfelt answer. It seemed like Anđela and Petar were perfectly aware of the mental toll potentially coming with peacebuilding, and they saw the idea of prioritizing inner peace as far from revolutionary. Since my (as well as Hanna and Nora’s) project explores what peace personally means to Kosovars, we approached Petar after the meeting, sat down in the beautiful garden and ended up hearing an equally beautiful story about how he developed a passion for the Japanese martial arts technique of ninjutsu. Laughing together at the Ninja Turtles cartoon being the inspiration for the hobby and seeing his warm smile, you could tell Petar found ways to preserve a calm mind. And as we continue to discover, such stories are pure joy to hear. Inner peace must then be contagious.

 

Hotel Gracanica was our next destination. The place screams special across the board. First, it is located on the outskirts of the town so that you fully immerse yourself in the silence and serenity of the Kosovar countryside. The vibrant inside does not disappoint visually either. We got to look around the hotel’s incredibly detailed and unique mixture of modern architecture and traditional design elements. In his short yet genuine presentation, Andreas, the Swiss founder and owner of the hotel, further explained the project’s commitment to eco-friendly practices, with solar heating panels, a healing mineral water fountain and a charging station for e-cars illustrating the point. Yet, what naturally stood out most for us, at this point completely invested in figuring out social attitudes within Kosovo, was the hotel’s pledge of bridging ethnic divides. You could tell Andreas took pride in the fact that the staff was multi-ethnic and co-management was shared between one half-Albanian, half-Serb and one Roma. I myself was absolutely charmed by Andreas’ mention of the hotel’s logo as a symbol of reconciliation. As he explained, the first ‘c’ in Hotel Gracanica graphically combines Albanian and Serbian languages, since the diacritic below comes from the Albanian ‘ç’ and the one above – from the Serbian ‘č’. A detail, yet with power. Once again, the electrifying discovery of the flavours of Kosovar symbolism continues.

 

And still, there was something bittersweet about the way Andreas spoke about Hotel Gracanica (note I am using the English spelling since the emblematic letter does not exist in the digital environment). I don’t think I am stretching it much when I say we all felt some heaviness in Andreas’ honest comment that building his beloved hotel in Gračanica, a predominantly Serbian-populated town, was a ‘strategic mistake’ as potential Albanian guests would simply opt for other places where they felt more comfortable. The fact that the majority of the staff is currently non-Albanian and employing Albanian Kosovars remains challenging seemed to further weigh on Andreas. The hotel did not seem very busy either. When asked about his motivations for going forward, Andreas’ answer differed slightly from the pretty big talk we perhaps expected. ‘Once you start a business, you can’t really stop’. 

 

Trying to understand peace, not to mention contribute to building it, can be daunting. Burnout and feelings of overwhelm come all in the game. I remember Andreas’ insights brought me back to the stories of Arber and Rajmonda from the Centre for Social Group Development who were both very open about having to take time off, sometimes for several months, from their peacebuilding efforts. I think our remaining time in Gračanica proved to be a similar breather which really showed us the value in slowing down, ‘being present and hearing the birdsongs’. Peace of mind was a key word here.

 

The air is different in Gračanica. Your lungs fill up with oxygen quicker. Having lunch in Hotel Gracanica’s beautiful garden with the sun fully out made it impossible not to breathe slower. We agreed the temperature today was close to perfect, exactly right for vibrantly orange aperol spritzs some of us enjoyed with our food and a card game session. References to stereotypical worry-free Italian summer get-aways were naturally made. The tranquility of the countryside was just incomparable to anything we so far experienced in Pristina, however much I love the dynamic city and its crazy drivers pretending no traffic rules exist. On the way back, as we stopped by and walked around the Ulpiana remains of an ancient Roman settlement, I also noticed our group had truly settled together by now. Whether doing handstands and cartwheels on Ulpiana’s open field and asking what surprised us most about each other, or chatting the night away over drinks in Pristina’s many bars we had grown so fond of, it feels as if we had really found comfort within the group. We can be playful in just about any circumstance, and that was certainly a heartfelt realization. I think today we managed to find inner peace in the combination of all the above. And inner peace is necessary to be radiated outwardly.

Prizren

By Eli Schwarer

 

South of Pristina, the capital of Kosovo, a gem of a city sits nestled at the base of a snow-capped mountain. This is the first delight. We chose a warm day for our journey to the historic capital of Kosovo, Prizren city, and from the bus we delight in the contrast of summer warmth with the image of the snow reflecting sunlight cheerily from afar. Along our way, banks of silver and green grass are broken up by purple, yellow and red (the poppies, as across the rest of Europe, are out in full force), with the occasional flash of pink and white. The Kosovo landscape is fertile in an old-world way: small-scale agricultural activity is evident everywhere, and in the in-between flowers, shrubs and grasses abound. Mountains pour thick forests down into their valleys. Farmland hardly seems to need irrigation, as fields back onto thick-flowing rivers and springs all over. 

 

We arrive in Prizren at 11am, with the welcome shade of a slightly overcast, warm day. The city runs up and down the mountainside, hugging the white Prizren river. Some of the buildings are hundreds of years old, surviving from when Prizren was a bustling hub of Albanian and Turkish culture under the Ottoman empire. Most of the dwellings around the river have been rebuilt following the old style, so that along the banks of the river one could get lost in time, caught between the plastic toys being hawked on the bridges and the ancient bridges themselves. As you move further from the historic centre, the buildings become more modern, more utilitarian, and start to resemble the 21st century again. If you blink on a particular street, it is possible to imagine you have done some accidental time-traveling.

 

The group has a guide, but I break away from them with a friend fairly early: we have an appointment with an advocate-activist-artist from the city, Valtida Shukstria. I had made contact with her by happy coincidence, after engaging one of the officials at our EULEX visit in a conversation about Prizren's unique linguistic situation. The municipality of Prizren, unlike the rest of Kosovo, has not two but three official languages: Albanian, Serbian, and Turkish. More interesting still is the contrast in official language use: in Pristina, as in most of the rest of Kosovo, people who did not learn both Albanian and Serbian in school simply use English to communicate across language barriers. Not so in Prizren, where one can speak whichever language one pleases, including the Roma dialect of the region, and most people have a serviceable level in at least Serbian, Albanian, Turkish and English. A sociolinguistic treasure trove if ever there were one, and our contact at EULEX, a native Prizrenian, was eager to talk about it, and put me in touch with Valtida for our day-trip. From Valtida, I learned the most fascinating part of this linguistic puzzle: schools are segregated by language (Turkish, Albanian and German), and children are not forced to learn other languages in school, though it is often an option. This struck me, because it means most acquisition, especially of the Prizren Romani dialect and Serbian, which do not have separate schooling systems, happens entirely in the course of unofficial interaction. 

 

Prizren is prized across Kosovo as an example of diversity and integration, and locals speak of it with obvious pride. Yet it does not escape the ethnic animosity that plagues the rest of the country. Loose but present ethnic divisions are still drawn in everyday activity, and there are subtle indicators of discrimination, such as the fact that some signs, which are supposed to carry information in all official languages (in the order of Albanian, Serbian, Turkish, and optionally English) exclude Turkish and change the order. In spite of this, languages proliferate in practice, and the effect is that Prizren takes on this character as a timeless city, where progressive politics take place in the same streets and buildings that housed, in centuries past, important intellectual and political movements in Kosovo's history. 

 

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We meet up with Valtida and she takes us on a brisk walk up and down the cobbled streets, stopping to exchange a few words on every street corner with some friend or coworker, and speaking at a mile a minute. She is full of passion and knowledge about Prizren, and eager to share it with us. In her busy schedule of running a law firm, engaging in activism for everything from women's rights to environmental sustainability and historic site conservation, being an artist, raising a child and seemingly knowing everyone in Prizren, she found two hours to spend with us, and used every minute of it. But what else would one expect? - as she said, one needs 8 hours for sleep, and then there are 16 hours in the day for everything else. 

 

We get a tour of the less touristy spots in the city. Valtida has a campaign for educating people about the architecture of Prizren, and she shows us a door which is set into a frame on the side of the mountain just under the old castle. The door is hundreds of years old and still displays a dual knocker system (for men and women) which was popular in the Ottoman period. The door has a hand-cast heavy metal lock shaped like a snake, a symbol of security. Further on down the same road, and round the bulge of the mountain, Valtida shows us an Old World sycamore (also called an Eastern Plane) which is at least 500 years old, and has a massive trunk with sprawling roots. If the river ever floods, the tree is in a precarious position, but while it flows gently past, the shade of the large leaves and gentle spray of the water is refreshing. A final stop at the publically owned Kino Lumbardhi cinema, where we sit to share a coffee and interview Valtida about her work, and we part to see if we can meet up with the rest of our group again. 

 

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Famished, we snake our way back up the streets to a little restaurant that Valtida had pointed out on our walk: Noja, the only vegetarian joint in Prizren, set snuggly into a narrow side street above the main circle. From here, the day became somewhat of a fairy tale. 

 

Noja is already unique for its vegetarian menu (as we heard time and again, the favourite meal of most Kosovars is straight up 'meat', so Noja cuts against the grain a little, but does so with superb style). However, what really sets the place apart for me are two aspects. Firstly, the kitchen is a normal, household kitchen. The counter has been augmented with stainless steel, but besides that the fridge displays family photos and recipes, the shelves are stocked like my mother's pantry, with jars of lentils and rice and terracotta crockery, and the stove is your average good-quality but not industrial grade stove. The head chef is a young woman who decided to open the restaurant during Covid, after building up a client base with a food stand at the Lumbardhi. Her mother cooks with her, and handles the accounts. I engage them in conversation, eager to chat shop about the joys of cooking, and they share a recipe with me for a delightful summer dish (fried Balkan cheese, roasted peppers, watermelon and cornbread). As mother and daughter move back and forth in the small kitchen, preparing the delicious falafel wrap, soup, and pasta that we ordered, they shout ingredients to me, checking quantities with each other and disagreeing over exactly how liquid the batter of the bread must be. They clearly love food. 

Their passion shows in the cooking: with each bite my friend and I sink further into bliss. A summer vegetable soup with croutons and a fresh, pumpkin yellow colour sets a good tone for the meal. The lentil hummus in the wrap is silky, pairing beautifully with the lemon juice drizzle. And to crown it all, Jufka, a traditional Prizreni pasta with cheese and dill sauce, a subtle flavour combination which lifts the creamy texture to make the meal light and refreshing. A few black olives, and a sprinkle of dill, constitute the perfect garnish to deepen the flavour of this dish, and we dig in with relish. Having eaten well but carnivorously all week, in an attempt to embrace the local cuisine, it is pleasant to indulge in creative vegetarian delicacies. Follow it up with fresh rose water, and what more could you want?

 

But here is the real magic of the place, the reason we stayed over two hours, skipping the lovely ascent to the castle ruins and a number of the beautiful religious monuments: Dede. Noja is a family business, and while the daughter and mother cook and chat with customers in the main room, the uncle, who everyone calls Dede (meaning grandfather) reigns supreme in the side room and at the tables on the street. Seldom have I met a more charismatic character, someone who revelled so clearly in storytelling and performance. To call him a performer is not to say that he is insincere - only that to him, it appears that conversation is an artform. He is certainly a master. An expert in reading the room, he follows up his jovial greeting by sounding us out, making sure that we are comfortable with a third at our table. Sensing that we had stumbled on a gold mine, we asked him to join us and talk, and except for one or two diversions to talk to local customers out on the street he stayed with us the whole time we were there. 

 

In his green beret and wolf's tooth necklace, Dede is a tall and kind-faced man. His family is from Turkey, and he loves Prizren and all the people there. He tells us all about the horse he raised from a foal, the strong bond he built with it. He introduces us to a hunter whose hair and nails are immaculate and who knows the surrounding lands like the back of her hand. He talks about the history of the restaurant, the history of Prizren, and the people he has met. And he tells us a story about the Old World sycamore worthy of the name: that the tree speaks, when one listens, of the children and lovers and friends who have taken solace in her shades, of the conversations on hot summer days and the passing of the centuries beneath her boughs, and the people who pissed on her roots, and the bugs that crawled on her. 

'So,' she asks, 'what the hell are you doing? Why do you fight like this?' 

With tears in his eyes, and with far more pathos than I could ever do justice to, Dede recounts his tale of the sycamore. If I ever needed proof that storytelling is an art, there it was. 

 

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We give our reluctant goodbyes, and rejoin our group, to hop back on the bus and make our way over the border. The perfect day is finished off in the cleft between some mountains in rural Albania, swimming in a massive lake. The water is pure and cold, the sky is clear, and everywhere we look the afternoon sun reflects gold and green. 

Though we sit together every night over dinner, our day in Prizren was the best example of good food and good company being all one needs to be happy. 

Secret chambers, candles, understanding

 By Alexia Chiriac

About 1 meter off the ground, on one of the pillars of the Gračanica Monastery, there is a small door. Barely noticeable among the hundreds-of-years-old frescoes lining the walls, there is the entrance to a chamber that overlooks the whole monastery. This chamber was used as a place for the monarch to pray in safety, away from the general population. But I didn’t see it like that. I saw it as a way to see the needs of the people, to understand them. When in that chamber they could see over the whole church, and they could watch people as they pray. What I didn’t understand until I got there was just how embedded religion is in identity and how big of a place it has in people’s hearts. Religion is a deeply rooted part of Serbian identity, but until you experience it, until you feel it, there’s no way to completely understand. Religion as identity is not only about tradition, but also about compassion, community, kindness. It puts a focus on who you are and what’s important for you. That secret chamber, no matter its past use and the original intention behind it, feels like a place of understanding. Once you enter that door in the pillar, and you reach the top, you no longer think about just yourself, because you can see it all. That secret chamber feels like a place of understanding, and a place of a need to understand.

After the tour of the monastery, I wanted to light a candle. In the Orthodox tradition, people can light candles for the living and the departed, for protection and for rest. Even though I have been a non-practicing Orthodox for many years (I’d like to call myself faithful instead of religious), I felt the need to light some candles, for my family and for my friends. When I went to ask the guide where I could do this, one of my classmates joined and said they wanted to do it as well. The guide asked me where I’m from and then asked if I am Orthodox, and when I said yes, he lit up. It was a fantastic moment of mutual recognition, and I think that was one of the moments where I fully understood what it means to have faith as part of your identity. It’s finding community wherever you go, in people you have never met. He showed me where the candles were and as I was walking towards that place, my classmate came up to me. They asked me a very simple question. They asked: “Is it ok if I come light some candles with you?” For me, that meant the world. That simple question showed so much compassion and kindness in that moment, and above it all, it showed the desire to understand and to respect somebody else’s identity and customs, in order to ensure that they didn’t somehow accidentally step on them. What this trip has shown me the most, is the need to have this kind of attitude towards everything around you. The need to step lightly and with an open heart. 

For the past three years I’ve been stuck between two places: at home religion has always been an integral part of our identity, our values, and our traditions. In Amsterdam, it was the opposite, I had to create my own community and values, away from a part of myself that I had taken for granted and maybe never quite fully understood. But coming here, to such a charged place, forced me to put a mirror up to myself. And not just to myself, to what I had learned, to who I had met, to everyone and everything. Just like the secret chamber, once you find that door on the pillar, and you walk through it, you can see it all. You gain understanding. Of yourself and of others. We learned in class that the Serbian identity is deeply tied with the Orthodox religion, and when we were talking about it I kind of understood on a mental and academic level, but until I was faced with the reality of others’ experience and my own, I didn’t understand on a deeper spiritual and personal level. Because at the end of the day, we are all stuck in our own worlds, on our own levels of being. We are so stuck that we feel like we understand everything, when in reality we understand so little about what others experience. And the problem is, until we are put in a place where we are faced with our own limitations, with ourselves, we don’t realize it. Taking the steps towards understanding is the easy part. Talking to people, being present, being compassionate, it’s almost instinctual once you start. Once you open that door, hidden in a pillar between hundreds of frescoes of ourselves and our lives, that leads to the desire to understand and experience life through another’s eyes, you can never go back. What’s hard is noticing that tiny door and its need to be opened.

Positively intense

 By Morgan Mamet

After a slow morning on Saturday 17 June, when a few got the chance to rest after the busy last few days, and others savored the chance to sleep if only for a few hours after enjoying the night life of Kosovo, we made our way to the governmental building. Formal attire (no jeans) was required.

A lunch quickly devoured, and it was go time. 13:30 was very anxiously awaited after strategic talks concerning our host of the day. Indeed, today was special: we had a meeting with Albin Kurti, Kosovo’s Prime Minister since 2021.

As imagined, the process is very intimidating. Bags checked (just like at the airport) as well as confiscation of our passports. When entering the conference room the realization it us: little AUC students have the chance to meet and converse with Kosovo’s Prime Minister. The tensions and excitement were high. It all seemed very official.

We were very lucky to talk with the Prime Minister for almost an hour, and we were lucky to ask questions that we were all very impatient to get the answers to.

Truthfully, I was the first to break the ice… The first question asked. So it is with great stress that I pressed the microphone button and spoke a few words to our host. It was with a lot of “fake it ‘til you make it” that I managed to ask my question.

 

A few words of excitement were expressed after the meeting, as we had to run all the way back to our home for the next few days: another adventure awaited us, and the too formal, too uncomfortable attire had to be changed. So, we made each other a silent promise to get back to the very awaited conversation: HOW WAS THE MEETING WITH KURTI??!

Of course, once at the meeting point waiting for our bus, we had the chance t0 discuss it all. With a few heartwarming words from Anne expressing to us how proud of us she was.

It was an incredible opportunity to compare the different narratives, to listen to the different perspectives. To better comprehend the reality of Kosovars and how individuals experience it.

Already another new adventure awaited us: our first steps in a Serbian Community in Gračanica. We first visited a beautiful monastery from 1321. A wonderful guide welcomed us, ready to share the story of the special place.

 

Fun fact: 1kg of lapis lazuli pigment used to be worth 1kg of gold. (Isn’t that crazy?)

 

Sadly, no pictures could be taken inside of the monastery (but if you are curious, it is an excuse to go visit the beautiful place). The Serbian Orthodox Monastery Gračanica has been designated a world heritage site by UNESCO. The frescos tell the story of the Bible as a way to teach those who could not read. The art, still incredibly beautiful and well conserved took our breath away. Its actual presence on the walls after all the centuries can only be explained by “God knows” as highlighted by our guide. 

The nun-kept monastery was magnificent. 

 

We were later guided to the next part of the adventure of the day: A place for the Kosovar Serbs who went missing because of the war in 1998-1999. It is a place where some of our tears were shed. A place of broken hearts. A place full of love. A tribute to the missing ones. A place for them to be remembered. A place where melancholy seemed to reside. A place to somehow process the disappearing of the loved ones.

We spent some time, in silence, paying our respects to all of those pictures on the giant letters: MISSING. With a lot of silent prayers sent to the loved ones left behind, still looking for answers.

I desperately tried to remember all of their faces. To engrave them inside of my head. So that they are never forgotten.

 

It is with teary eyes and heavy hearts that we made our way to the restaurant of the day. A moment where we all gather around a meal and share about everything and nothing. A very awaited time of the day. We sat down at this gigantic table (it had to fit 25 people!!) that I can only describe as atypical and rustic. 

As imagined, the food was very traditional, with much meat. The meal was very convivial, as we all shared the delicacies as to be certain to try it ALL. Long, exciting conversations about our lives, our very interesting (but emotionally exhausting) day, helped us get to know each other even better.  The 7pm dinners are always a great way to reconnect and talk to those we have not really had the chance to properly talk to before. It was the perfect end to our intense Saturday.

I believe we must have been a nightmare for the waiters: 25 different orders, (many with special requests). We were still warmly received. The waiters were also very happy to answer our many questions relating to our group projects. We left the restaurant, promising to come back a few days later, to talk with one of the waiters, who was happy to share about his people and his culture.

 

After a long bus ride, some of us met in the common room of our hostel, laughing and writing our blog entries.

Excited for the rest of the adventures awaiting us.

 

Reflecting while writing my blog has highlighted how privileged I felt to meet Kosovo’s Prime Minister. In truth, I believe I experienced some imposter syndrome, not comprehending how I am in Kosovo, meeting all these incredible individuals, all with interesting stories, while just being an IR student from a small country. How did I even get here? I feel very privileged to experience this all.

 

Anne explained that it will be difficult to explain and really describe this trip to the others back home, who will often simply ask, “how was the weather?”, as if an experience like this could be summarized that easily. As if answering those four words would manage to define the reality of what we lived, experienced. I have given a lot of thought to how I would describe Peace Lab Kosovo to others and I believe one word is in order: intense. Intense emotionally with all the things we see, the things we learn, the conversations with the people. Intense physically. Intense socially. All of it, positively intense.

 

Bref, à bientôt.