“ALLIANCE!”
MARXIST-LENINIST
FALL-WINTER
2005
________________________________________________________________
”MY LIFE WITH
ENVER”;
Memoirs Volume I By Nexhmije Hoxha
Nobody but Enver Hoxha deserves
the expression:
“Glory goes to the ones not asking for
it”
__________________________________
Shefqet Peci, Enver Hoxha, Adil
Carcani
___________________________________________________________________________________________
COPYRIGHT:
Of the original work
belongs to the
author;
and of this translation jointly
between the
author and the translators - Alliance Marxist-Leninist
First published in Albanian; by “LIRA” Tirana 1998 (Print Run: 2000).
All
Photographs obtained from web
Publishers Preface – Alliance
This translation was commissioned and edited, with authorisation from Nexhmije Hoxha.
It was undertaken and effected by an Editorial Board drawn from the Communist League (UK) and Alliance-ML (North America). All board members, are former
members of the now defunct ‘Albania Society’ organised by W.B.Bland.
All web-materials of this book are available to be distributed - but copyright is held by this board in association with Nexhmije Hoxha.
All permissions to copy this material on the web or in print format will be freely given, provided that the material is prefaced with the above statements.
Should there be any errors remaining in translation, we apologise for these, and stress that they are solely the responsibility of the Editorial Board noted
above – not the author.
We are publishing this initially as a series on the web. In due course we will be publishing the entire authorised translation as two volumes in a bound version.
November 2005.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
1. Authors Preface
I decided to write these memoirs about my life with Enver when I felt a
strong
need to suppress the torturing loneliness of my prison cell. I started
with
memories from our youth, our life together, the first meeting and love
- that
had connected the two of us so much. I had never even talked to my
children
about these matters, and I have kept these memories to myself,
throughout my
life.
With the passing of time, our ideal life together was embellished and
transformed into a source of endless happiness, and into a moral
strength that
kept me alive in very difficult situations and circumstances.
Sentenced to 11 years of imprisonment, under absurd charges, it had
been
already determined that I would not be released until I was over 80
years old.
It is for that reason that I decided to
write these memoirs, so that they are left to my children, for them to
learn
about the life experiences of their parents, before they were born, and
when
they were little. And, even later, when we had not been able to find
the time,
to talk to them about these things.
So, my children came to learn of them gradually, by reading notes that
I had
secretly written in prison. They were brave enough to become my muses
together
with their families – they helped me to fulfill the promise that I had
made to their
father, my Enver.
At the suggestion of many comrades and friends, I decided to publish these memoirs, hoping that I would be able to satisfy the wishes of many veterans, the co-fighters of Enver; as well as to answer the curiosity of the new generations who would not know Enver as the leader of our country and people for nearly 50 years.
During the 7 years of social and political collapse in our country,
much was
said and written about Enver and his work, including much which was
absurd,
banal and even monstrous. In these memoirs I do not want to dwell on
the many
deceits and obscenities thrown into the Albanian political arena. I
only
reminisce and describe Enver just as he was, during his life, the war,
work,
political activities, and with family and friends. Fifty years is a
rather long
period and the memories reflected in this book are not scientific
analyses of
the history of that period and the role of Enver Hoxha. Even as
memories they
cannot completely cover that time span.
But being
confined to a prison
cell, it was these memories that kept me going, and it was in such a
situation
that I began to write them down - when allowed to do so and when I had
the
chance.
Each memory brought back others until they became too many to be
included in a
single volume and I therefore decided to divide them into two books.
Book I, is the one you have in your hands, “My L
It includes first acquaintance, our love, our meetings during the time
of the
National Liberation War, our life in the family after liberation; the
daily
routine of life and work of Enver, encounters with missions sent by the
Yugoslavian Communist Party, and their agents in our Party (whose aim
was to
include Albania as a seventh republic of the Yugoslav federation); the
close
friendship with the SU (Soviet Union) during Stalin's time and, later,
the
betrayal of the stigmatized revisionist N. S Khrushchev and the ones
following
him. As chronologically ordered, these memoirs reach the year 1973,
although a
strict chronology is not necessarily adhered to within each chapter.
Book II reflects “The last ten years of my life with Enver”. The
memories in
this book are somewhat detached from each other, and this period was a
rather
disturbed time for the Party and our government too. Towards the end of
1973,
Enver suffered his first heart attack. Since the recent years of
"democracy" there has been much speculation with regard to Enver's
health. But, based upon the evidence that I have, I can categorically
deny the false
rumors regarding Enver's inability to continue working in his highly
responsible office. The years following were full of activities,
whether in the
political arena or in his personal creativity. This is evidenced by his
wide
ranging activities during this period, his many political initiatives
and the
several editions of memoirs that he wrote in addition to his
ideological or
political writings.
During 1974-1975, Enver had to fight against anti party activity, anti-socialists and anti-nationalist who were associated with some of the party members. I write about these in my memoirs and show how Enver handled them and survived these difficulties.
Much speculation has circulated regarding the relationship between
Enver and
Mehmet Shehu. Therefore, in the second book, I have dedicated a whole
chapter
to the special character this relationship had, and of the long
collaboration
and suicide of Mehmet Shehu.
A special part of this second book is dedicated, not only to personal
memories,
but also to Enver’s arguments on the
nature of the relations with the Communist Party of China and the
Certainly
I couldn’t leave out a
description of his character and personality, as a man of cultural
interests,
and of a broad mentality. Enver especially respected men and women of
scientific, artistic and literary backgrounds. It is with great
discontent that
I have had to read from many politicians, writers and intellectuals'
various
invented and denigrating charges, which are completely untrue.
With regards to his relation with the people - the straight-forward
people -
Enver was always a popular leader; with his collaborators he behaved as
a
friend and respected teacher, as he did with the revolutionaries and
Marxist
Leninists of other countries; he was a diplomat with politicians and
foreign
friends; and with his family and friends he was a HUMAN.
I apologize to the readers in the case of any minor inconsistencies,
who should
take into consideration that these memoirs were written down when I was
imprisoned without any documentation
available. There I was not even allowed to use my husband’s books, with
which I
could check and refresh my memories. I could not do this even after I
was out
of prison. The first six months of 1997 are well known for the
political
turmoil within
With all the difficulties encountered in the preparation of these
memoirs, I
would like to say that they wouldn't have come to light without the
support and
concrete contributions of friends who have assisted me as advisers for
such a
publication; and those who as editors who undertook the publication of
this
edition. I will not mention their names for the moment, for reasons
which are
clearly understandable, yet I express my gratitude, and my respect
towards
their benevolence and consistent stance in spite of unknown storms
passing over
our people and country.
I also express my gratitude to the publishing house that undertook
bringing
into the light my collected memoirs.
2. First introduction to Enver
It was because the war involving the people and its’ Party, that
Enver and
myself first met and then united. Any couple in love preserves as
beautiful
memories, their first meeting, their first introduction. Some may write
poetry,
some may sing songs; someone else waits for the beloved in the park, on
the
street, outside the schoolyard or next to the steps of the apartment.
This is
what usually happens during peacetime.
What about in wartime, in an undercover situation? Is love born? When
you are
young, love is born anytime, like flowers in the spring. The war, in
spite of
its wilderness and awe can’t suffocate or dry up this vivid human
feeling.
I became
acquainted with Enver for
the first time at the Meeting for the Foundation of the Communist Youth
that
took place on November 23rd 1941, immediately after the foundation of
the
Albanian Communist Party. (November 8th 1941)
I had
never seen or heard about
him before. I was part of the Shkodra Communist Group, whereas he was
involved
in the Korca Communist Group. Even though many attempts were made to
unite
these youth groups, I had had the chance only to meet some girls and
boys from
the Youth group, but none from Korca.
It is a
well-known fact that Enver
led and organized the demonstration of October 8th 1941, as a joint
action of
communist groups, at the eve of the Party’s foundation. Here, it was
for me the
first time to be in the front line with Enver. But we still had not
met.
I think that if the demonstration had not been successful, the Communist Party would never have been founded on November the 8th. There were some communists, such as the heads of youth groups, who did not agree to the foundation of the Party. They tried also to sabotage the demonstration. We communists, were aware that, on October 28th in the morning (as a protest against the ceremonies organized by the fascist invaders to commemorate the fascist march toward Rome as well as the Italian attack against Greece), we would have to wait at the appointed bases for the news as to whether the demonstration would take place or not.
It is a
known fact that Enver,
Qemal Stafa, Vasil Shanto and other communist companions, were to carry
out
this action, a baptism of fire for the unification of the groups and
the
foundation of the Party. After subsequent debates, sometime in the
morning, the
comrades in favor for action were victorious, and they set off to
organize the
demonstration. I was waiting at a friend’s house in
In such clashes there is no time to stay and observe. Right beside me I
noticed
a policeman who had captured young Zeqo Agolli, whose family I knew
very well.
Influenced also by what Enver was doing, I jumped and clambered among
them, in
order to separate them. The policeman seemed surprised, as a highlander
he
probably didn’t feel like pushing and throwing me down to the ground,
so he
freed Zeqi. All around one could see the gun butts of Italian and
Albanian
police raging over the heads of the demonstrators. Nevertheless the
demonstrators kept struggling with fists and umbrellas, which they had
taken
with them since it was rather cloudy weather, or even, possibly to
protect themselves.
In a moment the order was passed: “Everyone towards the
After the chants in front of the Government building “we want our
friends”,
“Glory to Albania” “Long Live Liberty” “Down with Fascism” etc, the
prime
minister, Shefqet Verlaci, appeared on the stairs and mumbled
something. Who
would listen to him? Scared by the wild chanting, he went inside and,
after
some moments, our two friends were set free, bleeding. I remained
speechless
when I noticed that one of them was my brother Fehmi (a high school
student,
friend of Pirro Kondi and others, two years younger than me, i.e. 18
years
old). Companions held him on their shoulders. They wanted him to say
something,
but he wasn’t able to. One of his eyes was swollen, closed and
bleeding. I was
worried that his eye had been damaged, but blood was coming from a
wound over
his eyebrow and probably he had been hit there and on the chin too.
Beating his
tongue made it difficult for him to speak. I went to him and separated
him from
the crowd. After we had left the crowd of demonstrators, we got into a
cart and
went home. I am not going to stop here to describe the shock that my
mother
went through, and her cries when we were cleaning the wounds. She kept
saying:
“Poor me, I only have two sons (sic!) and both of you are involved in
the
struggle …!”
Less than two weeks passed and we were sent the news that “ the
Albanian
Communist Party had been founded”. The Party that we had dreamed of and
wished
for was at last a reality for us true communists!
Two weeks after the foundation of the Communist Party of Albania, a
meeting was
convened to lay the foundations of the Communist Youth Movement. From
all youth
groups 12 delegates were selected to take part, I was the only female.
The
meeting took place in the house of Sabrije (Bije) Vokshi, the aunt of
Asim
Vokshi, the hero who gave his life in the Anti-fascist struggle in
The house of Bije was very suitable for such meetings due to its
location in
occupied Tirana, where the fascist terror was becoming more and more of
a
burden. The house was located at the end of the large Boulevard, close
to the
where the train station sits today. It was set among small houses,
individual
shops, and typical Tirana houses, built of mud bricks. Her house was
also
suitable for our meetings because it had two entrances. One was deep in
the
alley, and the other had an exit on another road that connected the end
of the
boulevard with the street named after to the martyr Siri Kodra. The
latter, is
now part of the peripheral ring-road that takes you to the hospitals.
Participants of these meetings were assigned a time to show up, and a “code” (a particular knock on the door) so that the landlady wouldn’t open the door to anyone else, even to her friends and relatives who might visit at the time the meting was about to take place. At the end of the meeting in case of danger, one could leave by jumping from the low courtyard wall, to yard to yard of the nearby houses. Qemal had escaped like this many times. Bije’s house was an important base for him. Bije’s neighbors were very kind and patriotic, anti-fascist people, who behaved as if they didn’t notice the comings and goings of the youngsters in the old lady’s house.
On November 22nd in the afternoon, the invited comrades started to come
in one
after another. I remember that it was dusk when I arrived at Bije's
house. I
went in, and everybody sounded joyful. They stopped for a moment,
probably they
saw a girl comrade, and they might have been telling raffish jokes. We
greeted
each other with the slogan "down with fascism and liberty to the
people”.
We shook hands warmly, even though at the time we didn’t know much of
each
other, since we belonged to different youth groups.
The room in which we had gathered, had comfortable straw mattresses. A
black-sheeted iron coal range rumbled merrily with a powerful fire that
had
reddened it in places. The room had become dim with smoke. It wasn’t
cigarette
smoke, the comrades mostly didn’t smoke, as they were very young. The
smoke
came from the bread slices, which were on the range being toasted. On a
square
table, next to the window, lay the caps of the comrades, on which they
had
placed the bombs, which seemed like red apples in fruit bowels. Of
course the
window was covered with a thick blanket, so that the light couldn’t be
seen
from outside.
The owner of the house could only offer tea from “tiliacaea”, which
yielded a
very nice aroma. She had to fill up the teapot many times. There were
no china
glasses, only aluminum ones, like those used in the military, which
were not
very suitable to drink from since they got hot and could burn your
lips. The
comrades couldn’t wait for it cool down. Furthermore there were not
enough
glasses for all of us, so we had to take turns. The impatient ones
would take
sips. Anything would make them laugh and joke. It was there that I
first got to
learn of Italian humor. One could distinguish Ndoc Mazi, who got jokes
started,
and Qemal would keep on the same line. Ndoc could laugh and die in the
same
way; he died like a hero, together with the other heroes from Vig.
All of us laughed at their humor. This is how Enver found us when he entered the room. He had entered from outside into the kitchen where he had left his overcoat, cap, and everything else he possessed. At first, when he entered the room, what was most noticeable was his well-built body, the tallest of all comrades in the room. His dark complexion, his very vivid eyes, his black, rather wavy hair. He was wearing a “doppiopetto” jacket of light colors, beige with brown stripes. Underneath he was wearing a handmade woollen beige pullover with a high neckband, out of which appeared the shirt collar. His trousers were sporty and fashionable for the time, somewhat wide, covering long brown boots up to the knees.
I hadn’t noticed Qemal leaving the room. When Enver entered he was with Qemal . He introduced Enver saying: “This is comrade Taras , a member of the provisionary Central Committee of the Communist Party, founded two weeks ago, on November 8th. He has been delegated to participate in this meeting in order to help set up the Communist Youth Movement.”
Most of the people present, were aware of the fact that he was actually
Professor Enver Hoxha. I myself had only seen him from a distance and
had heard
another name, a non-Albanian one, Taras.
What was this other name about? I presumed that was a nickname and, as
I heard
later on, he was given that name from his friends because of his body,
to an
extent like a well known character from Russian literature, Taras
Bulba, a
famous popular fighter.
Enver came around shaking hands with everyone, whilst Qemal did the
introductions. Enver would stop at everyone, smiling and chatting with
all of
them, wondering where he had met one and then the other. When he
stopped at me,
Qemal said, this is comrade Nexhmije Xhuglini, about whom I have been
talking
to you. Then he mentioned some other things about me, which made me
blush. I
interrupted and said; please Qemal let’s stop this and drop the
subject…..
When Enver neared the range, he stretched his hands forward to get
warmer and
noticed the bread toasting, saying “Ahhh this is delicious”…one of his
friends
asked him whether he wanted to have some tea and he replied “Why not,
with
great pleasure”. He had his tea and than added ”What if we start the
meeting?”
It was around 9 o’clock. After the middle of the room had been cleared
two or
three desks were placed there. The meeting started. Representing the
Central
Committee of the Party was Enver Hoxha; on his right there was Qemal
Stafa, on
his left Nako Spiru, then myself, and on both sides sat all the
delegate
comrades.
Enver
chaired the meeting; he
introduced Qemal Stafa as the one who had been assigned by the Central
Committee of the Communist Party to work with the Youth Groups. Then he
read
the greeting speech of the Provisionary Central Committee of the
Albanian
Communist party (written by himself, and whose original is now in the
Central
archives of the Party).
Enver presented a report about the importance of the foundation of the
Communist Party and the decisions made there to unite the people on a
national
liberation front, to fight against fascist invaders, the traitors of
As we saw then as later, at every meeting and in every speech about and
for the
youth, even at the beginning, Enver Hoxha spoke with passion. It was
still
November of 1941. This is why it is understandable that his words about
liberty
and the future awaiting us, lit up a fire in our young hearts. It gave
wings to
our thoughts and aspirations for the future. Our dreams seemed more
attainable
now, more concrete.
When Enver Hoxha got to the end of his speech, the room was filled with
silence. Certainly, there was no applause, not only because of secrecy,
but
also because applause was not yet part of our meeting style since we
hadn’t won
any victory yet. What we wished for was just a beautiful vision, which
one day,
certainly would be transformed into reality through our struggles, our
blood,
our life and youth.
In the midst of this silence, Enver proposed to have a break. Not
because we
were tired, but it seemed we all needed to be released from emotional
tensions.
We all moved around. Enver moved to the other room to smoke a
cigarette. We
also followed him. We surrounded him; despite the fact that we were
supposed to
be on a break and, because we felt much freer, we started to ask
questions and
chat.
When we went back to the meeting room, which, during the break had been
freshened up, Qemal Stafa took the floor. In the beginning he spoke
about the
importance of the foundation of the Party. Then he underlined the
situation and
the struggle of the communist youth.
After Qemal, it was decided that the meeting should be ended since it was past midnight. We moved to an adjoining room used for resting and sleeping. There were no mattresses, no beds, except for one that was Bije’s, the owner of the house. They gave that bed to me. On both sides of the room there were rugs and straw filled pillows. Comrades laid down their heads on the pillows and their bodies on the rugs. Their feet were on wood. They were covered with their overcoats, close to each other, since it was a cold night and the room had no fireplace. Some of the friends preferred to stay in the meeting room, which was heated by the range, sleeping on stools and supporting their heads on their crossed arms on the table.
Even though we were in the capital city, we slept as partisans, fully
clothed,
with our guns lying ready close to us, in case of danger. In the room
where we
slept, there was a cupboard in the wall, at the bottom of which there
was a
place for documents to be kept. A wooden stool covered it and on it
were Bije’s
clothes. In the ceiling was a space to keep guns. As Enver has said,
the house
of Bije Vokshi was an arsenal of guns and bombs. We compared Bije to
Pellagia,
mother to Pavel Vllasov. In the atmosphere of these meetings our
imagination
would fire up as in the work of Gorky “The Mother”. But I might say
that this
mother of ours, an Albanian one, didn’t fear guns, she was used to
outlaws,
their guns and wounds. In this room there was also a special area in
which
Qemal would develop his pictures. There is well known picture that he
took of
Enver. In it, he is wearing a moustache for a fake identity card. But
from what
I know, it wasn’t used for long, since the enemy obtained various
documents, so
the picture was burned, since it could have identified Enver.
I will digress from the meeting, to tell you about an interesting
episode about
this picture. On another occasion when Enver had sheltered in the house
of
Shyqyri Kellezi, he was notified that the house was being watched.
Enver left
with another comrade immediately, first asking the mother of their
friend to
deny anything she might be asked. The mother of Shyqyrri was a simple
old lady
from Tirana, nice in her manners and her humor. When the fascists
presented her
with the picture of Enver with a moustache, the poor old lady couldn’t
help
saying ‘My God’ but she immediately came to her senses, shut her mouth
with her
hand and became very embarrassed. They questioned her for a long time
asking
her whether she knew Enver, but she kept her mouth shut. She was taken
to the
police station but even there she wouldn’t answer their questions. She
managed
to convince the police that she was insane and so they released her.
The next morning of November 23rd, after we had some bread and tea, the meeting continued with discussions on both reports. The floor was given to Nako Spiru. He spoke about fascism, its risk as an ideological and military force, what it represented for intellectual scholarly youth, then he moved onto tasks for the communist anti-fascist youth.
Tasi Mitrushi took the floor on behalf of the Korca working youth,
whereas Ndoc
Mazi represented the Shkodra working youth. Pleurat Xhuvani took the
floor on
behalf of Elbasan, whereas for the Tirana student youth, Sofokli Buda
who took
the floor. I presented the news
regarding the Girls Institute of Tirana. I underlined the
positive aspect
of this institute, which provided the whole country with the teachers
it
trained there.
Enver had met with factionist Trotskyites such as Anastas Sulo and
Sadik
Premte, during the meeting for the foundation of the Party. In our
meeting
also, as a member of the youth group, Isuf Keci, tried to contradict
the party
direction on various issues, such as the Anglo-Soviet-American
alliance, on the
external framework, for the country and the role of peasantry, on the
internal
framework, and other issues.
All participants were discussing vigorously, in support of the direction of our new Party. Enver in his memoirs, commented positively about my speech, and my active participation in the debates on the incorrect perspectives of the delegate of the Youth group. During the lunch break, Enver approached and congratulated me on this. At the time I took this as an encouragement for a comrade who was participating for the first time in a meeting of this sort. At this point, I would like to stress that I vigorously participated in those ideological-political debates, only because we had already had such debates about these issues at the first meeting of the women’s comrade cells, immediately after the foundation of the Communist Party. Probably our women’s comrade cell was the first cell, as it was convened on a weekday, between November 15th and the 22nd - after the end of the party’s foundation meeting, when the foundation meeting of Communist Youth started.
Finally, after all the issues had been presented, and were addressed, we passed onto the election of Communist Youth Central Committee. It was decided that it would be composed of five people. Candidacies were presented in a way, which today, might seem strange. Numbers, not names were presented and each of the numbers listed the characteristics of a person. I believe the candidacies were proposed in principle by the Provisionary Central Committee of the Party, and supervised by Enver Hoxha and Qemal Stafa; based also on the discussions taking place in that meeting. The characteristics listed included: duration of involvement in communist groups, what was the activity in which the person had been involved, education, origin, social background, profession etc. all in all, these were general characteristics on which the delegates would base their vote.
The candidacies presented were approved by everyone. The names of the comrades elected are well known. Elected as political secretary was Qemal Stafa; Nako Spiro was elected organizational secretary; and Nexhmije Xhuglini, Tasi Mitrushi and Ymer Pula were elected as members. The latter was from Kosova and when he was sent to organize the Communist Youth, he was replaced by the distinguished, brave and active worker, Misto Mame. Later changes occurred, since Qemal Stafa was killed less than six months after the meeting. Nako Spiro replaced him as secretary general, and Misto Mame was appointed as organizational secretary.
Since my
election to the Central
Committee of Communist Youth I was assigned to work with the Tirana
Youth, and
I was elected as its political secretary. I was also assigned to work
with the
organization of the Communist Youth in
What I call a kitchen was a large area, characteristic of Tirana houses, sometimes called house of fire. It was extended with compressed soil and lacked a ceiling and a fireplace. A thick chain hung from the blackened trunks caused by smoke, and was used to hang copper jugs or mess tins. When meetings such as ours were organized with many participants, big kettles were placed on the grills where pasta would be boiled or even polenta. But we Dibra People call the polenta ‘Bakerdan’. That very day, when the meeting was over, some of the most active delegates, led by Qemal, asked Bije to prepare halva: “The fascism halva, Bije, at the meeting, we decided to bury it! This is a closed question!”
And everyone would laugh their hearts out as if this “job” was a wedding. !......
These are very beautiful unforgettable memories. And they are memories that are a mixture of joyful moments and sad feelings, such as those for the friends that you have fought and laughed with, and have since “left”.
3. The day in a new course of my
life.
On April 7th 1942, as usual on the Commemoration Day of the Albanian
invasion
by Fascist Italy, a demonstration took place in Tirana. It was one of
the best
organized and most powerful ever, by the student youth, workers,
communists and
anti-fascists.
Normally demonstrations occurred in the morning, before noon. All the
youth,
having been notified of this activity, would arrive gradually, as if by
chance.
They would fill the upper part of the boulevard that today leads you to
the
train station, looking as though they were having their everyday walk.
At the
moment when the organizer gave the signal, the girls would unfurl the
flag, and
the walkers, so notified, would start marching towards
This time it was different. Thinking that the demonstration would be
organized
as usual, in the morning, the Fascist invaders and their mercenaries
were alert
from the early morning hours. Behind the Municipality (now the
The
demonstration, as planned,
broke out in the afternoon and, instead of it being directed towards
The girls were right in the front. They were, as usual set in the first line, since it was thought that it would be rather difficult for the invaders to hit a woman. And this is what happened. When the Fascists and mercenaries pointed their bayonets towards our chests, we told these poor Albanians that had accepted to serve the occupiers: “Shoot at us, shame on you, behaving in such away with your Albanian sisters and brothers!” At least the Albanian police stepped aside since they didn’t know exactly what to do.
After
this break, the
demonstrators continued their march. The crowd stopped in front of the
Madrassa. Amidst the chanting of various slogans, a short speech was
held and
then the demonstrators were disbanded.
I had participated in all the demonstrations, but apparently, in this last one, I had been more noticeable. So, I was now an implicated figure. On the morning of April 12th, someone knocked on my door. The son of my uncle, Skender Xhuglini, went outside to answer it. He found armed militia at the front door.
A feeling of alarm passed through the room. It was obvious that they had come to arrest me. There was only one way to escape, and that was through the courtyard door! The greatest concern I had was not for myself but for the others. It might seem paradoxical, but one night before, Drita Kosturi, through her sister, had entered a college of nuns that gave embroidery lessons etc., and had brought a young Italian nun to be sheltered temporarily in our house. She was anti-fascist and for this reason she didn’t want to lead a nun life. We had to find a solution to this problem. The Italians must be prevented from capturing her. In the meantime, as Skender was chatting with the militia at the door, we took care of the nun. We dressed her in some clothes of my mother’s and since her head was shaved she had to wear a scarf to cover it. We also told her to behave like a mute, so that she wouldn’t have to speak.
After Skender had seen off the militia and closed the door from inside,
we
finally breathed a sigh of relief. When we asked him how he had got rid
of the
militia; he replied that he had put the militia under some pressure by
saying:
“how can you an Albanian highlander, a faithful person, come here to
take an
Albanian girl and then hand her over to the Italians? Don’t you feel
ashamed?
Apart from that, she is not in here…” , in addition to other words. The
militia
had answered: “ OK, I will come again another time…” but, as we learned
later,
he had come to make us aware, indirectly, that I had been included in a
list of
people to be arrested. He was the brother of a communist and had become
part of
the militia, on the orders of the Party itself, in order to provide
‘inside’
information.
Of
course, there was no time to
loose. As soon as he left I got dressed and I told my mother I would
let her
know of where I would be and where we could meet. I would also let her
know
where the nun could be taken. We hugged each other and then I left the
house.
From that moment my parents were left all alone with Skender, because
my
brother Fehmi Xhuglini, even though he was 2 years younger than me, was
forced
to live undercover. He left Tirana to go to Elbasan, since he was
directed to
work with the youth there. Our house was situated in a blind alley,
that
connects Pazari I Ri (
Because I was a wanted person it was not possible for me to leave the house and walk up to the end of the street because I might have run into a patrol. I therefore headed towards Qemal Stafa Road moving from courtyard to courtyard and from door to door of the various neighbor’s houses. After reaching the end of the street, I relaxed and started to think about where I might get some lunch before going on to attend the meeting of the First Consultation of Party’s Activities to which I had been invited. I decided to go and pay a visit to some relatives of my father. It was seldom that I and my mother went to visit this family, so questions such as “What might have happened to her? What might have brought her here” were unavoidable. Anyway, it was not necessary to give explanations. I stayed there until 4 p.m., then I set off for the house of Bije Vokshi where the meeting would be held.
By dusk, all the delegates of the districts had arrived. This was an activity meeting to which all
political and organizational secretaries, elected in the conferences of the districts were invited, to make reports and receive consultations.
These conferences were begun after the foundation of the Party and the establishment of the basic organizations of the Party. Also invited were members of the Central provisionary Committee (7 people), and the Central Committee of Communist Youth (of which I was member).
The tables were arranged differently from the meeting for the
Foundation of the
Communist Youth, since the number of participants was much bigger. The
tables
surrounded the four angles of the room, creating a space in the middle.
Though
not all were true tables, on two angles were trunks supported by boxes.
The
stools to sit were constructed more or less in the same way, since it
was
impossible to find enough chairs for all the participants. The
chair-person of
the meeting sat in between two doors, next to the wall that separated
this room
from the porch. I happened to sit on a corner of the table attached to
the
chair-person’s table. In some of the plenary meetings
Enver
would come and sit on the
corner of the same table and would converse with me.
Once he told me: You have a nice pen, it seems to write beautifully.
Would you
give it to me? ’’ “You can take it if you really want it” – I replied
smiling,
“but as you can see it is a lady’s pen”.
It was as thin as a finger and had a red silk threaded plume. I was fond of that black and red pen which I had had for a long time, ever since the time when I used to see it in the window of the bookshop of Lumo Skendo (Mithat Frasheri).
This shop
was situated on
O natura
, O natura,
Perchè non rendi poi
Quel che prometti
Ai figli tuoi
[nature, oh nature, why can’t you offer your sons what you promise.
Italian in the original]
When I told Enver that the pen had been purchased with my first salary
as a
teacher and that I had done some teaching only for three or four months
in
1942, until the day I was forced to leave home and school; he asked me:
“Is it
only this pen you could buy with your first wages?” – “No”, I replied,
“I
bought also a coat for myself, because I didn’t have one. I also began
giving a
lump sum to my maternal grandmother (a quarter of a napoleon which was
about 1
dollar and equal to 25 lek at that time), so she would have some pocket
money.
The remaining part of my wages, I gave to my mother, for the household
expenditures.”
When I mentioned the money for my grandmother, Enver started laughing
and asked
me:
“What about your grandmother? What would she need the money for?”
I
replied: “She needed the money
to buy cigarettes, since she was not the kind to ask for money from
everyone. “
“If I had known” – said Enver – “That your grandmother smoked, I would
have
sent her a packet of cigarettes from ‘Flora’ Do you know where Flora
is?”
”I know” – I told him – “We pass by that road very often”.
”Why haven’t you visited then?” – he asked me, whilst his smiling eyes
were
shining more and more as he glanced at me.
”Why should I come” – I replied in a devilish way – “I don’t smoke and
I don’t
drink either”.
”Well, I know, but if you had come, we could have met each other
earlier” – he
continued on this track.
These words and jokes of Enver, later took on a meaning, which I hadn’t
sensed
at the time.
Usually, during wartime, these types of meetings were quite intensive and covered a wide range of topics of national importance and, for security reasons we worked both day and night. The consultation started at around 8 p.m. (April 12th 1942) and continued on until 3 or 4 o’clock a.m.
There
were so many delegates that
there was some difficulty in making the sleeping arrangements. Some of
the
comrades would lay down wherever they thought possible, or sit on
stools. Some
laying their heads on another’s shoulders or even on the meeting
tables. I,
being the only female, was as usual, more “privileged” in such cases. I
would
use Bije’s bed; the only bed in the house, and I would sleep with my
clothes on
and take my shoes off. As soon as I lay down I fell asleep.
I don’t know what the time might have been when I heard a slight noise. The dawn was breaking. At first I thought I was dreaming; I heard some steps that passed by my bed and someone stopped, pulled up the blanket and covered my shoulders and back, even though, as previously mentioned, I was sleeping with my clothes on. The first thought that crossed my mind was that it was my dear mother. But when this someone removed a lock of hair from my face, I woke up completely, but didn’t open my eyes until I heard the steps move away.
When I opened my eyes I saw Enver’s back as he entered the kitchen. I
am not
sure whether he had slept or not, because when I went to bed I had left
him
smoking on the porch of the house.
What did I feel in those moments? What did I think? I can truly say
that at the
time I didn’t think that this act of his was an expression of love. I
was
pleased that among the leaders of the party we had such comrades. I was
getting
to know Enver during the meetings and could see that they would take
care and
behave warmly with us, just as Enver had acted at that moment with me.
I was
especially delighted that a friend approached me and took care of me,
even with
the simple act of pulling the blanket over me while I slept, because,
it was on
that same day that I was nearly arrested and I had left my home and
parents. He
was a friend who, with his jokes and his warm hand touching my
forehead, wanted
to create a homey environment for me, trying to relieve me of the
sadness of
being separated from my beloved parents, whom my brother and I had left
alone
at home.
This is all I thought at that moment since I didn’t know Enver very
well: I
didn’t know his age, or whether he was married or not. I was 21 at the
time,
but he looked much older due to his well-built body, and I wouldn’t
have
thought of anything else during those days.
It was
wartime. War is war and not
a wedding ceremony. It doesn’t leave you time to have fun and love. It
was
nearly midday, when into the house of Bije Vokshi came one of our
guards, who,
together with two other friends, had been keeping watch around the
house for
suspicious movements. They let us know that there was a patrol
wandering about.
The comrades of the Central Committee decided to take some preliminary
measures
in order to be prepared. They ordered the guards to keep their eyes
open and
follow the movements of that patrol on the road. In the meantime lunch
was
prepared.
After lunch we thought that we would continue with the meeting, while always keeping a lookout for any suspicious movements. But we received some bad news. Njazi Demi had been arrested! He owned a house that was a base for our undercover comrades. The house was called “the house of the frogs”. It was next to the oldest bridge in Tirana, and was classified as a cultural monument, and was close to the building where the Italian headquarters was situated during the war (after the war this building was occupied by the Central Committee of the Communist Youth). Later the same building was given to the Committee of the Anti-fascist National liberation War Veterans.
This friend, now arrested, presented us a great risk, even for the
meeting to
take place. This was because Njazi Demi had close contacts with Bije,
and under
torture, could be forced to expose us. It was immediately decided
therefore
that the meeting be postponed to the next day and all the delegates
left. They
were notified that the meeting would continue, not in the same place,
but in
the house of Misto Mame.
Before we left, Enver gave some directives; the two tables were to be
placed in
the two different rooms, whereas the other two where to be moved to the
kitchen. The long stools without backrests (there were many of them),
were
taken to the porch, and placed around the walls. Some of them were
taken to the
kitchen as well. So the room where the meeting was taking place was
empty now,
though not at all clean since the comrades had moved around with their
dirty
shoes. There were cigarette-butts on the floor as well. I had to roll
up my
sleeves and start washing everything. Bije would go outside at the well
and
fill in the buckets with water and bring it to me. Meanwhile Enver had
defined
the interval of time for the comrades to leave from both the doors, so
that
they wouldn’t be noticed by the neighbors or by any spies that might
happen to
be around.
When all
the friends had left,
Enver having been the last in the house, came and leaned on the door
case. He
was looking at me as I was scrubbing the wooden floor with a brush. I
was on my
knees on the wet floor.
”So you can wash perfectly well, can you not?” – he said laughing
”Did you think that I couldn’t? I am
from a Dibra background”.
- “Those who have a Gjirokastra background are quite the same” – he
said.
- “I don’t know, I haven’t seen Gjirokastra Houses, but I do know
something
else. In communism women and men will be equal; so- I continued
smiling- men
will have to work just like the women do, that is to say that you have
to take
those carpets that Bije brought and dust them outside…..! “
- “Right, comrade, with great pleasure”, he said and without taking
long, went
outside, dusted them and brought them inside.
Together
with the owner of the
house we put the carpets in place, we set the rugs on two corners of
the walls,
put down the pillows for the guests, covered the table next to the
window, put
an ashtray on it and a flower pot. The house now seemed ready for even
a visit
by any “severe guests” with pistols and chevrons. Enver warned Bije to
check to
see if any of the comrades had possibly left any bombs or pistols under
the
rugs or pillows; then he asked me:
”Where are you going tonight?” He knew I had left home and couldn’t go
back
there.
“ I don’t know”, I replied “I don’t know where to go! “
“What do you mean by that? Don’t you
have an aunt or an uncle here in Tirana?”
”No, I have no one in Tirana other than some relatives of my father. I
have
never been to their house for dinner or lunch. If I visit them it means
I will
have to let them know what the situation is, and I don’t really know if
they
can shelter me after that.”
Let us bear in mind that it was the end of April 1942, a few months after the Communist Party was founded, and a few days after the powerful demonstrations. Those were the days of fascist terror, days when people were arrested and killed.
Then Enver said:
”You will join me wherever I go then.”
I
couldn’t do otherwise. I didn’t
even have the time to think. I put on my clothes very quickly. In that
period
of struggle we tried to disguise ourselves in every way possible. We
mostly
used elegant dressings, wore hats in order to cover parts of our face,
or wore
silk scarves on our heads, which was very fashionable at the time. Our
real
saviors were the dark sunglasses. You might ask where we could find
these
expensive elegant clothes that helped avoided the suspicions of the
fascists
and their spies. Friends, supporters, the people helped us. On some
occasions I
have also used a black yashmak, which I didn’t like much because the
fanatic
Dibran Muslims wanted very young girls to wear it. I hated the idea and
couldn’t walk with it on. We had to move fast, the girls wearing the
yashmak
daily had to walk slowly and were always accompanied on the road.
Lowering the
yashmak was not only forbidden, it was also unwise.
When
Enver saw me with a brown
scarf and the dark sunglasses, he couldn’t help making compliments on
the
transformation I had gone through. We started laughing. Then we said
goodbye to
the owner of the house and left. Enver arranged his hat on his
forehead, took
the bicycle and when we reached the outside door, told me:
“You will sit here in the front. Watch your legs, they shouldn’t touch the chain…. “
I was surprised. I had never been on the bicycle with a boy. Then all
the way I
would feel so uncomfortable. I began to resist: ‘No I can’t “; and in the same time I felt funny.
Then I
told him;
”It’s a shame, people will see us, they will say how does it happen
that such a
signorina gets on a bicycle?! “
”There’s no time for discussions,” he said, “it is getting dark and the
house
we are going to is on the other side of the city.”
As a
matter of fact it was getting
late, and the time of the “coprifuoco” [curfew, Italian in the
original] was
near. All the people had to go into their houses at a certain time,
depending
on the season, as soon as it started to get dark. It was worse to walk
with
Enver. It was very risky had the militia stopped us on the road. He was
well
equipped with bombs and a revolver. Enver was also sentenced to death
and was
one of the most wanted by the fascists and their hunting dogs.
I didn’t resist for long and got on the front side of the bicycle. At
that time
I didn’t weight more than 50 kg.
My first
adventurous trip on a
bicycle was not associated with any incident. Some years after the
liberation
of the country, when we met foreign friends, Soviets, Bulgarians etc.
and
exchanged ideas about our traditions. They would also ask us about the
way we
had known each other and become married. Enver would always say joking:
“I
kidnapped Nexhmije, according to the Albanian tradition, but I didn’t
use a
horse. I used a bicycle”… “
We would laugh endlessly. This memory is marvelous for me even today
when I
think of it.
The house
where Enver took me that
night was a one-story house, near the Electric Power Plant, in front of
“Qemal
Stafa” school, in
Both sisters were very hospitable and kind to me. They also prepared for us something quick to eat. After dinner we really enjoyed the discussion. We started to discuss the origin of man. I was very passionate about the Darwinian theory on species evolution and the struggle for survival of the species. So I became very active, just like in the time in the groups, when we had read
publications of Engel’s’ on this issue. Enver was only listening and most probably was trying to let me have my say. I was only able to understand this later. When we were alone he told me: “members like you from the Shkodra group give much importance to theoretical studies”.
And
indeed, we were some of the
best students in the class. But the workers too were eager to learn
more. Vasil
Shanto for example was one of the most distinguished workers, and so
was Qemal,
his best friend; he would take good care of Vasil’s education. So did
Kristo
Themelko, he wouldn’t leave without first having us explain to him the
“Anti-Duhring” of Engel’s. We in turn would make him teach us how to
use the
revolver.
After we
talked with Enver, I went
to sleep with the sisters in their room. It was impressive, how they
would take
care of their hair and their bodies. In the bedroom there were only two
beds,
on the floor. In one of the beds the two sisters would sleep while I
would
sleep in the other. The other room was much better furnished, with two
sofas
covered in red fur and a big carpet. At a corner there was a covered
mattress
that obviously was used anytime that Enver would show up.
The following day we woke up early. We had a coffee there and
separately set
off to Misto Mame’s home, which was far away, in the other part of the
town,
near the place where he was killed. From that square, surrounded by
rack
berries, you could get to
As soon
as I got there, the other
participants of the meeting started to arrive. They entered one by one.
Before
the meeting had even started, the alarm went off; the activities of the
comrades entering the house had been noticed by the neighbors and by
the
children playing nearby. They had become curious. Justifiably so: why
were
there all those well-dressed men, some in hats, some in caps, some in
dark
sunglasses…?!
This
house was had to be written
off for the meetings too. Some comrades were sent to see what the
situation was
at the Frog’s house and also with the person who had been arrested. I
don’t
remember if he was set free or if we had make sure that he wasn’t
tortured.
Thus, due
to this difficult
situation it was decided to return to Bije Vokshi’s house and there we
continued with the meeting, with which I go into details. It has been
described
in the published documents of the Party.
After the
consultation meeting, I
didn’t see Enver until the 5th of May, the day when Qemal Stafa was
shot dead.
Chapter 4. When
Qemal Stafa was killed
I was at Gjike Kuqali's house when I heard this bad news. We were
holding a
meeting there with some youngsters. The shock was so strong and the
news so unexpected
that it was impossible to continue the meeting. Some burst into tears,
while
others were completely speechless. Someone was sent to learn more of
what had
happened.
With a deep anguish in my heart, I felt jittery and thought of Enver.
What was
he doing at that moment? Qemal was both Enver's and my best friend. I
had known
him ever since the time of the early communist groups, he was my first
teacher.
Whereas for Enver, he was his closest collaborator since the first
steps of the
foundation of the Albanian Communist Party and through the
revolutionary and
patriotic struggle to liberate the country from the fascist invaders.
Where could I find Enver at this time? I decided to go to the house
where he
had taken me by bike that strange night, and it was there that I found
him.
After my "coded" knocks, he himself opened the door. Our sad faces
showed that we both were aware of what had happened and both knew of
the tragic
ending of our comrade, Qemal. Enver closed the door, turned to me, put
his arm on
my shoulder and sat next to me on the couch in the hall, which I
described in
the notes concerning the first time I had visited this house.
I don't know how much time passed without us saying a word. We were shocked. I was about to start crying and could hardly stifle my whining, which had blocked my throat. I didn't want to seem weak either. He lit a cigarette again; he would inhale deeply (the ashtray on the table seemed a mountain of cigarette ends).
Finally
he broke the silence.
"Qemal left us, we lost him. We lost a very dear friend, a
revolutionary
intellectual with a great perspective for the Party and
After a while I asked: “What do we know? How did it happen?”
Enver started telling me that comrade Gogo (Nushi) was the only one from the Tirana Party committee who knew about the secret base where Enver would shelter us. He had also brought Shule (Kristo Themelko) who had been together with Qemal but had survived the attack and broken the siege. He had explained also that there had been three female comrades. Drita Kosturi, Qemal’s fianceé ; Maria, the fiancéé of Ludovik Nikaj and Gjystina, a cousin of Maria, married to Zef Ndoja. I was thinking that it was normal for Drita to be there, because she was seeing off her boyfriend, Qemal. He was going to leave either that day or the next for Vlora. But what about the other two girls? What were they doing there? They only know Qemal slightly and didn't have any work relations with him, or with Drita. Later it was discovered that Ludovik, the fiancéé of Maria, was a spy for ISS, Italian secret service. Ludovik, had obviously followed the movements of the two, somewhat featherbrained ladies, and had consequently discovered Qemal's Base. For me this is the most convincing explanation. The other possibility was that; one of our comrades, who had rented the base, had been arrested. Possibly the house rental document was found in his pocket. It might have been due to this, so that the base had become suspicious and later came under siege.
From what Shule had said, Ludovik had been the first to escape from the
back of
the house, in order to cover the escape of the female comrades. Whereas
Qemal
had stayed until he made sure that they had left. Qemal headed towards
the
river, but obviously, the siege had become more narrowed down and the
fascist
troops concentrated on him. Qemal had tried to withdraw, fighting until
he fell
under the hail of bullets of the Italian fascist militia and the local
mercenaries.
I think that the attitude of Drita Kosturi was poor and indecent,
having been
influenced by elements of some secret plan to mask the figure of Qemal
Stafa.
She has presented many options during media interviews regarding his
death.
Such was the case recently when she absurdly suggested that Qemal had
committed
suicide; this fifty years after his death! Qemal not only showed that
he was
brave, but also that his disposition was one of spiritual nobility. He
sacrificed
his young life in order to protect his comrades-in-arms, whoever they
were.
Enver told me he had severely criticized Shule for thinking only of
himself and
his friends, and for leaving Qemal alone without any protection. His
face was
full of gloom and made more so by his moustache; nevertheless many
hours had
passed since his meeting with Kristo Themelko. It started to get dark,
but we
didn't even think of eating. I got up and made some coffee for both of
us. We
sat on the table, in the middle of the room, where we stayed and talked
about
Qemal until very late; about how we both came to know him. I spoke
about my
first meeting with Qemal somewhere in the summer of 1937.
Passion
about literature and an
aspiration for a better-emancipated future for all Albanian society had
'hooked
me up' with Selfixhe Ciu, whose nickname was
As I
said, my first meeting with
Qemal occurred in the summer of 1937 in a Tirana house, in
I can say that it was with this meeting that I started my commitment to
the
Shkodra Youth Communist group. For some time I was unaware both that
the group
I was a member of, was named the Shkodra Group,
and the basis for its’ name. I thought that the center of our
activists
was Tirana and the leaders of our group were Vasil Shanto and Qemal
Stafa. With
the trial of many communists in 1939, we came to know about the
existence of
several other groups.
I told Enver, that I thought that Qemal didn't get a very good
impression about
my revolutionary spirit, because, not only did I not say much, but I
was also
very embarrassed. On that day, there was an incident which, when I look
back on
it, makes me laugh, but at the time caused me much embarrassment.
During our
meeting, a beautiful cat entered the room and was obviously missing the
tenants
of the house who had left it by itself. It came around my legs and then
jumped
onto my lap. I have always loved cats and without diverting my
attention from what
Qemal was saying, I started to caress the cat. Unexpectedly I heard him
say
meekly: “Leave the cat!”
And he
then went on with his conversation, about directives related to our
work. He
let it go, but I couldn't help thinking about this incident for days.
After this meeting, Qemal organized and then became leader of the
girls' cells.
This cell had members such as: Liri Gega, Fiqret Sanxhaktari, Drita
Kosturi as
well as myself. We had some meetings with Qemal, where we learned about
communist theories and the tasks we had to undertake. We also made
reports on
the work done. But these meetings with Qemal didn't last long since he
had to
leave for
Was Qemal one of those youngsters that would get engaged without first
falling
in love? I can say no. Above all, Qemal was honest and it might be that
in
certain circumstances he could have felt pressured to get engaged. I
knew Drita
Kosturi very well, and in spite of her being older than me by two or
three
classes, we got on well with each other, since we were part of the same
cell.
I freely visited her house and got to know her family members. She had
been
raised without her mother in a patriotic liberal family. She was a kind
of
anarchic revolutionary. She was open minded, but not that balanced, and
somewhat messy in her life and in her work, and didn't normally dress
well.
Although she didn't know what conspiracy was, she didn't lack courage.
I told Enver about the activities of our group during the May Day celebrations when Drita would wear a red ribbon in her hair and would go to the pastry shop on Royal Street where all the communist students would meet, including Qemal and his friends. “You probably know that shop don't you?”, I asked Enver. “It is opposite the store of the big businessman, Shaho. So the network of secret agents were very well aware that Drita was a communist, and certainly knew of the relationship that she had with Qemal.”
During our discussion, I remembered what Bije Vokshi had once told me
about
Drita. She didn't really like Drita being so disorganized and flighty.
Bije,
loving Qemal very much, had asked him once: " Son, how come you are
mixed
up with that girl?" He had answered: "Eh, dear Bije, this is the way
it is; I can't help it anymore, and she already knows all about the
bases and
all our comrades".
Qemal was
an emancipated person,
educated and free of prejudices, but one never knows. Perhaps he wasn’t
completely free from the prevailing, albeit incorrect mentality of the
communist militants who, for the sake of the group’s interests, for our
undercover communist work, and, to create bases, believed that
marriages had to
be arranged. It was due to this mentality that Zylfije Tomini married
Xhemal
Cani and, as a consequence, the house where the party was founded, was
established. They also arranged the marriage between Zef Ndoja and
Gjystina, in
order to establish the house on
When I told Enver that a communist comrade had been found for me to marry but that I didn't want to go through with it because I had never met him; he laughed and said: “Well done Nexhmije!” For him this reaction had another meaning, but I understood it only to be an approval of my reasonable attitude. I told him that this is why the foundation of the party is something more for us young women communists, because we had been saved from certain marriage alliances dyed in red and from certain allegedly golden plated chains. In fact we had had enough of the chains of our conservative families, who lived in accordance with contemporary traditions.
Following this conversation, about the mentalities and mistakes of the
communist groups of the time, Enver spoke at length to me about the
load of
work the party and the communist youth had to face. Not only had they
to work
on organizing the war against the fascist invaders and the unleashed
propaganda
of their collaborators and local traitors, but also on the enlightening
of the
minds and awareness of the common people, so that the girls and women
would be
viewed under a different light. They were to be treated like human
beings and
when the party and the people won the war, they would be entitled to
equal rights
with men.
Qemal was
a very funny youngster,
and we reminisced about his jokes. Enver told me about his efforts to
teach
Qemal how to sing Vlora songs, and how he had to join in. Qemal was
never able
to do this because he would start laughing! "Let's sing something from
Shkodra"- he would say,- and would take the banjo and play, singing
merrily. Though deep in thought when we would sit down to work, there
were
moments when we took breaks and he would suggest playing with colorful
glass
marbles which he always keep in pocket.
He was
still young and these
marbles apparently reminded him of the games of early childhood.
I also told Enver how well I remembered the power that Qemal's laughter
had, as
well as Vasil's (Vasil Shanto). When I used to visit Vasil's home I
would often
be quite shocked after my meetings with representatives of various
groups
because of the use of bad language. Once, when I was to have a meeting
with a
girl from the youth group, I couldn't believe my ears at the vulgar
language that
I heard her use; language that I wouldn't expect even a man to use!
Voicing my
displeasure, I said to Qemal and Vasil: "I will never ever attend
meetings
with people such as this." Qemal and Vasil burst out laughing because
they
were aware of what I had heard, but that I was unable to repeat it to
them.
Did you
know, I asked Enver, that
the nickname "Delicate" had been given to me by Qemal? And do you
know why? It was not because of my outward appearance but because of my
intolerance regarding bad language. And, even when Qemal said that he
thought
that there should be more refined manners and stricter attitudes (I was
not
sure if he was serious about this or not), he would laugh and make fun.
Despite
this and his youth, Qemal was the perfect educator for the youngsters
and was a
wonderful communicator and agitator with people of every age.
I also
remember that anytime he
was given the occasion, he would have warm chats with my mother. Once,
before I
had gone underground, a meeting of the Central Youth Committee took
place in my
home at which,
I also
spoke to Enver about my
last meeting with Qemal, two days before he was shot and killed. He
came to the
home of Hysen Dashi to participate in a meeting of the Youth Circuit
Committee
for Tirana. We used to call the house "February 66'" and Enver would
go there quite often. The meeting was interrupted several times because
the night
was full of tension due to the constant barking of the neighborhood
dogs and it
was known that there were patrols everywhere. In order to help relax
the young
people at the meting, Qemal expressed a wish (that unfortunately, he
would
never be able to realize) - full of joy and optimism he said - 'Our day
will
come; a day of liberty, when all of us will be able to walk along the
boulevards singing and chanting and we won't mind what others will say
of
us...".
While Enver and I were talking at the table on that day of calamity,
the owners
of the house returned from having lunch in the city. We were unaware
that it
was so late and hadn't thought about eating. The owners offered to
prepare
something warm for us to have, but we told them we were not hungry and
that some
bread and cheese would suffice. Enver also asked for some tea because
his
throat was dry from his continuous smoking. He asked them about what
was
happening in the city. They said that people were worried and were
wondering
who had been killed (those who didn't know Qemal). They also wondered
who else
had been there with him, and if anyone else been arrested or killed?
There was
a general alert and the police and fascist militia were in a very
agitated
state. Many patrols were to be seen on the streets.
We
started to talk again about
Qemal; of his courage and culture. Enver told the owners of the house
that, the
next day Qemal was to have left for Vlora to take care of some work.
They had
met on the previous day and said their goodbyes. "How could I have
known,-
said Enver with tears in his eyes- that it was a farewell and not a
goodbye?!" It had been only 7 months since the Party had been founded
and
we needed to do much work. We faced a big battle and the Party and the
People
needed as many individuals of Qemal's capabilities and stature.
After
dinner we switched on the
radio to listen to the daily news. It was difficult to listen to Radio
Tirana
during the war, because it was difficult to put up with the propaganda
of our
enemies. We listened to the
In order to honor the memory of Qemal Stafa; this patriotic communist,
one of
the main leaders of the Albanian Communist Youth, Enver purposed that
the fifth
of May (the day on which he was barbarously killed), should be
commemorated as
Martyrs' day of the Antifascist National Liberation War, against the
Nazi
fascist invaders. This day became a symbol of honor and a national
holiday.
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