“ALLIANCE!”
MARXIST-LENINIST
SPRING 2006
________________________________________________________________
”MY LIFE WITH ENVER”;
Memoirs
Volume I By Nexhmije Hoxha
Chapters 12-17
Nobody but Enver Hoxha deserves the expression:
“Glory goes to the ones not asking for it”
Anti-fascist Rally Korca, 28th
November
1939
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
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 from: 'Enver Hoxha 1908-1985':; Tirana; 1986;
containing photos of the Archives PPSH and of Albania Telegraphic
Agency
Publishers Preface – Alliance
This is Part Four of a translation, that was commissioned and edited, with authorisation from Nexhmije Hoxha.
[PART One chapters 1-4 at
http://www.allianceML.com/PAPER/2005NOVEMBER/Chapter1_4HoxhaFIN.html
PART Two: Chapters 5-8 at:
http://www.allianceml.com/PAPER/2006/Spring_March/Chap5_8_FINAL.html]
PART Three: Chapters 9-11 at:
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.
12.
Towards a free life – in the mountains
After being on
duty with the partisans in the mountains, I left Tirana on March 20th;
the city
I would not return to until its liberation. Along with my joy, I also
felt an emptiness
in my soul. I was leaving the city in which I had grown up and gone to
school,
I was really close to the people of Tirana. I had fought with them for
their
freedom, their happiness and for a safe future for its youth. I had
also helped
in their struggle for the emancipation of the Albania Woman and for the
independence of our long-suffering homeland. Would I ever come back to
see a
liberated Tirana, free from invaders and spies, without the terror, the
curfew,
the arrests and the imprisonments?
I was quite sure
that this day would eventually come, not only to Tirana, but also to
all
Albania, because we were fighting a war with the backing of the entire
population. However, at this particular moment, was the day of
liberation in
the near or distant future?
With a false
identity card in my pocket and my mind loaded down with all these
questions, I
took the bus. I left behind the Tirana where, the Party, the guerilla
units,
and my life as an underground activist had been founded and headed for
Korca.
With me was a comrade (whom I never met) who was taking a letter from Gogo Nushi and Nako
Spiro to
Enver. He had been appointed as the courier who made the connections
between
the Korca district and the Center in Tirana. His name was Arsen Leskoviku.
Our journey took
us passed Elbasan and, up to this moment, we had had no problems.
However, just
before entering Librazhd, we were stopped by an armed patrol. There
were three
of them; one was a German and the other two Albanians who were wearing
the
uniform of the Albanian militia. They asked for our identity cards. The
German
took mine and began moving it in his hands. He raised his eyes, and
looking
straight at me said,
"Yugoslav?" I nearly had a heart attack! The name on my
identity card was Vera - a name that the Slavs use as well. I thought
that they
would ask me to get off the bus and take me for interrogation to the
post
office nearby and who knows then what would have happened. I hastened
to
explain. Although he was not Italian, for some reason I spoke to him in
Italian, thinking that I could better communicate with him. I remember
telling
him,
"No, no,
albanese, Vera, stagione, estate o primavera"
(No, no,
Albanian, Vera is a season; summer or spring).
So I waffled on a
bit. Finally he returned the identity card to me. I breathed a sigh of
relief,
and, after a while, I turned my head and glanced at the comrade who was
with
me. He had recovered himself and was quite calm; he just closed his
eyes as if
to say: "Good...". I smiled slightly as if to say: "We're
safe...".
We arrived in
Korça in the evening and stayed that night in the home of a
school friend. The
next day, at dusk, we set off for Panarit, where Enver and some
comrades from
the Central Committee and General Headquarters were. A team of 4-5
partisans
was waiting for us outside of the town. They knew the area very well
and were
to accompany us on the journey from village to village. After we had
greeted
each other, the partisans told us that armed frontists had been seen in
the
area and this was why we had to talk softly and walk carefully.
We walked in a
single file for a very long time without stopping in order to get away
from the
town. The worst thing was that the night was so dark that we were not
able to
see and it was difficult to follow the path. One comrade fell. He
apparently walked
too close to the edge of a hole in the ground, slipped, uttered a sharp
'oh!'
and then there was silence. We were shocked. We went to the place where
he had
fallen but we couldn't see anything. We called out in low voices;
"Arsen, hey,
Arsen!",
but there was no
reply. We became even more worried. Down in the hole nothing was
visible. We
tried to locate his body with the butt of a rifle, but it was in vain.
Then the
partisans found some long sticks and, in the darkness they measured the
depth
of the hole with them. After coming up with the idea of holding one
another
hand-by-hand, one of us managed to get down into the hole. When we were
told
that Arsen's body had been located we were very relieved and we hoped
that he
was alive.
They managed to
pull him up with great difficulty. I remember when they laid him down,
they
gave him a drop of raki that one of the partisans kept with him in his
water
bottle and used as medicine for various wounds. Arsen groaned. They
checked out
to see if he had broken a leg or an arm but he screamed only when they
touched
him on one of his hips. They held his mouth closed so as not to be
heard. As he
told us afterwards, he had been hurt badly in one hip when he had
fallen
because he had had a tin of meat in his knapsack and it was this
knapsack that
he fell on and severely bruised his hip. What could we do? The comrades
carried
him on their backs in turn to the nearest village where we would spend
the
night. As soon as we entered the specified base, the women of the house
put a
bed near the fire and laid Arsen down on it to help him rest up. With
the light
of an oil lamp the comrades checked him for any other injuries and
massaged his
hip with raki and olive oil until he felt somewhat better. When we
realized
that he didn't have any other serious injuries, we started joking with
him.
We told Arsen
that we would sequester his tin of meat because it was "cold steel"
that kills and might take prevent someone from fighting.
"Look, this
has interrupted your journey with us; you must stay here and will have
to eat
chicken soup of course, that is, if the frontists have left any
chickens in the
village."
Laughing, he fell
asleep.
We slept for
three hours and, after taking the letter from Arsen, we set off before
dawn in
order to avoid any confrontation with the frontists. After so many
years I
don't remember which villages we passed through or the length of the
journey.
In Panarit –
to Enver
We finally
arrived in Panarit, where Enver was living. This village was located on
a
mountainside. It was said that this was a big village, but I didn’t
share this
idea, because I couldn’t see many houses.
The house where
the headquarters was located was quite big; it had two or three floors,
together with a barn, and was completely built of stone. They led us
into a big
room, in the middle of which was a large fire, where entire trunks were
turned
into fairly hot embers, and which gave the room pleasant warmth. It was
able to
bring one back to life and make you feel relaxed after the long and
tiring
journey. In such a place, the warmth created a feeling of satisfaction,
something that I had not felt before in these years of war. This room in Albania is called a ‘room of fire’,
and around the big fireplace with no chimney, the women cooked and
stayed. These
rooms didn’t have any ceilings, but only roof timbers which were
blackened by
the smoke). Around the fire sat several comrades who worked in the
headquarters
along with partisan guards and companions. I recognized among them,
comrade Behar Shtylla.
He stood up immediately and went to inform Enver about our arrival.
You can imagine
how impatient I was to meet Enver. But Behar came back and told me that
Enver
was in a meeting.
Meanwhile the
comrades found us a place near the fire and, one after another, brought
some
homemade bread, which was very soft, some fresh sheep cheese, honey and
nuts. I
especially enjoyed the fresh cheese and the toast. Then the friends
began
talking and joking. They even had an argument as to whose life was more
difficult; that of the partisans in the mountains or that of the
underground
activists in the towns. I myself thought that the life of the
underground
activists, under the continuous worry of fascist encirclement, repeated
controls, the dangers of arrest or the maltreatment of the families who
sheltered them, was more difficult. But the partisans were correct
because they
lived in the mountains, marched and fought in very bad places, in the
winter’s
cold and frost, usually poorly dressed, in bare feet and with empty
stomachs.
One of them said:
“This fire and this food are like a dream for us…”
Of course he was
right, and the local peasants didn’t spare what they had in their
houses, in
order to honor and respect the partisans of the mountains.
While we were
talking, Enver came in. He was smiling as always. He was really
surprised when
he saw me. As he told me later; he had thought that Naxhije had come.
She was a
leading comrade of the Party in Korca. So after the first surprise, we
hugged
each other with nostalgia, forgetting to keep the “secret” of our
relationship.
Seeing us that way, the comrades laughed... Just to give a formal
meaning to my
coming, in front of the others, Enver asked:
“Did you bring
the letters we wanted? Come.”
He took my hand
and we went out. We went to the house where he was living and sleeping
with the
other comrades. The house was up in the hills so we had to do a bit of
climbing. It was a small bungalow, but to go inside you had to go up
some
stairs built over a rock, which was covered with wide stone slabs. The
house
was painted with lime, and the doors and windows were made of pinewood,
which,
in that fresh mountain air and under the heat from the sun, gave off a
pleasant
scent that allowed you to breathe freely. There were too many things
there that
made me feel very comfortable and happy.
We went into
Enver’s room. It was white because the walls were painted with lime.
The sheets
on the bed were snow-white, so were the embroidered curtains. On the
settee was
a fringed haircloth; while on the floor was a small carpet. Enver asked
immediately about the letters. He looked at them quickly.
“I will read them
carefully later”, he said
and then wanted
to hear my report about the situation at the Center. I told him many
things,
and then we talked a bit about ourselves and satisfied our yearning.
The women
of the house brought us corn bread, sheep's yoghurt and eggs. In that
fresh and
healthy climate, one had had an increased appetite and I very much
enjoyed the
food. I said to Enver jokingly:
“I saw in the house
at headquarters that you don’t live too badly…”
Enver replied,
"The peasants are friendly and hospitable and, although they are poor,
they are very kind and we owe them a lot".
The next day I
went down to some of the buildings. I don’t remember if they had been a
school
or a cantonment. A course was being held with party personnel from the
field
and the army, at which, political and ideological lectures were being
given in
order to increase the educational level of our comrades.
During the three
or four days that I stayed in Panarit I met many comrades I had known
in
Tirana. Here in the mountains among the partisans, comrades and
peasants I felt
different. Here you could move calmly and freely, something that could
not be
done in Tirana, because it was filled with terror.
During our talks
in Panarit for three-four days, Enver told me that they had started
preparations to set up a meeting larger than the Second National Liberation Conference of
Labinot. (He meant the Congress that was going to be held in
Permet).
“In this
meeting we will make very important
decisions for Albania." But we will have to work hard in order to do
this.
So I think it is not necessary that you return to Tirana now. I think
that you
should go to Permet and from there to Zagorie. There you will find the
Headquarters of the Gjirokastra-Vlora Area, and you will work there,
dealing
mainly with the youth and the organization of anti-fascist women, in
the field
and near the units acting in that area.”
I was happy about
this because in this way I would continue living a free life in the
mountains,
villages and areas where the breeze of liberty had started to blow.
I set off for
Permet and Zagorie and, for two months I worked very hard and joyfully
in these
two areas from which I have unforgettable memories. Memories from the
historic Congress of
Permet (24 May 1944) where I took part as a delegate, and
from my
activities during the German Operation of June in the Zagorie
mountains. But I
will not refer to them in these notes because I do not have many
memories about
my personal and direct meetings and conversations with Enver, who,
during this
period, was very busy. He had much of the responsibility for the
preparations,
development and compilation of the resolutions for the Congress of
Permet,
which was to be of great historical importance for the victory of the
National
Liberation Anti-fascist Movement, and for the future of our people.
13.
Unforgettable days in Lireza – among the youth
After the Nazi
operations of June, Enver, together with the leadership of the National
Liberation Anti-fascist Council, the main members of the General
Headquarters
and some members of the Central Committee of the Party, left Odrican
and went
back to Helmes (a small village in Skrapar district, with 10-12 houses
situated
on a mountain side below Marta Pass).
After the
Congress of Permet, in early July, while I was working in Zagorie, I
got news
from Nako Spiro telling me to set
off
immediately for Helmes in the Skrapar district. In time of war orders
were not
given to discussion. So although I was used to the wonderful people of
the
Zagorie region, with whom I had worked and lived for a long time, I set
off to
Helmes. We walked from village to village and after two days reached
the
destination.
Helmes village
seemed to me like a beautiful relaxing oasis. It was full of greenness,
with
trees that gave it a special grace. The apple trees were full of fruit
and the
branches were nearly breaking. Also, the grapes, even though they were
not
properly ripened, made your mouth water when you saw them. We sat for a
moment
near the drinking fountain. The water was very cold and it flowed
freely along
the side of the cobblestone street. We refreshed ourselves and relaxed
there
from the long journey. After a while some comrades came and took me to
the
offices where Enver and his comrades worked. It was a two-floor stone
built
house.
In one of the
offices, on the first floor, was Enver with Nako. We hugged longingly.
They
asked me about the affairs and the situation in the regions in which I
had
been. Then they told me why they had called me there: The First Congress of the Union of the Albanian
Anti-fascist Youth had to be prepared. Enver told me of the
importance of this Congress, which, as he put it, would give new ardor
and
strength to the union of anti-fascist youth for the final war to
liberate the
whole country. It would also create new perspectives for the youth in
the
construction of a new, democratic national Albania, and its future.
Nako talked
about the procedures we had to follow for sending out notifications,
for
choosing delegates, for the preparation of the Congress’ documents, and
reports
that would be held, etc. Then the next day he asked me to go to the
Lireza
field (the place where the Congress would be held) in order to see the
field
and to decide what measures had to be taken in the construction of some
work
cabins and also to see where to put the tents for the delegates to
sleep in. He
also wanted me to see what we could do about the equipment and
decoration of
the Congress setting.
Lireza was a
large plateau surrounded by mountains. I thought that it was a suitable
place,
because it was so large and many people would be able to stay there.
Also,
quite a few activities could be organized. During the construction and
modifications that I have already mentioned we stayed down in the
village. The
comrades who worked there slept in two houses. Enver and two other
comrades
slept in a small bungalow, which was a little down from the center,
where the
offices were. While I was staying in Helmes, I slept in the common room
of
Enver and his comrades. The landlady, Nuriham,
had two nice swarthy sons. They wore long shirts that reached and
covered part
of their legs because they did not have anything else to wear under it.
Nevruzi
who was four or five years old used to collect cigarette butts that the
comrades and partisans threw away and, wanting to imitate them, he
would
sometimes put one of them on his mouth and laugh. Enver lit a butt once
for him
and he nearly suffocated because of its smoke, so he never put them on
his
mouth again. He also has a photograph of this embarrassing moment with
the
cigarette butt on his mouth. We laugh whenever we see that photograph.
During a visit to
Skrapar, years after the Liberation, we saw that Nevruz had become a
Party
instructor. He looked different, was serious, handsome, neat and tidy
and was
wearing a suit. We were really glad to meet him again. We reminded him
of the
difficult days during the War in his house and the jokes we shared with
him. Of
course he didn’t remember many things, but we talked about what his
parents had
told to him.
When the first
buildings in the Lireza field were built, such as the kitchen and the
hut,we
went up there. Here the comrades of the youth leadership would work in
the
preparation for the Congress. Everything was built with timber and
planks taken
from the nearby forest, with the help of the peasants and some
partisans who
were skilled in these kinds of things. We stayed in a relatively big
hut. There
was a wide wooden bed above the floor in one part of it, in which we
would
sleep. Naturally, we couldn't even think about a mattress, but we were
able to lay
a piece of carpet or a hair-cloth down that the peasants had brought,
and we
used blankets that we had taken from the defeated Italian army as
covers. The
blankets were necessary up there in Lireza, because, although it was
summer
(late July, early August), it was really cool, especially at night. The
beautiful Lirez was enhanced even more when the delegates started to
arrive. If
only you could have seen that beautiful field. The tents looked like
white
flowers and, at night, were lit up by the partisan's fires. That field
bubbled
with the songs and voices of the youth who had come from all over the
country.
In this way, warming themselves by the fire, talking and singing, the
youth
often stayed up till the early hours of the morning.
This was
understandable because the majority of the delegates were partisans. It
was
their custom, after the long tiring marches, to get together at night
around
the fire, where they were able to relax and spend some precious moments
after
battling with the enemy. It was also a time to remember, to meditate
and honor
fallen comrades and family members who they had buried. That is why
their songs
were full of, not only grief, but also of optimism and the joy for the
future,
nostalgia and honor for missing comrades, and also their promise of
revenge.
These partisan songs, sung around these fires were, at the same time,
hymns for
the glory of the fallen, and also hymns for the faith and determination
to
accomplish the liberation of the country and the rebuilding of a new
Albania.
This is why my generation remembers with nostalgia, those partisan
fires. They
were marvelous moments that generated feelings of an inner happiness
for
everyone and for the special reason, that they were part of the big
war, the
war for Liberty, for the Motherland, for lofty human ideals!
Now, as I write
this in my dark prison cell, my eyes are fill with tears when I
remember the
bright flames of those partisan fires, which will be forever
remembered, not
only for me, but by all my contemporaries who were part of that
glorious time
of songs around the partisan fires. It is also memorable to those of
the
younger generations who keep alive the glorious work of the partisans
and
martyrs, who risked their young lives for Liberty. The attempts of
those who
try to distort and deny this glorious history of the National
Liberation Anti-fascist
War are failures and will not have a long life…
The blissful
environment in the unforgettable Lireza continued for nearly a month.
This was
because many delegates from the North arrived late due to the
difficulties in
moving around the country at that time. Many cultural activities were
organized; lead by our good comrade Pirro Kondi and some other comrades. A
Field
Radio was set up as well as a Press Table, where news, announcements,
literary
creations of the delegates such as poems, songs, caricatures etc. could
be read
by the youth.
While the
delegates were entertaining, singing and playing, we were working
without rest
for the preparation of the Congress, and not only for the Congress’
documents,
but also preparing and giving lectures to the youth on different
topics. We
were really pleased because the delegates were very interested in all
of these
matters.
After some days,
other comrades of the youth leadership in the field and in the partisan
brigades such as Liri
Belishova, Ramiz Alia, Alqi Kondi, Fadil Pacrami etc.,
arrived. We all joined the delegates. We sat and stayed with them,
talked,
played, sang and joked together because we were young and had the same
ideals.
There was nothing better than that populated Field with the flower of
our people,
with the brave and beautiful youth, who knew how to fight, to sing and
dance
and to learn about the preparations for the nation’s future.
I remember very
well the reception of Major
Ivanov, the chief of the Soviet military mission to
the General Headquarters of the Albanian National Liberation Army.
He had come from the Greek border, had crossed the Marta Pass, and went
down to
Helmes where the Headquarters was. The Albanian youth gave him a warm
reception
because they considered him as the representative of Stalin’s Red Army,
whom we
loved and admired for the defeats being caused to Hitler’s armies on
the
Eastern Front.
The anticipated
day, 8 August 1944, finally came. The Congress for the Union of the Albanian
Anti-fascist
Youth opened its proceedings. I, along with the other
participants,
still remember today that beautiful “hall” with no doors or windows,
built with
the timber that still emitted the fresh forest scent and with its roof
of fern
branches. The chairs for the delegates were made in a similar fashion,
with new
wooden planks taken from the forest, as was the long table of the
Presidium.
The pathway to the hall’s entrance was lined with lime painted stones.
A group
of young partisan boys and girls stood along the sides of the pathway,
with rifles
and submachine guns as honorary bodyguards. This gave a special
solemnity to
the entrance of the delegates to the Congress hall and to the beginning
of its
proceedings.
The hall
immediately became full of the lively voices of the youth, who were
very
enthusiastic and were not able to restrain themselves from singing and
cheering. Their enthusiasm was, however, indescribable when Enver Hoxha,
together with Dr.
Nishan, accompanied by Nako Spiro, came into the hall. Many
delegates
were seeing the commander for the first time. Some of them couldn’t
hold back
their tears of joy. Then, after the applause and ovations, silence
reigned in
the hall, until it was interrupted by Enver’s sonorous voice and his
passionate
words. He talked to the youth’s hearts as only he knew, touched the
delegates,
and made opened their eyes to the marvelous future that was waiting for
them;
Albania’s future and that of its long-suffering people.
The impressions
from this Congress are many. I remember I remember returning to Lireza
on the
45th anniversary of this memorable event. I found the Lireza field just
as
beautiful as I remembered, however, many of the delegates of that first
Congress in those unforgettable days, were not there for this
anniversary. Some
had died and some had not come because of old age, disease or some
other
inability. Even those who had come now had gray hair and were bent
because of
the years of war and hard work. But something had remained unchanged:
their
hearts and their souls were the same as they were 45 years ago. That’s
why when
we met together, along with the tears of nostalgia there was much joy
and cries
of happiness. Some remained embraced for a long time because they had
not seen
each other for decades. Each of them were reminded of those beautiful
days and,
in bringing back their memories, they behaved like those young boys and
girls
of 1944. They were very happy and spoke with honor and respect of each
other.
The organizers of
this meeting had tried to create the same premises as those of 45 years
ago
during the Congress; the wooden huts, the tents etc., whereas, the
“hall” of
the Congress was somewhat improvised. We experienced the same emotions
and
memories as then, but something was missing. Enver was not there, but
even
though he was not there physically, he was present at every moment and
at every
talk, because all remembered and talked about him lovingly, and, with
much
longing. In the evening the atmosphere was the same as during the
Congress,
because the partisan fires were lit, and around them boomed again the
beautiful
songs of the youth, intertwined with the beautiful songs of the people
from all
regions, south and north, since the participants came from all around
Albania.
There were not only some of the former delegates of the Congress, but
also
young school boys and girls, workers and peasants, who had given their
souls,
their zest and their joy to the Party. We looked at these young boys
and girls
and tried to follow their songs and dances, and, even though we were
old, we
felt young again amongst them. To tell the truth, while they stayed
near the
fires till dawn dancing, singing and joking, we elders took naps. It
was the
passionate youth to whom we had turned over the baton in order for them
to
continue this beautiful party, which has remained memorable to all of
us. Near
the end of the party I couldn’t help but go to visit Helmes. The
comrades
joked:
“You will go on
foot as then, or…?” “Aha
– I
said smiling – I can’t…”
There was now a
modern mountain road with many bends, which was needed in order to
utilize
forests in those parts. During the Youth Congress, there used to be a
goat
trail leading to Helmes, it was so steep that you could not walk
upright. But,
in those days, I flew from stone to stone because there was Enver who
was attracting
me like a magnet. I stayed there, alone for an hour with a gun in my
arm. Then
I walked up. I walked slowly, not because it was tiring, but because it
was
difficult to be away from Enver.
When I went to
Helmes now, after 45 years, I didn’t have my previous vitality. The
families
that used to live there had moved to new places. There were only two or
three
of the old houses remaining; those used as offices by the Central
Committee and
the General Headquarters and the house where Enver used to sleep. Going
around
these houses, the streets and under the shade of the trees, it seemed
to me
like I was witnessing a silent film. The silent and unvoiced view of
these
places could not bring back the happiness of those days; on the
contrary, it
created within me a grueling emptiness. Those who give life to a place
are the
people who live there.
But old friends
would never let you get bored. Old people, women and children came
towards me,
holding my hands, everybody wanting to take me in their house. It was
difficult
to choose where to go first. If I visited only one, the other would be
annoyed.
Those people who, during the war, gave us shelter in their houses,
risking
their own lives, giving us food and whatever they had, had great hearts
and
were very generous. I found these things again among these good and
friendly
people, who even now were doing what they could to please me. They gave
me
grapes, nuts, and delicious liquid honey in honeycombs. They had heard
I was
coming to the village and had cooked many things. They had also cooked
pancakes
to be eaten with the honey, and buns with fresh cheese, and many other
things.
After the
Congress, the chosen Secretariat
(Nako Spiro, First Secretary and
other members: Nexhmije
Xhuglini, Liri Belishova, Pirro Kondi, Fadil Pacrami, Alqi Kondi, Ramiz
Alia)
was called to a meeting by Enver Hoxha, who was the Secretary General
of the
Albanian Communist Party.
In my opinion
this was the most important meeting of the Youth leadership, for its
analysis
of the activities of the Communist Youth and also for the perspectives
revealed
by Enver for the future work of the organization of the Union of the
Albanian
Anti-fascist Youth. At the end of the meeting Ramiz Alia and I were designated to work with the
youth in the field and in the partisan units in the Central, North and
Northeast of Albania. On October 2nd, 1944, in Priske, the activists of
the UAAY (Union of the
Albanian Anti-fascist Youth) for South and Southeast Albania
gathered and there were 86 delegates. The meeting was successful
however; the
offices of the Nazi invaders were informed immediately about this
meeting.
Priska was hit by German field artillery, and the shells fell around
the house
where we were sheltered. This was often done by the Nazis who knew
where the First Corpus
Headquarters of the National Liberation Army (whose Commander was Dali
Ndreu and Commissar Hysni Kapo) was. Also located in the
same area
was a part of the British
Mission led by Smith.
In one of these shellings,
within the family of the patriot Hysen
Hysa (uncle Ceni,
who is immortalized so well
by Shevqet
Musaraj in “The National Front Epic”), 11 people were killed.
14.
In
Berat – Meeting with the Prime Minister
In the historical
liberated town of Berat I found an extraordinary enthusiastic and
joyful
atmosphere. The streets were crowded with partisans wandering in the
streets
that were full of citizens and many children. You could also see many
women
with black headdresses embracing the partisans as if they were their
sons.
I was taken to
the building where the General Headquarters was located, which, as I
was told,
was also the seat of the new Democratic
Interim Government, chosen a week
earlier, at the historical meeting of the National Liberation Anti-fascist Council.
During
the proceedings of that meeting, I was marching with the Congress
delegates
when I heard that the National Liberation Anti-fascist Committee had
been
reorganized into a Democratic
Government, and that, Enver was its
Prime Minister.
I am unable to
describe my feelings at that moment. I was very happy that our National
Liberation Movement, the war, the activities and sacrifices of our
people in
these years, under the leadership of the Communist Party, were being
crowned
with the creation of a new democratic power of the people and were
going
towards the final victory against the foreign enemy and their
collaborators. On
the other hand, seeing that Enver was given other high
responsibilities, I was
a bit worried and not too clear. This is something which I can’t
explain even now.
When I met and fell in love with Enver I had never thought he would
become
leader of the country and its prime minister, etc. I was worried and I
asked
myself this question:
“Would I be
worthy as his friend in life, in his work, and to the public…?”
The idea of this
responsibility burdened me, and made me feel insecure and skeptical
about
myself. A new complex was added to my timid nature; that of being a
responsible
and worthy wife for Enver Hoxha. I have to say that even 45 years after
our
marriage, I wasn't able to free myself of this complex. In everything
that I
did or wrote, I tortured myself because of this insecurity:
“Is it OK? How
can I improve it?”
It may seem
strange, but these emotions became even stronger when I had discussions
or I
had to speak in plenums, and in Congresses, etc. in the presence of
Enver. I
was afraid of bothering him or of raising issues with which he
disagreed. To
avoid this emotional feeling as much as I could, especially in solemn
moments,
I asked sometimes asked Enver to look over my speeches or I read to him
some
parts of it that I wasn’t sure of. Even though he was very busy he
seldom
refused the help I asked. As he was for everyone, he was a teacher for
me too,
anytime, and for anything.
When I arrived at
the location of the seat of the Democratic Party I saw that it was a
big house
that had been the house of feudalistic large landowners. Opening the
door of a
big room on the second floor they told me:
“This is Enver’s
room, stay here and relax until the Government meeting finishes. We
will inform
Enver about your arrival.”
The room was
small, simply furnished, well lit from a high window, and had white
curtains.
There was a bed in one corner; near it were a night table and an
antique
lampshade. Along the opposite wall were a desk, a chair and nothing
else. I
waited there for a while but I had nothing to do, so I went out into
the wide
hall, lit by some large windows. In the middle of hall was a large
heavy wooden
table. In the wood of this table were carvings of some mythical animal
images.
Near to the table were some big heavy doors. One of them was open and I
was
able to see the well-furnished room inside. I returned to Enver's room
and saw
that he had chosen one of the smallest and most simple rooms. I waited,
for
what seemed to me, an endless amount of time. It was three months since
I had
last seen Enver, when I left Helmes. At last the door opened and I saw
Enver.
He had put on a well-sewn military uniform. We hugged with longing not
wanting
to be separated. We were very happy. After a moment, I said suddenly:
“Congratulations
comrade Prime Minister…, but I liked those partisan shirts and breeches
more
and…when you were called Commander.”
We joked a bit
and then started talking about various and numerous problems. He told
me about
the developments at the National Liberation Anti-fascist Council
meeting, about
the decisions taken and the importance that they had for Albania, which
was on
the verge of liberation, and its future. I told him about the situation
in the areas
I had been and the work we had done.
After talking
about these things he took my hand saying:
“Come, I will
show you the house so you can choose a room.”
As I mentioned,
they were big, with curtains, rugs, heavy covers and furniture, which I
didn’t
like because they gave the rooms a medieval suffocating atmosphere. So
I said
to Enver laughing but hearty:
“I like your
clean and simple room...”
He laughed and
said: “I can understand that quite well........ It is getting near the
day when
we should have our own house…”
The following day
I went to the offices where the comrades who had arrived early for the
organization of the First
Congress for the Union of Albanian Anti-fascist Women
were situated. Comrades such as Liri
Gega, Naxhije Dume, Fiqret Sanxhaktari etc.
Four partisan comrades from Yugoslavia had come to take part in this
Congress.
They had grades and were wearing smart military uniforms. Their
appearance was
much better than that of our partisans, who were no less brave, but did
not
have any grades.
Liri invited me
to meet the guests in the Yugoslav military Mission. There I was
introduced,
for the first time with the new representatives of the Mission, Velimir Stojnic and Niaz Dizdarevic.
I knew that
Dushan Mugosha had left Albania and at the request of Koci Xoxe
we wrote some letters of greetings to him, but I didn’t know that Milan Popovici
had also left. During my visit I noticed that the Yugoslav Mission resembled an inn
without gates, where our comrades came and went as they would in their
own
houses. It had become a club for meeting and talking. This impressed me
a lot.
When I got back
home I asked Enver immediately about Miladin. He said that he had left in a
very
depressed state because the new comrades who came to the mission had
criticized
his work in Albania with regard to our Communist Party. They had said
that the Central Committee
of the Yugoslavian Communist Party had decided to remove
them from
Albania and that they had come themselves as substitutes him and Dushan
in
their relationship with our Party. They would also perform the official
function as representatives of the Yugoslavian Military Mission like
the
British, Soviets and Americans during the war. While talking with Enver
I told
him that, like many comrades, Liri
Gega also went frequently to the Yugoslav
Military Mission even though they didn’t have any important duties to
complete,
and that they behaved as if they were in their own houses. Making no
comments
Enver said:
“They can do
whatever they want, but you do not have anything to do there…”
I was impressed
by the way he said that. From his tone you could feel discontent and
disapproval. But while I was in Berat, I wasn't aware of what was
happening
around him and against him, in the background.
On November 4th,
the First Congress
of the Union of Albanian Anti-fascist Women was opened. All
the
preparations had been made by Liri
Gega and Naxhije Dume.
I was not called upon
to view the documents, nor was I to be presented with the
organizational
measures, even though I had been appointed as a supervisor of the
commission
that the First National Conference set up for the organization. This
was, I
thought, because I had come late to Berat. These comrades did not
inform me or
call me to come to the Congress and I thought that this was
unintentional
because of the difficulties of communication in this time of war. If I
hadn’t
received Enver’s letter in which he wrote: “See you at the Women’s
Congress…” I
wouldn’t have gone to Berat and I wouldn’t have taken part in the
Congress, because
I wouldn't have known about it. I received another surprise when the
Congress’
bodies were chosen. I was not proposed to be in its presidium, but I
was
appointed, along with comrade Vito Kondi to the Congress’ secretariat.
I
decided not to bring all these matters to the attention of Enver.
Enver did not say
a word to me about what was happening in Berat. I am unable to say if
he did
this so that I would not be worried, or to respect the principle that
the
affairs of leadership affairs were things that should not be discussed
with
one's wife.
Being at that
time a member of Central
Committee of the Communist Youth and
of the
Secretariat of the Union of Albanian Anti-fascist Youth, I
remarked
to Nako Spiro
that, it had been a long time since we had held a meeting; perhaps,
because
like me, some of the comrades had been kept very busy since the Youth
Congress
in Helmes…
Nako stood up and
invited me to walk with him alongside the river. We walked in silence
for some
time. Apparently he didn’t know how to begin.
During our walk
along the Osum bank, he finally broke his silence and said:
“Well, you are
not going to work with the youth anymore…”
Greatly surprised
by this sudden news, I interrupted him and said:
“How come? Now we
are on the verge of Liberation I can hardly wait to get back to Tirana
to work
with the Youth…. When was this decided?”
I was continuing
to speak in this manner, rather hastily and somewhat upset.
“Just a minute,”
he said, “The Central Committee has decided that you should take part
in the Ideological
Commission at the Central Committee of the Party, led by Sejfulla Maleshova.”
Then he told me
about the importance of this commission, but I was getting angry with
Enver
too, because he hadn’t told me anything about this change. When
returned to the
seat of the new Government and General Headquarters, I told Enver what
Nako had
said to me. Enver tried to calm me down, telling me about the functions
of this
commission, its relationship to the Central Committee, and, at the same
time,
that it was part of the Ministry of Culture, whose minister would be
Sejfulla,
and I would deal with Tirana Radio, education etc.
The treatment I
had received at the Women’s Congress and this sudden news left a bitter
taste
in my mouth, but at that time I did not understand why they were
happening,
because no one, not even Enver had told me what was going on backstage
in
Berat. Later, everything became clear. Apparently, they wanted to leave
Enver
out of the State and Party leadership, and they didn’t want to have me
among
them informing Enver of their actions against him.
15. Capital
Liberation. The new Democratic Government in Tirana
On 17 November 1944, after 19 days of
violent
fighting, we got the long-awaited news of the Liberation of Tirana. We
were
very happy that day. While Enver was greeting the partisans and the
people in
the yard from the window of the Seat of the General Headquarters, I
went to his
room, locked the door and cried for all the dead comrades, remembering
each one
of them. Some were killed heroically in fighting at the barricades;
some were
massacred, hanged or tortured. It seemed unjust that they were not
there, that
they were not alive celebrating and enjoying this victory. Although I
didn't
swear an oath at that moment, I have never forgotten those strong
feelings of
love and pain that I felt on that day. Not even when I was tired, when
I was
facing difficult moments, including these tough years of loneliness in
prison,
and my old age. I have told myself:
“That’s OK. Their dreams for the
liberation of the
nation were realized, and I will continue fighting for those friends of
mine
who were killed during the struggle and will die with honor, like them.”
The day after we got the wonderful news of
the
liberation of the capital, Fiqret
Sanxhaktari (Shehu) came to Enver and
asked permission to go to Tirana. Since the fighting had ended, she
wanted to
be near Mehmet
because she had become engaged to him in Permet, during the Congress. Giving her permission, Enver turned to me and
said:
“Nexhmije, why don’t you go along with
Fiqret? I will
be very busy here, so meanwhile, you can stay with your parents,” he
added
laughing, “because it is getting near the time we will be going to our
own
house.”
So I decided to leave Berat.
We set off in a mille cento car. A comrade
came with
us. I remembered that the Ura Vajgurore bridge or whatever it was
called at
that time was completely destroyed, so we crossed the river by raft.
From the
Krraba Pass until we arrived in Tirana we past many smoking burnt-out
tanks. We
also saw quite a few German corpses. We arrived in the centre of Tirana
at
Skanderbeg’s square, and decided to take walk in order to see how badly
our
capital had been damaged and also because we had missed it a lot. What
I
noticed immediately was the beautiful minaret of the mosque near the
clock
tower. Only half of it remained because a shell had damaged it.
The Germans had built a bunker in the
centre of the
square where all the streets intersected. It was nearly level with the
ground,
with holes for looking out or to put the muzzles of the machine guns
through. I
wasn't able to see the entrance for the soldiers because it seemed too
narrow
to enter from above. Perhaps they had built a tunnel under the square,
connected to the town hall, which stood where the National Historical
Museum is
today. It was said that in this bunker, the enemy had put up a strong
resistance, and had killed and injured many partisans, who had bravely
attacked
that bunker in the middle of the capital. Finally it was captured, and
one of
our artists had painted a picture of the victorious partisan on the
wall of the
bunker, as a memorial to their courage.
In Royal Street, now called Barricades
Street, you
could see the rubbish left from the harsh war fought in that streets –
as I was
told – by the guerilla units, in cooperation with professional partisan
teams,
and helped by young volunteers and anti-fascist women from Tirana.
I left Fiqret in Bami Street, later called
“Qemal
Stafa”. I hastened to my house, in Saraceve Street, thinking to
surprise to my
parents. But they weren’t there! They hadn’t yet come back from the
free areas,
where they had had to go with my sick brother. He was an underground
activist.
They left Tirana when they heard the news that they were to be
arrested. As I
was later informed, my house had been searched seven times, often under
the
direction of Man
Kukaleshi, the number one in the Qazim Mulleti. The reason for these
searches was that there had been a report of a spy living in our alley,
who had
said that we had a radio transmitter in the house. Maybe he had noticed
the
activities going on with the people who exchanged letters,
communiqués, and
leaflets, etc. with my mother. And also, many who stayed there, such as
the
couriers of some districts used the house as their base, as I have
written
earlier.
As I didn’t find anyone at home, I headed
towards the
house of Enver to surprise his parents. They lived in a bungalow with
two rooms
with view of the ring road, opposite Bije Vokshi’s house, where the Albanian Communist
Youth Organization had been established. I entered the house
happily
and when they saw me they were really surprised and very pleased.
Immediately
they asked me numerous questions about Enver. The father, uncle Halil, was interested in
knowing about the new Government which had been created in Berat, and
also
about the ministers, some of whom he knew, because they were from
Gjirokastra:
such as Dr
Nishani and others.
One time Ane said to her husband:
“Why don’t you tell the bride what that
frontist said
about the Government?” “Come on, forget that bastard,” he responded
angrily.
It was understood that he didn’t want
others to
remind him of that frontist so he didn’t talk about it. As I was told
later a
former friend of his from Gjirokastra, who was a frontist now, had told
uncle
Halil ironically:
“Have you heard Halil, Enver has become
the Prime
Minister of the new Government”. “
“He has done his best,” uncle Halil had
responded,
“Don’t you like it?”
“Heh,” said the frontist on leaving, “a
mountain
Government, a wet Government…”
That’s why uncle Halil was angry. But the
frontists
and their friends have now seen for 45 years what this mountain
government is
and what it could achieve. They have tried for so long to destroy it
but they
can’t take from the people’s souls the conviction about the benefits
that the
government brought to the country…
Now the liberated Tirana would wait for
the new
Democratic Government to come from Berat. The long-awaited day came.
The
government arrived in the capital on November 1944. It was a nice
November
morning, when all the members of the Government leads by Enver, arrived
in the
square between the ministries and walked to the Dajti hotel where, in
front of
the hotel steps was placed a simple tribune decorated with flags and
laurels.
The inhabitants of the capital were overwhelmed with an indescribable
enthusiasm. The partisans helped to give the atmosphere a sense of
great
liveliness. They had fought for the liberation of Tirana, felt proud of
their
deeds and celebrated by singing partisan songs.
A group of martyrs’ mothers went up to the
Government
members. The moment when these mothers embraced Enver and the other
members as
if they were their sons was very touching and moving. They wished them
heartily:
“May you have
a long life…may free Albania have a long life!”
then the mothers sat in front of the
tribune where
there were many people waiting impatiently to see the leaders of this
new
democratic state. Among them were a group of young women dressed in
beautiful
and varicolored national costumes. One of them was holding a red flag
with the
sublime eagle in the middle. Below, at the side of the Avenue’s bridge
over the
Lana River, were lines of partisan battalions who had taken part in the
Liberation of Tirana. They were to parade in front the members of the
Government and the General Commander, Enver Hoxha.
The moment came when the members of the
Government,
of the National Liberation Front Leadership and of the General
Headquarters
reached the tribune. Enver
Hoxha, Dr. Omer Nishani, Myslim Peza, Haxhi Lleshi,
Baba Faja Martaneshi; Mehemet Shehu, Medar Shtylla and
others were
presented to the cheering and applauding crowds. Along with some
comrades, I
watched the ceremony from the balcony of the Dajti Hotel.
From the tribune in front of the cheering
crowd,
Enver Hoxha delivered his first historical speech before the people of
Tirana.
In his speech as the Prime Minister of the Interim Democratic
Government in
Berat, Enver had issued the call:
“More bread! More culture!”
Whereas in his speech in the liberated
capital, among
other things he said:
“Today opens a new page in our history,
and it is up
to us to make it as glorious as our war against the occupier. This will
be a
war for the reconstruction of Albania, a war for the boosting of the
economy,
for the increase in the cultural and educational levels of our people,
for the
progress of its political, economic and social levels… Let the whole of
Albania
become a building site, where young and old people understand they no
longer
work for foreigners, but for themselves and the construction of their
own
country . . . No honest Albanian citizen should remain out of the
Front. On the
occasion of the 28th November festival, on the occasion of the
liberation of
Tirana, the leadership of the Albanian Antifascist National Liberation
Council
gives a general amnesty to all the members of the National Front,
Legaliteti
and other organizations who were cooperating with the occupier. From
this
amnesty are excluded all the war criminals who have killed, burnt,
dishonored
or stolen the people’s wealth.”
The people looked at the leader carefully,
the
Commander, for whom they had heard so much during the war. They
followed him
with an unseen enthusiasm. Together, with the people of the suffering
population and who were broken by the war, but whose eyes sparkled
because of
the joy of freedom and the presence of the members of the Government,
had come
some of the defeated, who, with the end of the war, had lost political
and
economic power.
I remember that during the ceremony, when
the leaders
of the state mounted the tribune, a rather ridiculous incident
occurred. We saw
that on one side of the tribune there was a former minister of Zogu, Ferit Vokopola,
and also a merchant from Tirana, Ali
Bakiu. I knew both of them. In the merchants
shop we used to buy notebooks and other school items. I had also bought
a
violin there, because this was wanted by every student preparing to
become a
teacher. The former minister was the father of one of my classmates.
When the
organizers of the ceremony saw them both they laughed but became
somewhat
concerned as well. Actually, the merchant from Tirana was allowed to
stay
because he had helped the National Liberation Movement; he was an
anti-fascist,
whereas the former minister left the tribune after they told him
politely that
his place was not there.
On the occasion of the arrival of the new
Government
in the liberated Tirana, in the evening of the 28th and 29th of
November a
large reception was organized in the Dajti Hotel. In addition to the
new
authorities, of the Government and the Front etc., there were
Commanders,
Commissars, and distinguished partisans from the battles with the Nazis
and
Fascists long with martyrs’ mothers and relations. All the Allied
Missions in
Albania were invited, the British, Soviet, American and Yugoslav.
At this reception, for the first time, I
was with
Enver, making our matrimonial relationship official. The main
authorities of
the country and the foreign guests sat in one corner of the big hotel
hall. In
the middle of it, where we were, and in all the other halls of the
hotel,
people sang and danced with uncontrolled enthusiasm.
All the members of the allied missions
were enjoying
themselves, especially those of the British Mission who were represented
by quite a
few. At this time it was their right to be happy. For months they had
wandered
in the mountains, sleeping in towers and Albanian huts, far from their
families
and living under the terror of being bombed by Nazi planes. They looked
a bit
ridiculous but it was also very nice - when they joined in our southern
folk
dances dancers and tried to move their legs as we did. Of course they
wanted to
dance the modern dances, as well; the tango, waltz etc. but most of
those who
were in the hall had come from the mountains, and those young partisans
knew
that those dances were not appreciated by the general population at
that time.
One of the British officers thought that Madam Hoxha knew one of these
couple
dances, and, according to the rules, asked permission from Enver.
Unfortunately, I had never danced that kind of dance so I felt really
embarrassed until the music ended.
In the corner where we were sitting, Enver
and Dr.
Nishani engaged a representative of the British Mission to see if he
could
handle Albanian raki. They themselves drank two glasses for the big
festival
and then told the waiter to fill them with water. So while they were
drinking
water, the Englishman was drinking raki until he was completely drunk,
and
everyone started laughing heartily. The guest tried to hold his liquor
but, in
the end, he vomited. While he was vomiting Dr. Nishani made one of his
sarcastic comments: “The Englishman vomited the colonies.”
It is a well-known fact that after the
Liberation,
the relationships of our state leadership with the allied military
missions
were close and correct, and not only with the Soviet and Yugoslavian
mission
but also with the British representatives but somewhat less with the
Americans,
whose rank was lower. The United States had thought it would be
“reasonable”
that their emissaries should be of Albanian origin, failing to predict
that the
local Albanians would not put up the haughty advice and interference of
these
Albanians, who were rather pompous and came from over the ocean.
Enver as the leader of the new Government
and Foreign
Minister, taking me with him, decided to make some goodwill visits to
the
allied missions. I remember the visit to the British Mission chief, Jacobs. The
Mission was located in a villa between “Qemal Stafa” stadium and the
now
Albanian Television Station. He was a good host to us. They served
their famous
tea and biscuits. At that time we had serious problems with the western
allies
in such matters as the recognition of the Government, the upcoming
elections,
the conditions for the UNRRA aid etc. As far as I remember, we didn’t
mention
these problems during this visit, because they might have caused some
irritation to our relationships. We discussed the role of the allied
missions
during the war, about the British Mission and their members who had
been in
Albania and near the General Headquarters. Enver talked about them and
Jacobs
told us where some of them had now moved on to other missions; to Egypt
near
the Mediterranean Allied Headquarters, to Italy, and, in some cases,
back to
England.
In the second half of 1991, when my
children and I
had left our house and were settled in a flat, two English journalists
came to
visit me. At that time I didn’t wish to receive journalists, but they
informed
me that they had a “last will” from a former officer of the British
Mission
during the National Liberation War. I became curious so I accepted
their
request. One of them was a journalist, the other a photo reporter
working for “The Sunday Times”.
The journalist took from his pocket and showed me a photo of a young
officer,
who, as he told me, was his father, a former member of the British
Mission in
Albania during the war. This man, as his father had told him, had
jumped with a
parachute somewhere near Elbasan (maybe in the Biza field where the
allies dropped
supplies), but while landing he had been hurt and had been sent to a
partisan
hospital. According to them I had helped him and I had given him a
toothbrush.
His Dad had told him about the life in Albania, the partisan's war and
had told
him that he had been at the dinner party in the Dajti Hotel for the
wedding of
Enver Hoxha and myself. Before dying he had told his son to visit to
Albania
and to come and thank me, and as a souvenir he gave me a toothbrush,
new of
course.
His father had confused me with someone
else, but I
couldn’t disappoint his son, so I said: “…Thank you...” and some other
friendly
words about the Englishmen I had known in Elbasan, Berat, Helmes etc. I
also
told him that we did not organize a dinner for our wedding at the Dajti
Hotel,
but that it had been a welcoming reception to celebrate the new Democratic Government in the
liberated
Tirana, and I told him playfully that maybe I had danced with his
father.
When I was sent to prison, I read a small
newspaper
from our foreign friends and also saw the photographs of these two
friends of
Albania with some others. They had organized a demonstration with
placards
etc., demanding my release, in front of a building where there was a
delegation
of the Sali Berisha Government.
16.
Our partisan wedding
When the new Government came to Tirana,
the majority
or, better to say all of its members, stayed in the Dajti Hotel. Enver
had a
bedroom with an anteroom. I remember staying there all December, until
the
relevant offices were set-up, and we got our house. We were given a
house in
New Tirana, on “Ismail Qemali” street. It had been the house of an
engineer or
director of the “Belloti” firm. We lived
there for 30 years.
Enver and I decided to hold our official
wedding on
the New Year Eve (1944-1945), and we told our families this. They were
surprised and said: “Wait a minute, we’re not ready!” We told them that
we
didn’t want a wedding ceremony or anything special. In fact, our
families were
correct because they finally had an opportunity to marry off their only
son to
me, an only daughter. That is why they insisted that we should
celebrate twice,
because we had survived the war. Enver said:
“Many young comrades like us were killed
in the war
that is why we can’t have a wedding ceremony”.
So they had to accept our partisan
wedding.
Nevertheless they did manage to do something.
On the 30th of December my family invited
the family
of my uncle to dinner, Arif
Xhuglini, and his children. I remember that,
after dinner, my uncle’s wife took me aside and wanted to tell me about
the
mysteries of the first night of the wedding, as it had been done to
her. As she
started talking I felt very embarrassed so I interrupted her saying:
“No, no I don’t want…” and left.
It seemed banal to me to stay and listen
those
things, maybe I felt ashamed at that time. Later when I became more
interested
in traditions and social customs and it also become part of my job, I
said to
myself:
“Why didn’t I let her talk in order to
better
understand the knowledge and concepts existing then about the
relationship
between man and woman?”
Because, I think that, the simpler the
people from
the cultural point of view, the more simplified are these intimate
relationships. This doesn’t mean that simple people do not fall in
love, do not
have passions, what I mean is that, along with the expansion of the
cultural
horizon, intimate relationships “get complicated”, are cultivated and
smartened
up more than nature has given to us humans, more than nature has given
to the
animals, and much higher than the natural instinct of every living
being to
breed.
Something nice happened the following day,
on
December 31st. in the morning, when some members of Enver’s family had
come to
take the “bride”. They were Enver’s sisters Farihe and Sano. We waited on them hospitably
and treated them with different kinds of sweets, according to the
custom. We
laughed very much when they told us what Enver had done:
“We asked him to give us his car, but he
wouldn't
allow this. Now what should we do? We had to take a brougham…This is
what your
Enver did to us…”
and my sisters-in-law laughed. What could
they do
because there were no taxis then?
The moment of my leave came. It was more
emotional
than I had imagined. This way of leaving and separation from my family
and my
little house created strange impressions and caused strong emotions to
me. “The
partisan bride” was leaving her house. I had put on a military fabric
jacket,
which I had used as a coat. At the end of the road there was a
hidebound horse
and an old carriage waiting for the “Prime Minister’s bride”.
While the brougham was walking in the
streets of the
city, many ideas came to my mind. Maybe that was the strangest journey
I have
ever had and …the most beautiful. A strong pen is needed along with a
calm spiritual
state to describe the movement of that carriage carrying a bride who
had just
come from the mountains, to describe the minutes of that December day
that were
for me, a wedding day, but for Albania a real spring, the spring of
freedom.
The further we journeyed from my house the more confused my thoughts
became and
my heart beat very quickly... I have remembered this strange journey
all these
years; a journey that was taking me towards a new life.
Enver’s parents, his other sister, and her
children
were waiting for us at home. What about the bridegroom? He didn’t come
to get
me and he didn’t wait for me at the house either. He had gone to the
office!
This wasn’t acceptable.
My mother in
law, whom I called Ane as did Enver, gave me a wedding ring of her own.
It had
white precious stones, but, as a partisan, I felt ashamed to put on my
finger.
I did put it on my finger but I gave it to my daughter later when she
got
married. For all of my life I haven't worn a ring. Enver never gave me
one and
I never gave one to him either. He said
playfully:
“Why do we need them; they are like chain
links.”
The truth is that neither he nor I had the
possibility to buy them. Enver’s father gave me a pendant with
multi-colored
stones, which had been an earring. He kept the other earring for Sano.
Ane had
made a satin quilt. Whereas my mother came with a necklace that she had
had
when she got married, and had also bought me some clothes at Bege’s,
which, as
I remember, was a small shop, but the most modern for those time. She
also
bought some pajamas there for Enver, which he never wore because they
were too
small for him. Because of this he teased my mother saying that she
didn’t buy
fairly for the bridegroom! According to the customs of the time, my
mother sent
to my parent’s in-law and sister’s in-law, towels, handkerchiefs, socks
and
other items. So, after everything, I didn’t leave without a proper
ceremony. On
the New Years Eve, Enver and I were alone. I will never forget that
night,
which was not only the night of a New Year but also of a new life.
As we had planned; the following day we
held the
official celebration of our marriage. Two employees, who had civil
status, came
to officiate in this. At the small ceremony that had been organized
where two
close friends of Enver; Dr.
Omer Nishani and Baba Faja Martaneshi, who
had come for the New Year and had been happy to be the witnesses of our
marriage. From that time on, Omer used to call me “Enver’s wife “. On
January
1st and 2nd, comrades from the political bureau such as Mehmet with
Fiqret,
Hysni, Vito, Nako and some others, came to congratulate us on our
marriage and
also to wish us all the best for the New Year. An unexpected
self-organized
“delegation” from Dibra also came to visit us. A group of my father’s
cousins
and some other citizens had come visiting. They were five or six
people, lead
by my father’s cousin, Mersin
Qyflaku. He had known Enver from the time
the Zajmi Mosque was being used as an undercover base and Enver had
used
Mersin's yard to get into a “mile cento” car that would take him to
Peza. Also
in this group was one of the leaders of the Muslim Community, whose
name I am
unable to remember, but he was from Dibra.
I was surprised to see that one of the visitors was Zija Dibra, who was a cousin of my
father
on his mother’s side. He was the brother of Fuat Dibra who, during the German
occupation, was chosen to be Regent,
together with Mehdi Frasheri,
Lef Nosi and Pater Anton
Harapi.
During the war, the Nazi invaders wanted
to organize
this Regency to fool the Albanian people into thinking that they were
being
governed by Albanians. The comrades of the Central Committee, Gogo Nushi, Nako
Spiru and Sejfulla Maleshova sent me to talk with him
(because I
knew him) and appeal to him on behalf of the National Liberation Front
not to
accept this function.
Both brothers, Zija and Fuat Dibra, were
not
permanent residents of Tirana. They lived in Istanbul, where they had
their
palaces. My grandmother had told me that they were so rich that they
didn’t
count their gold, but weighed it using a large measuring cup. Fuat
Dibra spent
most of his time in France and Switzerland, and as I have heard from my
father
that he spent his fortune recklessly, not only in helping patriotic
societies
with emigration matters, but also living a life of luxury in Swiss
hotels and
sanatoriums, where he had gone to be cured of tuberculoses. One day the gold ran out and his family were
destitute. Their old wooden house in Istanbul was even burned to the
ground.
The brothers came very often to Albania
especially
since the time of Zogu. Fuat Bay Dibra lived at his cousin’s, Fuat Shatku’s
wife, who had been a former minister during the time of Zogu. She was
the aunt
of Shyhret
Turkesh, who had married the well-known scholar, Professor Eqrem Cabej.
So we were related. I had been in this house at an earlier time with my
mother.
Shyhret’s aunt knew I was a communist and underground activist like her
niece,
that is why she welcomed me. I told her the reason why I had gone
there, and
she said that he was ill, but nevertheless, they hadn't left him alone.
She
said that Mehdi
Frasheri went there almost every day and pressed him to
accept the
post of regent that they had proposed. She took me to see him in his
room. It
was a half room, very dark, lit only by a small electric lamp, which
was weaker
than a candle. He was lying in a narrow bed completely covered with a
dark
blanket and his face turned to the wall.
Razia said slowly:
“It is useless to talk to him, he is tired
because of
the illness, and most of the time he feels sleepy from the medicine,
and he
doesn’t want to talk to anybody.”
I understood that it was impossible to try
to talk to
him in the state that he was in, so I left. I told this to my comrades.
After a
short period of time, he died. However his name was listed as a member
of the
quisling Regency. Nevertheless, Sejfulla
Maleshova wrote an article about him in
the newspaper of the National Liberation
Front “Bashkimi” (The Union), where he
mentioned his patriotic activity in the past, without mentioning that
he ended
his life as a quisling regent.
And now in our house came the regent’s
brother, to
congratulate on the Liberation of Albania and our wedding.
We didn’t behave badly towards him, we
treated Zija Dibra like the others, considering also the fact that he
had not
been involved in politics but had tried to keep his family's capital.
Actually,
like his brother, he was a failure in politics.
The press of the time wrote that Enver had
made a
political marriage; marrying a girl from the North.
Understandably it was impossible to think
of a
honeymoon at that time. We had hardly had the chance to live together
and find
a house of our own. This is why we started working immediately.
17.
New bride – In Enver’s
family
After leading a nomad's life for three
years –as an
illegal and a partisan - I finally was part of the family. When Enver
was
dismissed from his job in Korca and came to Tirana, he opened his shop
“Flora”,
and brought his family; mother, father and his single sister Sanije from
Gjirokastra. They rented a house, a short distance from the place where
Vojo Kushi
was killed and close to the house where the Communist Youth was
founded. This
was quite a small house with only two rooms. In the garden was a small
hut that
was used as a kitchen. Enver lived at this house for only a short time
until
the end of October 1941, when he was obliged to go 'underground' to
avoid
arrest. He never set foot in that house again.
After the liberation, when we moved to the
“Belloti”
house in ‘Tirana e Re’ (New Tirana), Enver sent for his parents and
sister to
live with us. His middle sister, Haxhire,
continued to live in the small house
with her three fatherless children; her husband having been killed in
his shop
in Berat. Later, as she had nothing to live on, we sent for her and the
children to come and live with us. Zylo, the daughter of his uncle was
also invited
by Enver to come and live with us. This was because he thought that he
owed his
uncle a favor as he had helped him with his education and also because
he was a
well educated patriot.
The house that we moved into was not so
spacious. The
women and the children slept in the largest room, while, in a smaller
room
slept Enver’s father. One of the other two rooms was our bedroom,
whereas the other
became Enver’s studio, where he welcomed comrades and held meetings
with them. Koci Xoxe
moved into a house close to ours. He lived with his father, stepmother,
wife
and her mother and his two children, who were born before the
Liberation. He
had two other children after that. Koci’s family was a modest one, his
father
was a tinsmith by profession, a craft passed down to his only son.
Koci’s wife,
Sofika,
was a kind woman, who, even at a young age, was rather stooped, because
of
working hard at the handloom, making carpets for others. She could not
get used
to the high post that her husband had and said smilingly:
‘Wow, Xoxo has
become… a celebrity!’
Indeed Xoxo put on great airs, which he
always did in
a very serious manner.
Koci’s father, called Barba…, I don’t remember his full
name, seemed to be hardworking, able-handed and still kept working in
his old
age. Uncle Halil, Enver’s father and Koci’s father became close
friends. Over a
glass of raki or a cup of coffee they told old stories about their
families or
about the cities where they had lived. Uncle Halil, out of curiosity
had asked
him one day:
‘What’s the
matter with our sons? They keep arguing, I have heard them shouting
when they
get together at our home…’
However, Barba minded his own business.
We did not get our monthly payment until
some months
after the Liberation. Some of the comrades of the Party leadership,
members of
the Government and of the Anti-fascist National Liberation Council
continued to
live and eat at the “Dajti” Hotel, others at another hotel later called
the
“Vollga”. Canteens were set up by Naku Spiru, such as the one for the
Youth
Central Committee and its administration, where people could eat for a
low
nominal charge..
However, our family and that of Koci Xoxe
had only
the one cook, a middle-aged man, called Lluka. He was supplied by a
state
managing center and he cooked the same things for both of the families;
a first
and a second course for lunch, whereas, for breakfast and dinner we
each had a
glass of milk, an egg and some cheese.
The house where we moved was unfurnished.
It had
belonged to an Italian engineer, who had left with the Italian army
after the
surrender of the fascist Italy, and a merchant from Korca called Petro
Katro
had removed the furniture. This furniture was taken away from him and
became
state property and was then distributed to various places. Later, many
comrades, bought some pieces of this furniture from the government. We
bought
the bedroom and the dining room furniture. While we settled down with
these
items, Koci’s house was empty and had only some old bits and pieces and
some
small carpets, which had been brought from Korca. Noticing this
situation,
Enver said to his mother:
‘Ane, what about cutting the rug of the
hall in two
and give one part to Koci?’
She replied, ‘It’s
a pity to cut up such a rug, it will get spoiled, let them find another
rug for
Koci.’
They found and brought two rugs to Koci’s,
which were
so thick that they had to saw off the bottoms of the doors.
There’s another funny story about this
rug, which
Enver tells. Two peasants from Elbasan came for a visit; Ali Disha and others, who had
hosted and protected Enver and some friends in their house, during the
war.
They wanted to take their shoes off before entering the house but Enver
smilingly said,
‘No, no!’, and,
taking them by the hand said ‘Do come in and walk comfortably on
this
rug because it used to belong to Shefqet
Verlaci”.
Actually, it wasn't his but he mentioned
his name
because the peasants from Elbasan had suffered a lot because of Shefqet
Verlaci
a landowner, who, right up to the end was in the service of the fascist
invaders, and even became a Prime Minister under them.
During the first 3 or 4 years after the
Liberation,
the meetings of the Political Bureau were held in our house. This was
rather
uncomfortable because of our large family. Therefore, Koci moved to
another
house nearby. Into his old house, which was next to ours, Enver and the
family
moved, however we all dined together. A woman was employed to do the
cooking
for us. She boasted that because she was from a big house, she would be
able to
do a very good job for us. She, thinking that perhaps she was a great
cook or
perhaps that we, as communists, would treat her as an equal, decided to
sit
down with us at our meals at the other end of the table, facing Enver.
And this
was not all. She kept up a constant chatter at the dining table! Enver once looked at me as if to ask ‘Where
did you find her?’ I did not know her at all; those who dealt with our
houses and
related matters sent her to us. She did not stay long. When Enver’s
sister,
along with her children, came to live with us, she did the cooking for
quite
some time.
Sterjo
Gjokoreci, a senior
communist, who
had been for several years in the Soviet Union, was responsible for
matters of
supply and other economic issues. He was fluent in Russian so he was
also
Enver’s translator at the meetings
with Stalin,
even at the tête-à-tête ones and also at dinners and
walks, which Enver
describes in his book “With
Stalin”. Sterjo was totally honest and
systematic for whatever expense or object that he brought into the
house. In
his special file you could read about the shirt, tie or socks that he
had
bought for Enver or the specific authorization that he had made for to
buy me a
suit for my wedding etc. With this authorization in my hands, I went to
the
store of the big merchant from Korca, Sheko, where I picked up some blue
cloth, which I
am still wearing, even in the photo on the cover of this book. The
off-the-peg
white shirt was a wedding present from Koco Tasko, from his shop, which he
opened with
the money of Sano’s trousseau, given by Enver to offset the expenses of
the
activities of the Korca
Communist Group.
This photo has a story of its own, both
beautiful and
painful at the same time. That is the first photo after our wedding and
is a
memory from a Soviet camera operator who was in Albania to film the
most
gripping moments of the fighting for the liberation of Tirana and of
the
historic events to come. Unfortunately, the plane in which he was
flying was
shot when passing over Montenegro and thus he lost his life and all the
work he
had done in Albania. I do not know if any examples of his work still
exist, or
even if he sent some of it to Moscow in batches.
I don’t remember after how many months,
the state
began to pay us on a monthly basis and I don’t recall what our salary
was after
the Liberation. However, I do remember that at the time when Enver was
the
prime Minister, Minister of Defense and Minister of Foreign affairs, he
earned
35,000 (old) Lek. I earned 20,000 (old) Lek when I was the Director at
the
Ministry Of Culture and later as a Director of Propaganda, Education
and
Culture at the department in the Party Central Committee. Each of us
earned 2,000
Lek as deputies. Later, Enver suggested cutting off this honorarium for
the
deputies living in Tirana, and were paid only for the usual mileage
when they
were on duty. For the out of town deputies who came to Tirana for the
meetings
of the Assembly accommodation and mileage costs were given to them.
Later the
salaries were reduced to that point that, at Enver’s suggestion and in
accordance with Lenin’s
recommendations written in his books; the salaries of the highest Party
and
State functionary could not be higher than 2 - 21/2 times the average of the salaries of the
workers in the top category and
therefore Enver received 16,000 leks while I received 13,000.
During the early years our salaries were
quite enough
for us, but we could not save anything. This was because, in addition
to
Enver’s family, we had to maintain my family, including my father who
had a low
pension along with my mother who was a housewife and my brother who was
studying in the Soviet Union. We also had to maintain the two families
of the
two widowed sisters of Enver; Haxhire, with her three children, and
Fahrije,
and her two sons, Luan and Fatos who attended the university.
Earlier I have mentioned that Enver loved
his eldest
sister very much and admired her cleverness, wisdom and the culture.
This she
had picked up from her husband Bahri
Omari who had emigrated to Italy some years
earlier because he was an anti-Zogist. When Italy invaded Albanian,
Bahri Omari
returned to his home country, he socialized with his immigrant friends,
many of
whom had been appointed as members of the High Council, which was set
up by the
invaders. When Balli
Kombetar was created, Bahri Omari was at its center. Enver
in his
book ‘Laying the Foundations of the New Albania’ has described in
detail his
efforts to convince intellectuals and politicians to join the
Anti-fascist
National Liberation Front and fight to liberate Albania. He did the
same with
Bahri Omari.
Enver send word with his sister and her
son, Luan, in
order to convince him to withdraw from his circle, and come up to the
mountains
to fight as some of his friends had done, such as Dr. Omer Nishani and
others.
However Bahri Omari held fast to his position.
In one of Enver's letters that he sent me
after there
had been an ambush by a partisan unit in which Bahri Omari was wounded
in one
arm, he wrote
‘I do not feel sorry for him as a
political figure,
but I do for Fahrie and her sons. I am not going to intervene in any
way… This
is not particularly nice of me towards Fahrie…but there’s nothing I can
do. I
struggled for two long years trying to show him the correct way, but
his head
was like a cave..’
However, Bahri was not only an activist of
Balli
Kombetar, he also became
Minister of Foreign Affairs under the quisling Nazi
Government of Rexhep
Mitrovica.
Thus was created the deep conflict between
his
sister, Fahrie and our families. It has been asked; ‘Could Enver really
do
nothing to rescue him?’ The charges against him were very serious; not
only was
he a quisling, but, just as important was the fact that he had signed
the order
to blow up Durres Harbor after the Nazi forces withdrew. Couldn't his
friends
have done something?
Koci Xoxe asked Enver
‘What we are going to do with Bahri Omari?’
Enver replied ‘I did my best, he wouldn’t
listen, now
it’s up to justice.’
When Bahri was sentenced to death, Ane
said to her
son, Enver:
‘I am going to
Fahrie for some days…’
She said this not as though she was asking
permission
but as a decision that was up to her.
While Sano also asked ‘Can I go too?’
‘Do go!’ Enver replied.
Some days past and I asked the same
question,
‘Enver, may I go to Fahrije?’
‘Surely!’ he replied and he added sadly
‘I am really
sorry for Fahrie and the family…’
When I arrived, there was Bahri’s sister
and many
other cousins from the Omar family. They were motionless, when I came
in. I do
not remember if I shook hands with them, but I hugged Fahrie. She kept
a
straight face, and, being a wise woman she never argued about this, but
she did
not set foot on our house for a long time afterwards. She came only
when her
father was sick. Enver also went to see her. It was easy for their
mutual
brother-sister affection to bloom again. Enver asked her about her
health,
because, after the war, she had problems again with tuberculosis, which
was
cured by the well-known pulmonologist of that time, Petraq Leka. Then she came
occasionally, then later, more often and, finally she came regularly as
a
daughter of the house. She stayed for days and satisfied her longing
for her
parents, sisters and brother. She loved me too, and opened her heart to
me
about any problems that worried her. She showed her wisdom and
self-control
again even though she was going through a very difficult stage of her
life.
It was Enver’s 60th birthday. She welcomed
and kept
the house open for the guests. The following morning, before leaving,
she came
up to my room and after a while told me,
‘Vera (one of my pseudonyms in the war,
which the
Enver’s family still uses), I have got something like a small ball,
here at my
breast. I felt it for the first time when we were at Durres beach. At
first I
thought it was just a minor injury from the mattress or something but
now it
seems to be something else…’
I was completely taken aback. I stood up
and as I
checked her I noticed the lump which was hard to the touch. I kept a
straight
face, and said calmly
‘You should see the specialist to check
it. Don’t
worry, you know that such lumps can sometimes occur and they can be
benign”.
I arranged the medical check up and the
tests for
her, but unfortunately, it was malignant. She was operated on. Enver
did not
want to send her abroad (he was rather strict with his family, in every
aspect). The chemotherapy for the tuberculosis affected her health,
and, even
after she was sent abroad, she did not recover. After languishing for
six
months, she gathered all her spiritual and physical strength and
welcomed
Enver, standing and smiling assuring him that she was all right. She,
and we
knew that this would be the last time that we met her. By midnight, she
closed
her eyes forever, while in the arms of her sons. In the morning, her
sons came
and consoled Enver, maybe thinking that he wouldn't be able to bring
himself to
go to their house. On the contrary, as soon as he had met with the
comrades of
the Political Bureau who had come to console him and who also went to
see her
sons, Enver, and all of the family, went to Fahrije’s house to console
them.
Enver went there prior to, and after the funeral, and for two or three
days he
stayed there during the afternoons and for hours he welcomed whoever
came to
console Fahrie's sons.
Enver’s mother was gentle, calm and
patient. She had
lost her son, Beqir, at 27, due to tuberculosis. He was older than
Enver and, whenever
he was mentioned, she wept. She wore a ring, which had a photo of him
in it.
She was illiterate, but very clever. She had a natural cleverness. Her
memory
was extraordinary, and this was something that Enver inherited from
her. It was
nice to interact with each other. I have written about this in the
preface of Enver’s
book ‘Childhood Years’. I was told that she was hardworking around the
house, a
good hostess and cook. Now she did not do any housework. Sometimes you
could
see her sitting by the fireplace sewing or patching clothes for the
family. She
could thread a needle even when she reached her nineties. Although she
had
difficulty with her hearing, one could not tell this even when she was
chatting
with many women within the same room.
Enver made time to take care of his
parents,
especially Ane (his mother). Almost every morning, with his bag under
his arm
leaving for work, he would go into her room and to say good morning or
chat
with her for a while. In the evenings, as well, half an hour prior to
dinner,
we went together to his parents who we usually found by the fireside;
Ane
sitting on the corner ottoman, and, at the other side was the uncle
(Enver’s
father) sitting on a soft pad. In the evenings, Enver's father wore his
nightgown (not pajamas) and a black fez on his head, as all the Moslem
men did
before Zog in 1936 after which the law made it compulsory for the men
to wear a
trilby hat and for the women to take off the yashmak (an example set by
Qemal
Ataturk). During these evening get-togethers I found out that Enver’s
parents
were married from the cradle, as usually happened in Albania. The way
this
happened was: that two friends, having coffee or a glass of raki, one
sad
because his wife had given birth to a daughter and the other quickly
comforting
him would say, ‘Don’t worry, I will ask
her hand in marriage for my son...’ so
they were connected by an arranged marriage. Enver played jokes on his
father
about this and asked,
‘So tell us, did you play together when
you were
little?’
His father pursed his thick lips and
smilingly
replied
‘I threw pebbles towards her so that she
would go
inside…’
Enver went on joking ‘Wow were you jealous
or a
fanatic? When she grew up straight and tall, did you like her? You were
very
short indeed…’
He replied to this with irony ‘It’s not a
big deal;
she also wore a pair of yellow high heel boots, which you could notice
from far
away…’
‘That’s why you did not allow her to walk
past the
market, even though she was covered head to toe…’
‘He wreaked havoc about this’ Ane told me,
‘One day
when somebody told him ‘I saw Gjylo walking by the market’. I went to
the
market (the town center) only once in my life while we were living
there.’
I had heard that the people of Gjirokastra
were good
thrifty housekeepers but also stingy ones. Enver liked to tell a joke
about
this, although I don’t know if it was true or made up. Somebody from
Gjirokastra was related by marriage to someone one from Libohova. The
in–laws
visited them after having done the shopping at the market. The hostess
had
cooked some very delicious, but rather small, meatballs. The men sat
down at
the dining table, the man from Gjirokastra noticed that his guest was
eating
the meatballs two at a time. He could not keep himself from saying:
‘How do you climb the stairs there in your
town?’ He answered, ‘One by one or two at
a
time, it depends on the
stairs…’
Enver knew his father’s habits well and
one evening
he said
‘You have not yet shown your wooden chest
to your
daughter in law…’
He had a small wooden chest like the ones
from long
ago; tin layered and decorated with circular head nails with a
semi-spherical
lid. There were also goat skinned chests and larger ones usually given
to the
bride. Ane had one like this, but bigger, which she had sent to
Gjirokastra and
placed it in the room where Enver was born. The uncle took the chest
from his
room and placed it where he was sitting by the fireplace. You could
find
anything in it ranging from pieces of letters, letter rolls that had
become
yellow with age, nails, rivets and shoe-slabs etc.
‘What are these, what do you need them
for?’ Enver
teased him.
‘You ask me what do I do with them. Well,
when Naim’s
(his fatherless nephew) shoes wear out they need to be mended…The women
waste
time looking for nails to fix the curtains in the kitchen…I did not buy
these
but collected them here and there and placed them in this wooden
chest.’
‘What about the letters?’ Enver asked.
‘The ones that you are holding are the
land-patents
of the fields that we own in...’ he mentioned a village that I don’t
remember
now.
‘What do you need them for uncle, they are
of no
value. Don’t you know that the land belongs to the people who farm it,
thus
their place is here…’ and threw them into the fire.
The uncle nearly burnt his hands trying to
retrieve
them, but they made a beautiful flame and burned. The uncle was annoyed
and
angry with Enver.
‘They were of no harm to you, they were
just a
souvenir from Mullah
Beqiri’s time (Enver’s grandfather).’
One Sunday, Enver said to his mother
‘You have not shown the ‘ bride’ that
national
costume, the vest that you embroidered…’
Sano went to get it from the white sheet
in which it
was wrapped. The loose breeches of Gjirokastra and Dibra are not made
of a
white, thin and stiff cloth like the ones from Tirana or Elbasan. In
general
those of Central Albania made of satin, light colored, such as cream,
lilac,
with light pink or blue flowers etc. The cherry colored, velvet vest
was
embroidered with charming designs of golden threads by Ane and looked
as though
it had just been made.
‘The daughters of the house had worn it
for their
weddings and next in line to wear it was Sano, but unfortunately, she
had not
yet found her match…’ Ane ended her story, on a rather sad note.
Sano never did manage to wear this costume
because she
did not get married. She had been unlucky; firstly Enver, her only
brother, was
away from the family because of his job and studies, then came the war.
She did
not even become a partisan because Enver left her to take care of their
elderly
parents. After the war, partially because of her age, but I think that
was more
due to the fact that Enver had official assignments and so people found
it
difficult to approach her since they may have thought that we were
aiming too
high.
Thus, Sano did not get married. She had
attended only
elementary school, but you could not tell this as she was clever and
read a
lot, especially magazines and newspapers. At the beginning she
hesitated to go
to work, considering her educational level too low. However, Enver
insisted
that she worked, not only because of the economic aspects but also the
principle aspect, which was the employment of women. By working Sano
set a good
example to other women. She worked at the registry office in Tirana
and,
although she did not earn much there, Enver and I let her keep her
salary for
her personal needs. Sano worked in a modest manner and never showed
herself off
as Enver’s sister. Sano was accepted as a Party member thanks to her
work and
modesty. She was active in the activities of the Democratic Front
organization
and that of the Woman in the neighborhood. She was always in contact
with
people and aware of their needs because of her work and these
activities in the
neighborhood. She often talked about these at lunchtime or dinnertime
and she
never held back her criticism of the governmental bodies that did not
find
solutions for particular problems.
Sano persistently defended her opinions
even when
Enver contradicted her –
‘It’s not like you think…’ she went on and
sometimes
Enver loudly replied ‘Who knows better,
you or I?’.
Sano did not gave up and replied quietly
‘That’s what
I think…’
I had to play the referee, on one side I
advised Sano
‘Don’t go too far when we are dining, he
is tired…’
and on the other side when I was alone
with Enver, I
would say to him
‘Why do you tease her, she has her own
personality, I
am glad that she has her own opinions.’
Enver laughed and said ‘I tease her so
that she gets
used to other criticisms…’
Enver’s attitude was sometimes principled
but Sano
was not to blame. Once, when we were dining, Sano looked really happy
and Enver
asked
‘What’s up?’, she told him that she had
been to the
Party Conference of Tirana and had been elected to the labor presidium.
Enver replied immediately ‘Were not other
communists
in the organization of Tirana to be elected for the presidium?’
Enver was referring to the opportunism of
the Party
Committee but Sano was justifiably offended and replied indignantly
‘I did not request to be elected’ and
stood up and
left.
We went on commenting on this but Enver
put this to
an end by saying
‘I’m irritated because they do things
meant to please
me, but what do all those communists, who have great merits, say about
this?’
During all the years that I lived with
Sano, I was
convinced that even when time passes a brother likes to tease his
younger sister,
whom he loves very much. In my personal library I have a small hard
covered
book of La Fontaine’s tales, which Enver had sent to Sano when he was
in
France. In it he has written:
‘As a memory…, poor you if you ruin it…’
I do not have the exact dedication now but
I remember
these words quite well.
Anytime that Enver got sick, she sat at
the top of
the staircase and burst in tears. I tried to comfort her and begged to
go in
her room because she stood in the way of the medical staff. When Enver
passed
away I stayed close to her, much more so than I stayed with my
children. I was
very sorry for her, as she had not experienced the joys of love, a
family and
of her own children. My imprisonment was a fatal blow to her. After 5
years of
solitude, during my imprisonment, despite her old age, she enjoys
welcoming
communists, comrades and friends of Enver or new friends of our family.
Enver’s mother and father were very
different
characters. Ane was careful, quite neat in her way of dressing and
eating and
somehow authoritarian, while uncle Halil was totally different. He
never
changed his suit unless his wife and daughters insisted and he never
laced his
shoes.
‘Where on earth are you going dressed like
that?’ Ane
would say.
We laughed at his words
‘What did I do?’
He wore his old hat, even though Enver had
given him
one of his. One day Enver said,
‘Will you throw that old hat away or
what…’
He did not take Enver's words seriously
until, one
day he saw Enver taking the scissors and cutting it up. Enver said
smilingly,
‘If you like it so much then wear it like
this…’
Uncle smiled too.
Basically, he was one of those people that
are called
good-natured, calm, popular, who liked to socialize with the common
people. He
was very honest regarding financial matters. At the beginning, when we
had our
salaries, he did the shopping even for my mother who lived near by. He
was not
too lazy to go to the third floor and give back the change to my mother
even if
it was just a one lek!
Every evening, when we went into their
room, we found
uncle Halil reading. He had a wooden chest full of old quran books in
Turkish
or Arabic, which could have belonged to father Ceni (Hysen Hoxhes) Enver’s uncle,
who was educated, chairman of the town Hall, and of the law-courts.
Even
Enver’s father was called Mulla Halil, a title used for educated
people. When I
had submitted for translation one of these ‘qurans’
to the only translator of the old Turkish
language who was from Berat, he had told me that this was an amusing
writing.
In one of my photos of my youth, which I had sent to Enver’s family,
his father
had written on the top of this ‘marsh Allah’ , I do not remember the
other
words. We had sent this photo together with other objects to the small
and low
house, where Enver’s family had lived before the Liberation. I do not
know what
happened to it and to the other relics that we had submitted to this
museum.
During his evening visits, Enver played
backgammon
with his father or sometimes he said ‘Let’s sing a song!’ Uncle started
singing
quietly and Enver sang along with him in a thick voice. I remember that
one of
songs from Laberia which Enver liked singing was that of ‘Cerciz dhe
Bilbilenjte’. Uncle liked telling the stories that he read in his
‘qurans’,
such as the Persian-Greek wars, episodes from the battles of Alexander
the
Great and those about the Imams in Arabia, of Ali and his sons, Hysen
and
Hasan. Maybe these readings had encouraged him to follow the Bektashi
sect
(Moslem sect) and to go to the Tekke (holy place). He was not that
religious;
he did not fast, but left the table any time that we ate ham or pork
dishes. He
discussed for a long time with his second daughter, Hatixhe, whether or
not she
had properly washed the casserole in which pork had been cooked. On the
other
hand, he always visited his Christian friends at Easter time and came
back with
his pockets full of red painted eggs, which amazed and made our
children very
happy.
Enver was in Moscow when our first child
was born.
When he returned to Albania, in the midst of the boisterous happiness
within
our households, the uncle said
‘Now we are three men…’
Enver not realizing or not having heard
this at that
moment or just to tease his father, said startled,
‘What do you mean by, we became three
men?’ The uncle
added smiling ‘Three men, I, you and your son…’ ‘But what name shall we
give
him?’ Enver replied.
‘Ane and I have found a name for him,
Beqir (in the
memory of their dead son).”
I stiffened, I did not like that name at
all. Enver
and I had agreed to name him Ilir. Enver, smiling, winked at me and
said to him:
‘All right, we’ll name him Beqir but he
will have
also another name…Ilir.’
The uncle took him in his arms and sang
something to
him, a ‘Moslem prayer’ that we did not understand then he whispered
three times
at his ear ‘Beqir, Beqir, Beqir.’ We registered our son at the registry
office
with the name Ilir and, except uncle, we never called him Beqir.
Even though Enver did his best to look
after his
father, he had a weakness for his mother. When we went downstairs,
before
dinner, he sat beside her on the ottoman and embraced her, and trifled
with her
braid, which she had thrown over her shoulders under her headdress. She
turned
her head and kissed him on the cheek. The same kind thing happened even
when
Enver was at his early sixties.
In the early days, when I was a ‘young
bride’ in the
house, Ane, after having kissed Enver had said to me
‘Dear bride, don’t worry about this as I
have clean
lips.’
I could do nothing but smile at the
implication of
her words. However, she could not upset me because she was so
meticulous about
her personal hygiene, clothes, bedding and covers. I could even go so
far as to
say that a nurse could not be more sanitary. She ate with such delicacy
as if
she had grown up in a noble family or maybe abroad. Her eldest and
youngest
daughters, Fahrie and Sano, had taken after her in this aspect. On the
other
hand, the other daughter had not inherited anything from this. When the
others
pointed this out to her, she replied
‘It’s not so easy, I have other things to
do, I cook,
do the washing up…’
She resembled her father in appearance and
in
character.
Enver ‘hated’ black clothes. He did his
best to
convince Ane to take them off but she wouldn’t listen. One day, when
she was
present, he requested me to find a light colored cloth to make a dress.
As it
was summer, I bought a grey cotton fabric with some small black stripes
on it
and we made a dress for her. Ane wore it for only a day and she,
smiling said,
‘It seems to me as if I am wearing my
nightgown’.
Sometimes Enver asked Ane to grill cheese
on the
fire-iron, as we sat by the fireplace. This was very nostalgic and
reminded him
of his childhood. Enver, being a diabetic, could not eat things that
were not
included in his diet, so he encouraged the children, saying,
‘Do go to Ane, she will grill cheese on
the
fire-iron.’
The word ‘fire-iron’ used in this case
brought up
lengthy debates regarding the various meanings that were given to some
objects
in some dialects. For example, we from Dibra use this word to name the
object
used to ignite the fire in the fireplace or in the stove, whereas in
Gjirokastra it has another name. You could imagine how my grandmother
and my
mother-in law communicated with each other. Enver usually asked Ane,
‘What did you do today? Did anyone visit
you? Did you
go anywhere?’
She replied that she had visited my
mother. Enver
asked Ane about her visit
‘What was said there?’
She told him about any topic that she had
discussed
with my mother
‘There was the grandmother, too, but I did
not
understand a word of what she said and she did not understand a word of
what I
had said.’
This might sound strange but the younger
generations
of the last three or four decades have overcome the problems of
dialects. These
problems have been brought to an end thanks to schooling,
communication, and
above all, the historical decision to process and standardize the
literary
language.
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