North Mitrovica

The Professor is “that kind of professor”, an albanian sixty something little man formerly engineering professor who studied in the uk, before opening the cheapest place to stay in Pristina. Or so the legend goes. David had called him even before we left Paris and we had been glad to find a hostel ten minutes away from the center of the city, with 24 hours internet access, a kitchen and rooms we’d pay 8? each. but the Professor is “that kind of professor”, a greedy clever old man who’s made his business out of never giving the same price twice. as for the internet access and the kitchen, well, with one computer for fourty guests and a couple of coffee cups duelling in a filthy cupboard, we feel a little cheated. however, the Professor makes a very long point in showing us the cable TV. “you rhave all the channels rhere”, he says slowly, rolling the Rs in a low and hoarse voice while turning the tv on, as we long for privacy and rest, “more zan a rhundred channels, rhere, look”. and he begins to show them all, one by one. what the Professor doesn’t say is that in case of a power cut, not only will the tv not work, but so won’t the hot water or the electric plugs. the only thing that works is a small lamp which hardwire disappears through the wall, but only after an adhesive tape made connection that we won’t dare to even look at, from fear of being electrocuted.
all in all, the guest house is quite terrible, but even though the linen are overused and the view is a beautiful pile of red bricks, after a few nights, it kind of feels like home.
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the sound of Pristina is a hum. it isn’t traffic, cars, music or sirens. it’s the hum of the generators buzzing during every power cut. suddenly, the bar you’re having a beer in gets dark and the hum starts. a dimmer light replaces the bright neons you were used to and life goes on in the city. on the first days, we take pictures of the generators in front of every shop, every bar or restaurant, but after a while, it isn’t a surprising sight anymore.
in our guest house, on the table near the tv, there are an ashtray and an used candle.
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Don’t mention Frenchies walking in a cemetery at night to F. or she will laugh so hard that the sound of it might wake up Australia. that’s how she is and how she laughs and one of the many reasons we have such a great evening with her. it doesn’t start well though, as I understand from her mails and text messages that she will meet us at the bridge, right by the entrance of North Mitrovica. in fact, F. is waiting for us at her place, in the north of north mitrovica, in the last building of the city. we walk for about fifteen minutes, following her directions : “just walk straight ahead on the right side of the street. then I will see you.” but we’re outside of the city and no one is coming to get us, as we notice on our left and right a muslim cemetery. I call her one more time. “but where are you?!” “err, well, I don’t know. outside of the city, it’s quite dark. I think we’re in a cemetery.” “whaat ?” “is it still far ? cause we’re on foot…” “you’re where ??” “well, in a cemetery!” “a cemetery!!! oh my god juliette, come back!”
her laughter is the first thing we know about her, as we meet her after turning back. it still escorts us hours later when we leave her place and walk back to the bridge in the dark main street.
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“it’s simple, really : before 99, we had water and we didn’t have power cuts. now we don’t have either water or electricity. can our leaders or the Unmik explain that?” Dragoljub isn’t an extremist, just a 27 years old student who would like a better life, or just a normal life. “we had better roads, too”, he adds. since we’ve arrived, we’re trying our best to understand the situation here. not the situation of 99, not the situation right before or right after the 2004 riots, it’s the 2008 situation in north mitrovica we’re trying to get a grasp of and the least I can say is that I don’t feel like I understand that much better. the unmik is recognizing the results of the serbian general elections but not of the local elections so new local elections might be organized by the unmik. or might not. but then the serbs might not go to vote. or maybe they will? then the eulex will come, but it won’t really replace the unmik. and the albanians protest against both unmik presence and the serb elections in Kosovo. dragoljub says he’s hesitating for whom to vote on the general elections. I wonder if it’s between the right wing and the extreme right nationalist party, since not many here will vote for the democrats.
meanwhile, the generators buzz in north mitrovica whenever the power is cut.
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after a couple of bus drives from Pristina to Mitrovica and back, we feel like we know the road and landscape by heart, yet, I always find out something new. I can’t look enough at all the house half built that seem to pop like mushrooms after rain everywhere you can lay your gaze, I can’t help but notice that every little stream or river is filled with garbage and plastic bags, to the point that they’re almost obstructed. I can’t count the small graveyards in the middle of the fields and the albanian flags proudly floating in the breeze on many of the graves and the tombstones sellers right by the road, I can’t count either the number of car washes, of car and rubbish dumps, of construction material sellers, mostly bricks and windows, and again and again, half finished houses everywhere, many of them abandonned. further in the country, rocket shaped minarets glitter in the sun, and by the road, in many of the fields, men work their parcels by hand while bored kids look after cows grazing almost on asphalt itself. another 500 meters and there’s the odd vision of a luxurious restaurant consisting of little chalets and another kilometer or two and there’s the french KFOR base that a soldier in Mitrovica wouldn’t tell us about. god only knows why, since you would have to be blind to miss it. then an abandonned huge swimming pool. then a wealthy hotel. then we pass a horse carried trailer loaded with wood. then in vushtri, burnt and demolished houses. then again, freshly constructed habitations, motels or shops.
looking at the striking contrasts at the scale of this portion of road, I’m reminded that money has been poured on this province, the question has to be “where”. or more exactly : to whom?
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