1. প্রচ্ছদ
2. সাহিত্য

NDUE DRAGUSHA - ALBANIA

Ndue Dragusha was born on September 29, 1953 in the village of Dragusha, on the outskirts of Lezha (Albania). Ndue finished his secondary education at the "Shejnaze Juka" school in the city of Shkodra and then graduated from the Institute of Education in the branches: Albanian Language - Literature and Lower Cycle, also in Shkodër. In addition to this, Dragusha also graduated in Tirana in Psychology. Ndue has worked as a teacher in all cycles of education in different places in the Lezha district. Since 1998 Ndue has been the Director of the newspaper "LISSABA", a literary-artistic newspaper, which has traveled around and off our continent. Ndue Dragusha started writing when she was in high school, where he was also very active in artistic and cultural activities. Ndue Dragusha is already one of the most accomplished intellectuals in the city and district of Lezha, who, within the scope of the above attributes, has for years formed the profile of a serious creator in the genre of poetry and prose. His poetry is so varied that it can be said to be one of the best in this collection: with realistic variations and motifs, metrical variables in verse, regular linguistic organization, sometimes according to our creative tradition, but also in contemporary forms, with which Ndue Dragusha has outlined what is called "authorial style". Ndue Dragusha has also been successful in the field of scientific prose, with a monograph and two biographies of prominent figures... So far, he has published several books.

 

THE TRAFFICKHER

I woke up that morning with a strange feeling. Everything seemed to want to talk to me. Inside me I felt an emotion, which I didn't know where it came from. I opened the TV and started watching the daytime press show. When the newspaper came out, to which I had sent some poems, my name was read to the young poets. I loved it. I didn't know I'd have this feeling when I heard my name in one of the newspapers of the day. I got ready and got out. All the passers-by, known and unknown, seemed to me to say, "Here is the girl who had published those beautiful poems in today's newspaper!"  

I moved to the place where newspapers were sold. I don't know, but the closer I got to the newsstand, the more my heart pounded. I started to feel worried about myself. I didn't understand anything, but my legs started to feel like they were getting numb. I waited until those in front of me left buying the newspaper and I spoke to Hope, the beautiful bride selling the newspapers, greeting her with a "Good morning!". She looked at me sweetly and said:
How well you wrote those poems. Well done! I really enjoyed reading them. I didn't know you wrote, but you wrote so well. Congratulations! I was handed a newspaper. 

I couldn't believe my ears. I reached out to the newspaper and took it trembling. I said "Thank you for the lovely words you said!" and walked away with the newspaper in hand, having paid the money. After I left a few feet, I couldn't stand and opened it. It was my portrait, poems and a note from the editorial about the values of poetry. I was very impressed by the comment. Did I really write so well? I had started it as a game with my emotions and now I am being surrounded by praise. 

I immediately opened my computer at home, printed the newspaper and put it on Facebook. First likes and comments began. My whole school companionship commented along with their pleasant "hiccups." The number of clicks was growing stormy. I was one by one person, who I didn't know, but who was the result of my friends on my page. His words were very kind, thoughtful and very professional. He was apologetic, because his social status at this time was very limited. He was in prison. "But thanks to new technology and understanding with the prison management, we own a mobile phone with which we connect to the beautiful world where she lives and such a wonderful poet! I greet you and wish you a great deal of success."

It got a lot of attention and emotion. I didn't know how to react. I kept quiet and continued to follow the other comments.  
Every day I started to throw new poems. Every day I feel more appreciated. Then the comments of the prison's friend continued. One day he sent me a request for friendship. I looked at his status intently, but everything was normal. There were pictures of prison life, from civil life outside prison, with family, with society, with regular people in their appearance. I accepted it. I was thankful for the moment and thank you for your friendship. I wish you a lot of success!"

Every day I had very reserved and accurate comments on the part of the new friend. He appreciated my appearance in photos I had posted on facebook and one day sent me a message in my inbox: "Thanking you so much for your kindness, your appreciation and expression of respect for a prisoner for whom you don't know why he was put in prison, I would like to explain the reason for my imprisonment. It was ..... year when I accidentally happened to be at a very nice event. Two young men were trying to put a young girl in their car, a high school student from my hometown. I knew neither the aggressors nor the girl, but I felt it a civic duty to help that poor girl, who resisted with all her might. And I intervened, sulking at these two aggressors. They pulled out the knives and poured into me. At this point the girl ran and left. We fightd wildly until I managed to snatch the knife from one and stab him. He was lying on the asphalt. 

The other man immediately entered the car and left shooting the tyres over the asphalt. At this time the police arrived and found me next to the man I had stabbed with his knife. I was arrested. It turned out that the slaughterer was the child of a state personality and the trial charged me with guilt. I was sentenced to 25 years in prison. The girl did not come alive to testify. I had no other witnesses. The knife had my fingerprints. I appealed to all degrees of the judiciary but never managed to unblock the situation. He won, the strongest, the father of the aggressor. So I continue to suffer an unfair sentence. My family is abroad. I have a son who I would like to see a beautiful and kind bride, like you. But my conditions today are limited to enjoy such a thing. Sorry for the inconveniency I gave you. I hope you are happy in your life."

I was so excited by this stingy story. A life casually lost for a good deed, rewarded with prison. Too bad! I comforted him with words that seem appropriate to me. So we continued to communicate with each other somewhat closer and almost became two friends, as if we had long known each other in civilian life. We exchanged chat chats and started trusting each other a lot. 

One day he tells me that his son had come to my town and that, after talking to him a lot about me, he wanted to meet. "You see it," he said, "see it. He's a good guy, but be careful, because I've been here for years and I don't know if he has my maturity in behavior. I'll tell you that as your parent. I wish you all the best!" He sent me his son's photo, his address and phone number. 

I saw his photo. He was a charming boy. He looked mature. His age, according to his father, was 25, blond and smiling. I really liked it in the photo. The next day, when I was driving home from school, I see the picture boy in front of me. I recognized him immediately, but I gave him no indication to realise that I recognised him. 
He approached my rib and said: 

- You're Mirsida? 
I turned around and looked at him as if I had not understood anything. 
- Who are you? I asked you a question, maybe even as a security guard.
"Oh, I'm Roland, the son of your friend the Prisoners" he said with a laugh.
- Aaaa! I was surprised. I'm Mirsida. And I put out my hand.
His hand was very warm. His eyes laughed.

He was a special boy, very gentlemanly. He asked me to have a drink together. We went to the second floor of a new bar in our town, where they made very delicious melted chocolate. The bar was packed. There was a place in the north corner of it and that's where we sat. 
"First, I want to bring greetings from my father, who has advised me to behave well because he values you extremely highly as a man and as a wonderful poet. He took out his cell phone and opened a video of his father talking. He greeted us from the vidio. At the end, he advised his son to respect the girl, otherwise you'd feel what you've never experienced from your father.

It was a really wonderful situation. We talked as if we had known each other for years. We finished the chocolates and we got out. We scattered each in his direction, but within me there remained a desire not to lose this man. 
I get a message on my cell phone. "It was one of the best days of my life with you today. I wish I had many more days, if you wanted to. "Greetings, Roland."

My heart was beating. My brain was like it was blocked and I couldn't see anything clearly. I blurted out. I didn't think the joy would come like an invading army. I sat in my room, in my bed, and reread it a few times. I tried to write a reply, but I deleted it several times. I wasn't daring. I started to be scared. Who exactly was this man? I said to myself, "He was a good man. There could not be such noble people to have a bad spirit. Impossible. I didn't answer it anyway. I was waiting for the next reaction. There was no reaction that night. 

His father asked me in the inbox about the meeting. I thanked him for his greeting and advice. I didn't give him the sense that I had begun to worry within my sensations. 
The next day, at the same hour, I get the next message: "A man is more afraid of happiness than a dog being let out on the street. I understand you, because our knowledge is not complete and I thank you for the time you have given me and for the feelings that I am aroused. I can stop here and I won't bother you if I've been worried about you so far. I wish the best for you! Roland." 

I answered you immediately. From that moment on our relationship became strong. He came to my town a few times, I met him with my parents, who liked him very much as a boy. But Dad was suspicious. He didn't believe anything easily because he had been a border officer and had doubted everything his life. And in this case he wanted to know more about it. 
"Daughter," he said, "don't believe everything you see, because salt is white and looks like sugar.

During this period, facebook connections with his father were severed. Roland told us that they had removed all communications in prison and that he could not connect, that he was very worried about it, etc. 
One day, Roland came with his uncle to our house. There was a man in his 45s, silent, little words. He had a penetrating look. He listened more than he spoke and was very attentive in everything. He said he lived abroad but had come for the grandson, in the absence of his father, to ask for the girl's hand for the bride for the grandson. 

We had, indeed, agreed with Roland. When my father objected, I told him we could leave without my father's permission, but Roland wouldn't let me. We have to respect the parents. I love and respect my father. I ask you for your parents. I gave up!

After talking to Roland's uncle, my family agreed to get engaged. It was the best days of my life. We decided to get married and had a great wedding. It was the miracle itself. We both shone. We radiate light, beauty, love. After the wedding we went on honeymoon to Turkey. And that's where we had a great time. Real paradise! 

"This is how it will be all our lives," my father said. It's so sad we miss our father! It's a shame we lost our facebook communication. At least he would be happy with our happiness. He'd be glad. And he cried. 
After we had finished our honeymoon, we returned to my house and the next day we were going abroad, to Germany. We had a very warm evening, but my parents had a lot of concern. My mother was very upset that she wouldn't be near me. 

When we arrived in Germany I saw a fabulous place. I felt like a queen. I had a beautiful husband by my side, we were just married, we were in a place I had never even dreamed of. What did I want more of life? 
He press my hand and smiled constantly. I just enjoyed it. We were greeted by his uncle at the airport with two beautiful girls, but in a somewhat unsightly outfit for me. I thought, germany, I said to myself. 

We all went to our villa together. We were a little tired and didn't stay much that night. The place we lived was special. Between greenery and flowers. There is also a special story. 
The days flowed like pure water on the shining crafts. Little rainbows were digestive on me every day. Germany oozed in harmonious perfection. Roland was still very fond of me. 

One night he didn't come home. I was starting to get sad about his delay. A few hours later his uncle came and told me that Roland had a problem with the police because of a mess and they are looking for him to arrest him. He left Germany for Russia. It's not about the problem, but it happened to him like his father, my brother. Don't worry, you have us here. I asked for any contact to have the opportunity to communicate with him, but he told me that neither uncle himself had contacts because he is hidden and should not be revealed.

Every day I anxiously waited for what would happen. I was waiting for a tip, but I wasn't getting anything. His uncle wasn't looking either. I was alone and alone as ever. I didn't know where to knock. 
One night I got home to the two girls who had been waiting for us at the airport. They were so unstable and didn't have that first day of the meeting. I was waiting to be given some news about my Roland. They came near, and in a voice more fierce than kind, they said: 
- Roland's gone. It is not known where it might be. He's very confused with a gang, who are looking for him to kill him. The police are looking for him. His uncle is also missing and is not coming alive, because he may be suffered by the gang instead of Land. We are here to work because you have to live. We have no income that we can help you. Tomorrow you have to start work. You're not going out, but we're going to bring your customers here home. And they started teaching me how I had to act. They wanted to make me want to get a prostitute! Impossible! I refused and almost broke. They came out, warning me that this is the only path I had to choose.

That night I didn't sleep in my eyes. I didn't know what to do, where to go. I had no knowledge of where I was. The next day, the two girls come again with a man all fur, ed. I was expecting some bad news when I saw them so rough and irritated on their faces.
- You have to go out with us, because you have no other option, - one of the girls told me. 

- I'm better off going out on the road! - I answered and turned my back and started to go inside, when they pinned the three of me together, put me down and began to hit me relentlessly all over my body. I didn't understand this behavior. I called loudly enough, but there was no way to stop the blows. I did not know what was done except when I mentioned it, I had my whole body in pieces. I didn't move my hands or feet. I was throwing up. There was no one near me. I dragged instead and tried to get inside the house. There was a large blood trail behind me. I don't know how long that drag lasted, but I managed to get home. Again I lost my feelings and I don't know how long I had stayed, when I opened my eyes, I was in complete darkness. My body burned like I had put it in the th. I didn't know what to do. Also if I knew, I didn't know who to turn to. The door opened and some people were in. I couldn't see them, because I couldn't even open my eyes except the complete darkness. 
The lights came on, which hit me right in the lids of my eyes. I felt pain again. I heard the voice of my husband's uncle, Roland, say to me:
Who killed you like that, my sister? He took me into his arms and carried me into the bathtub just as I was completely bloody. He called one of the girls he had with him, I didn't see them, but I could tell them off from the voices, and said:
- Come on, move, why are you standing so hands-on? Don't you see how it's been made? 
Some light laughter was heard, then I felt the hands of two females taking my clothes off. They stripped me and started rubbing me with lukewarm water. At first I felt a slight revival, then I had lost my feelings again...

* * *

After I had stood, I don't know for how long, just without feeling, next to me I felt I had a soft hand rubbing my forehead. I opened my eyes and saw a real angel. There was a beautiful girl, crying and rubbing me lightly - easily my forehead, burning like an oven. 
When I opened my eyes, she smiled lightly, then said: 
- Shut up, the doctor will be here in a while. Everything's going to be fine. 
I looked at him as suspiciously, because I didn't believe it would really be the doctor, but some collaborator of these people who were destroying my life. I was powerless to object. So I closed my eyes again and subsumed my wild fate, which had hit me in this terrible hell.

I heard a door opened and that some people came inside. I don't know how many they could have been. I opened my eyes slowly and saw that one of them was a civilian, while the other three were military, they were policemen. This made me happy for a moment, but again I was afraid of endless tricks that might be devised. 
The doctor approached me, touched my forehead and felt the intense temperature that had stuck to me. He stood up immediately and spoke in his language, which I didn't understand, but immediately two beautiful girls in white shirts and a stretcher in hand, pulled me carefully and put me on the stretcher. Then two powerful men, of those police officers, stood me up and took me outside, where an ambulance awaited me. After the two white girls came up, I was a nurse, and the doctor came, who made me a needle. The ambulance had already set off sirens and continued to move rapidly through the busy streets of this city. I soon found myself in a hospital room, full of comfort and much care from a wonderful staff. 

* * *

It seems that the days of hell had passed, and I was improving every day under the great care of an extremely caring and kind-hearted staff. 
One day, a police woman and her colleague came into my room, along with an interpreter. After they introduced themselves, they asked permission to talk to me and I agreed. I was feeling something had moved for good. I was told I was a victim of a criminal gang of traffickers. I was also told that Roland, "my kind husband," was one of the most dangerous traffickers in all of Europe. Then they told me he was already arrested and his judgment was expected. That's what they were asking for my help. For a moment I felt a huge squeeze in my chest. It was the person I had the greatest trust and he was already my misery. I told them my whole story point by point, not forgetting anything since FB with Roland's "dad."
"He," said this woman, "very politely, is the head of this mafia. Since prison, exploiting the corruption of prison leaders, he has done such tricks, through a gentleman in communication and organized this gang to make money through women who were blacked out as prostitutes and invested it to get him out of prison. He has married his "son" Roland, who is not his son. 

Tears flowed down my pale cheeks. I had no power to speak. They noticed this and, after thanking me for the time they talked to me, they politely left. 
Now I understood my father's metaphor when he said to me: "Daughter, don't believe everything you see, because salt is white and looks like sugar...

©️ Copyright Ndue Dragusha 

 

Prepared by Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator