Beneath the dust

by Esther Leonard (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Albania

(This story is based on Kosova not Albania but it wasn’t an option.) "Esther, wake up! Esther, we're here!" yelled my brother, excited with anticipation. As my eyes slowly open, I could see dust rising from the crooked roads and the sunlight catching each particle, like the land had been coated with it. I step out the car, take a deep breath and my heart fills with sorrow as I watch soldiers marching around, as if the war wasn’t over. Looking to my right, there is a beautiful young girl dancing in the street. The dust swirling around her becomes part of her magical dance. I am overcome by the urge to see this land through the eyes of the people that live in it. I too begin to twirl gently, admiring the little shiny specs following me, and create my very own earth dance. I understand how she found joy. The bakery Having just finished teaching children from the local area, the children were excited to show me the lay of the land and of course I dived right in. I felt this tugging on my hands and the class hurried me along; there was no time to waste. My students pointed at a shopwindow in awe, as if to say, this delicacy was not to be missed! Then pushed me straight into the bakery shouting ‘byrek me mish!’, ‘byrek me djaith’! I had only been in the country a week and at this point had not the slightest idea what anything meant when it was my time to order. A little voice, coming to my rescue, piped up next to me and said, "byrek me djaith” which I learned means ‘pastry with cheese’. The baker was extremely happy to share his delicacy with a foreigner. He asked me to take a seat and that he would bring the food to me. He wanted everybody to watch my response and declared, “You have never tasted anything like my Byrek before”. With all the eyes peering at me, I felt like I was on stage. Outside, the kids shouted loudly. Looking at them, I immediately remembered who I was doing this for and requested the baker to let them in. Surrounded by a noisy crowd, I was ready to taste. The baker presented the Byrek as the best in the world, and everyone cheered as he placed it on my table. My senses were ready to be overwhelmed, my mouth filled with water and my nose inhaled the aroma of what was set before me. Picking up the pastry, I took my first bite into this warm, flakey, perfectly cooked byrek which I instantly wanted to devour! But, seeing each face around me in delight, I cut up the byrek so every child could truly enjoy this moment with me. I mean, if I teach them shouldn’t I let them teach me? The boy “Tap tap tap.” It’s no later than 6am when we hear someone at the door. We quickly get dressed and go downstairs to answer it. A visibly exhausted young man, knowing only a few words of English, asks us to come with him. In his eyes we could see both pain and purity. We lock up and set off on what we thought would be an adventure. He leads us to this torn down house, not much bigger than a shed. He pulls back a rugged cloth which serves as the front door, behind which sits his noticeably unwell father, 5 siblings and his mother. While he explains they have not an ounce to eat or drink, the kids pull me and my brother in to admire our faces, then shower us with love and affection. It wasn’t right. How was this possible? Straight after we drove to the shop and bought food, drink and essentials for the whole family. As we handed them our hamper, I witnessed the mother’s tears turn to gold, her prayer was answered. She promptly pulled us back into her home and says, “Together we will eat”. The tale of love before money. Experience before fear and family before everything else. This was my Kosovo.