A Journey Without a Destination

By Mustafe Ismaili

The novel "A journey without destination" of Mustafë Ismalili, represents the destiny of the main character Tafa, the storyteller of his life and of the fate of the entire country, Kosovo, in general, as the main concern of the Albanian history in the Balkans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Jul 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9780228803454

Mustafe Ismaili

Mustafë Ismaili was born on March 7, 1955 in the village of Samolica, Bujanovac. He was educated in the Elementary School for 4 years in Samolicë, Rainca, and municipality of Preseva. He finished the first year of “Skanderbeg” High School in Tërnoc, while other years he educated in Preseva. He worked as a teacher in the School of Agriculture in Pristina, then in the school “Selman Riza” in Fushë Kosovë in 1993-1999 where he lived since 1981. He has been committed to further services for three years as a teacher for the Albanian Emigrants of Langental in Switzerland. As the only male of the family he worked in some parts of the former Yugoslavia as a laborer to help the family economically. After being in Switzerland, Germany, France and elsewhere he has been dealing with national activities. During the war his house was burned down by Serbians and he is now missing family members. Since 1999 lives and works in Toronto, Canada. He was president of the Albanian Community of Canada from 2002 to 2006. He has opened some Albanian language classes for children of Albanian immigrants to Canada. This has received Gratitude. He has written literature nearly. He has been associate in Pristina column in the daily newspaper “Renaissance”. He wrote editorials about “Voice of Youth”. At the same time he is vice president of the Liberal Party of Kosovo, Fushë Kosovë. He is a member of the Association of Writers “Phoenix” in Preseva, “Atunis Valley” Preseva “Atunis Kosova” in Pristina, the Association of Writers “Arif Shala” in Vancouver Canada. He is also a member of the Association of Writers civil association’s Albanian migration in Koblenz in Germany, member of the Albanian-Canadian Association in Toronto, Canada, a member of the Islamic Society in Toronto, Canada etc.

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The novel A journey without destination of Mustafë Ismalili, represents the destiny of the main character Tafa, the storyteller of his life and of the fate of the entire country, Kosovo, in general, as the main concern of the Albanian history in the Balkans. The whole narration is developed according to the principle of a successful integrating the conflict of family and nation and the autobiography of the character. Seen from this perspective, the author is a master of narration, combining the events in alternative lines which make it easier for the reader to approach. In this aspect, the writer has an impressive sense of movements from the real to the unreal, but not in a conservative and judgmental viewpoint. All this, is synthesized from his creative way of writing, narration of memories of the main character Tafë, based on the most tragic circumstances of our national history, starting from the violent eviction, reprisals, persecution, maltreatment and massacres reaching de-nationalizing.

- Prof. H. Haxhosaj

Distance

Distance can impede you from being physically beside someone, but it can never stop you from thinking about them, because your feelings and thoughts are only yours.

-Mustafe Ismaili

Table of Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Author Biography

Copyright

Part I

Chapter I

That August afternoon was a scorcher and everything withered under high temperatures. Tafa was on his summer vacation from high school. Under his cousin’s insistence and with his mother’s permission, the two boys climbed the hill to visit Bahçja e Ferhatit, to swim in a pool created when villagers removed stones to build their houses. Every year, the pool deepened and got larger. The pool was called maden and it was where the village children swam all summer, especially on the hottest days, and in the winter, they skated in circles on its surface. It was midday, the hottest and quietest part of the day. They boys climbed uphill and as soon as they got to the other side, they reached Bahçja e Ferhatit.

On the hillside, they found a place to sit and rest in the shadow of an oak tree with thick branches and large green leaves. In the horizon, they saw a hummock full of small bushes. In the east, the mountain slope was covered with oak trees, and further down, a valley and a heart-shaped meadow in the middle of it, was surrounded by wild poplars. A runnel of cold, crystal clear water ran through the woods and eventually disappeared into its underground source. The runnel didn’t drain into the ground, neither in winter nor in summer. Sparrows, flying from the branches of the woods in arcs, kissed the water. They dipped their colourful feathers in the streams and sang melancholic music.

In the harmony of the landscape, an old shepherd’s song was heard accompanied by a nightingale, moving its colourful little body up and down, creating a symphony with the song of the shepherd. His sheep and loyal dog were standing in front of him, listening attentively to his beautiful song; only the birds, in lines on the branches of the trees, were the usual spectators of this orchestra. The shepherd’s sorrowful voice reached the ears of Tafa and his cousin, Faik. Faik suggested going in the direction of the melody, so the boys ran towards the cattle.

The sun was in its zenith and its beams broke through the branches of the trees. As they approached, the dog made a slight motion that only the shepherd understood. Someone was approaching. The shepherd stopped playing the flute and stood up. Tafa recognized him. It was Uncle Riza who lived in the Shemshir neighbourhood, in the village of Samolica. Riza put his hand on his forehead and wiped the sweat from his brow. He told the dog to stop barking, and the dog obeyed.

Hey, who are you? he asked in a loud voice.

Uncle Riza, we are from the neighbourhood of Korbi. answered Tafa. I am the son of Hasan, son of Zenel and he is my cousin from Corrotica.

Riza, pleased that these two young boys had come to visit him, welcomed them. He told the dog to sit down and made a place for the boys to sit under the shadow of a large leafy oak where he usually sat and sang. He kept his coat on his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves. The old shepherd was from the same village, but from the Shemshir neighbourhood. He was thought to be wise and generous. Tafa had heard this from his grandfather and from the other old men of the village when they came to visit his grandfather. This was the first time he’d seen this man and had the chance to talk to him personally.

Riza wore the same clothes he did every day, season after season.

What brought you here my boys?

We want to cool off in the pool, said Tafa.

The shepherd stared off into the distance. Tafa knew he didn’t want to hear that answer. The pool was dirty and it was unhealthy to swim where the shepherd washed sheep and other livestock. Riza shifted.

I am very happy that you are here. I was a bit sad today and as usual, I was playing the flute, but today you heard a sad song from me, a song I don’t usually sing, and whenever I sing it, I feel nostalgic. It is a memory from my grandfather and when I sing this song, I raise my voice so that the mountains can hear. He smiled and patted Tafa and Faik on their heads.

May you be always blessed for making me happy at this emotional moment. Now I feel better, as I was at the peak of sadness. He moaned as if he had a strong pain in his body. But you cannot swim in the pool. It is dirty and you can get infected by different insects and stung wasps. But if you like, I would be happy to tell you a story, a true story which you will never forget. Listen well and tell it to others.

He pointed to an oak log to indicate where they should sit. The old man coughed and took tobacco out of a small bag. He rolled a cigarette and lit it. He took some bread out of the bag and offered it to them, telling them that after eating it, they would feel stronger. When they finished, the shepherd showed them the source of a stream of water.

If you need water, he said, drink from the source where it is clean, fresh and cold. The boys bent down and drank the water and thanked the old man. Although he was old, his body was athletic and his skin was thick. He had healthy looking eyes that looked like two lakes in the mountain. He had a way of looking people directly in the eyes and this is how he spoke to the boys.

To have a good and healthy mind, eat from nature. Nature is God’s gift to us. During the three months of winter, I eat meat and beans. I drink a lot of fruit juice and eat honey. In the summer, I drink the milk from those three foals that you see there. I don’t boil it. I drink it as it is. I eat homemade bread, green onions, spinach, leeks, yoghurt, cheese and fresh bread. In the autumn, I eat watermelon, apples, quince, and corn. I drink mountain tea and I am always on the move which is why I am healthy and full of energy. Do the same and you will always be healthy and energetic. But do not smoke. Don’t follow my example.

The boys listened patiently but they were curious to hear the story he was about to tell. The old man, however, continued giving them advice.

I am content with the melody of the flute, from water, from the birds and bees, and the bells of the sheep, the mountain wind, and the fresh air. With all of this, I feel no sorrow. My dear sons, remember this. Respect, gratitude and understanding are the greatest human virtues. You’ll be lucky if you stay amongst smiling people.

Uncle Riza began his story and tried to light another cigarette, but his cough became stronger so he couldn’t. His eyes took on a faraway look as he thought of the past and the painful time when the villages were empty because people had been evicted.

My dear sons, what I sing is not a song. It is a cry. You know that when a man sings, it is not a song. It is the man’s cry.

Riza lit another cigarette and drew in the smoke until he felt it in his lungs. He closed his eyes, recalling his past.

Do you go to school? he asked after a moment.

Yes.

How old are you?

We’re both sixteen.

That’s very good. May you have a long life, and may God allow you to gain knowledge because school is very important, my sons. I am sure you are good at school, aren’t you?

Yes. We try to learn as much as we can.

The fact that you have the opportunity to learn at school is good. When you grow up, with God’s blessing, you will see the results of your education. Challenges build character. You have this opportunity to study now for a better future.

It seemed as though even the sheep listened attentively to the old shepherd’s advice.

Knowledge is the only way to be free and independent, so learn as much as you can my boys, so that one day you will be independent, capable of looking after your family and the country. Don’t forget that strong and educated people never bend to others and never become servants of others. Do you see these mountains and those villages of Preseva? he asked and pointed.

"Until 1921, there were no Serbian people or families living there. But that has changed with the colonization of these lands, and the infamous project of Vasa Çubrillovic for the persecution and the purge of the ethnic Albanians, eventually evicting them to Turkey, and giving our lands to the Serbian and Montenegro colonies.

"At that time, we didn’t have Albanian schools. The population was illiterate and very few people could go to school. Even those who did, went to Serbian schools. The first teacher in that area was Hafez