KOSOVO 1999

M I N U T E S T O WA R : Picnic in Hell
Ardian, our translator, talks about his heavy metal record
collection and dreams about being a writer and chatting
up seventeen-year-old Kosovar girls in the ‘America Bar’.
Searching for the nearest toilet the next best option
was the nuclear bunker outside the front door.
After finding a small high school at first
glance it appears derelict and abandoned
but like all of the institutions here they are
a hive of activity.
This benevolent Mr Josi, who soon became
one or our loyal friends allowed us to roll
out the billboards in the boys’ canteen.
After finding a small high school at first glance
it appears derelict and abandoned but like all of the
institutions here they are a hive of activity. Because
the lead paint is peeling and the cracked windows
frames are shards of wood holding the glass does not
mean the place is unused. There is excrement on the
door step, and I cannot find any toilets. Searching for
the nearest toilet the next best option was the nuclear
bunker outside the front door. Every block in this
town of 13,000 people has a nuclear bomb shelter.
Imagine the propaganda stroke paranoia these people
must have been forced-fed to have a fucking bomb
shelter at every street corner where we have a Seven
–11, and gun tower every 300 meters throughout the
country side. No wonder they are now incapable of
even crawling out of the slime of that state of mind.
They are crippled by the past just as a child whose
father beat him or her must meet the future crippled.
Racing over I opened the door, and a wave of odorous
excrement hits me like a wall of mustard gas.
We met Mr Josi, who was only forty-eight-years
old but appeared as sixty-five as do most here soon
in the school in Kukes. The people here like in
Gaza have aged at an accelerated rate because of
poor diet and lack of stimulus. Every morning it is
habitual to drink a glass of cognac and a beer for
breakfast rather than eat a bowl of oats.
This benevolent Mr Josi, who soon became
one or our loyal friends allowed us to roll out the
billboards in the boys’ canteen. Rolling out the
forty-two feet image we proceeded to censor with
black tape the Serbian, Macedonian and Russian
text. As we are working people would enter the hall
drifting in, linger curious, make an undecipherable
comment then become bored and depart. It was
reassuring that Mr Josi appreciated our sentiments
about violence but at this stage I am hesitant about
what I am doing. The mission could be misjudged
and the information mistaken.
Ezerum would pride himself on trekking up
into the mountains above the town and with a
hunting rifle killing animals or wildlife—not that I