The Devil Couldn't Break Me

by Laura Aslan

  “Here you are locki,” she said.

  “What is it Nani?”

  “Bean broth.”

  I burst out laughing and by the look of disappointment on my face my mother sensed something was wrong.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh Nani, you don’t know how much bean broth I have had forced down me in the last six months. Every day they brought me bean broth, sometimes I ate it for breakfast and supper too and if I didn’t see another bowl of bean broth for the rest of my life it wouldn’t worry me.”

  My mother started to protest, instinctively defending her cooking and saying how much better her bean broth was than the bean broth from a Serbian soldiers kitchen.

  Father would have none of it.

  “Take the bean broth away and bring the girl something else. You have enough food to feed ten armies.”

  Father wasn’t wrong. My mother brought me a tray and I sat up on the sofa while they brought in the food. We started with a plate of Suxhuk, those delicious Turkish style sausages. I swear they were the nicest things that had ever passed my lips as the spicy flavours danced around my mouth. My mother and father sat on the floor watching me eat as they nibbled on a plate of Suxhuk between them. I hadn’t even finished before Nani was on her feet and back in the kitchen. My father brought a small coffee table and placed it in front of the sofa and in came the meat and potato pastry pie, the Pite. It looked like the size of a car wheel. I couldn’t help laughing and then as soon as she had placed the plate on the table she was back in the kitchen and returned with a dish of Sarma and another dish of rice and chicken.

  “Nani,” I said, “how much do you think I can eat?

  She shrugged her shoulders and frowned.

  “You tell me you haven’t eaten for six months and I can see that from the way the flesh hangs from your bones that it’s probably true.”

  It was true. I looked like something from Auschwitz in those black and white news footage videos from Nazi Germany but the harsh reality was that my stomach had shrunk and after eating the Suxhuk I was starting to struggle and the sight of so much food was even making me slightly nauseous. But Agi brought me some tea and I sipped at it and it helped to wash things down and I made sure I had a little something of everything. They had brought in a plate of sliced tomatoes, lightly salted. I had forgotten what fresh fruit and vegetables tasted like. The simple but exquisite taste of the tomatoes exploded onto my taste buds at the back of my mouth. I felt alive again. I bit gently into the flesh and the waterfall of flavour surged around my mouth. I was truly mesmerised and remember looking down at my parents who had appreciated my reaction to something so simple.

  We sat like that for hours, a forkful of Sarma then a tiny slice of tomato, a piece of Pite and some rice and chicken. I ate until I felt my stomach would surely burst, I ate until my stomach begged me to stop feeding it. We drank a little tea outside and watched as the sun disappeared completely behind the mountain. It was so peaceful as I sat on my father’s knee. I listened to the sounds of the night creatures as they began to stir and Nani sat behind me stroking my hair, every now and again kissing me.

  I began thinking what it would be like to sleep in a normal bed, on a soft mattress - my mattress and the fact that I would have to go back with the Serbian soldiers the following day didn’t particularly bother me because I knew this was a significant development and I dared to hope. Things can change I told myself, don’t worry, put your trust in God. I tried to think of the good people in the world, my parents, Uncle Demir for example and convinced myself that the evil men like Kupi and my Serbian tormentors would always be outnumbered, always ultimately be defeated. They might win an odd skirmish or a battle but they would never win the war. I would always believe in good over evil and sitting there looking up at the backdrop of our beautiful silhouetted mountain with the greatest parents anyone could ever hope for reinforced my determination and I almost began to believe it.

  We went back inside and my mother served up a sweet plate of Baklava. I managed to eat half of it then she brought a plate of tatuas, thick biscuits soaked and cooked in syrup. How I ate two I’ll never know.

  “No more Nani,” I pleaded, “just let me go to my room I have missed it so much. I want to lie on my mattress and sleep forever, I want the rays of the sun to wake me tomorrow morning and I want to wake up free even if it’s just for one day.”

  My father was back sitting on the floor staring up at me and I noticed that his bottom lip was trembling.

  Something was wrong. Suddenly the warmth I had enjoyed for so many hours turned to ice.

  News I Simply Could Not Comprehend

  “Talk to me Agi. What is it?”

  My father was crying.

  “I’m sorry locki but you won’t be sleeping here tonight.”

  The bowl of Baklava I had been holding fell to the floor.

  “What?”

  “Do you think I’m going to send you back there?” he said, “what sort of father do you think I am?”

  I was speechless at first. I couldn’t bear the thought of not spending a night in my old bed. My father was full of apologies but told me he had planned my escape for several weeks and it had taken him many months to get the money together for my release.

  “It’s all about the money,” he said. “The spying charges were nonsense, I’d be surprised if they questioned you more than once or twice. War creates murderers and profiteers. Wherever there is conflict you’ll find a man ready to torture, rape and kill in the name of the cause, and to line his pocket with a quick easy buck.”

  I could hardly speak. Agi had it spot on, it was always about the money and it had been the same with Kupi. Men play-acting as soldiers pretending they had a just reason and all along they were lining their own pockets, parading in the streets as heroes and freedom fighters. What was it Brian had once said to my father?

  War is undertaken for the acquisition of wealth. There are no exceptions.

  Agi was on his knees by the sofa as I found my voice.

  “I’m not going Agi, I’m staying here and I’m going to bed.”

  He was shaking his head. He reached for my hands and held them tight,

  “I can hardly walk,” I said, “how do you expect me to escape and run again? I was strong when you sent me to Pristina, but look at me now.”

  He wasn’t listening.

  “I have organised your escape. You are going to your uncle in England.”

  “I can’t do this Agi, I won’t do it.”

  My mother sat on the sofa beside me. “Listen to your father Laura.”

  I was beginning to get angry with them. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. I wanted to climb the stairs to my room and take a wash in my bathroom with the smell of soap I had been familiar with. Then change into those soft pyjamas that were under the pillow, climb under the duvet, pull it up to my chin and sigh as the warmth of the duck feathers enveloped me. Within minutes I’d be in another land, a different place, an altogether beautiful place that no one could stop me from going too. It had been almost magical up to now, why had they spoiled it? I turned towards my father.

  “Then we can do it in the morning.”

  “We can’t,” he said. “The soldiers will come and...”

  He didn’t finish the sentence and I realised what he was saying. I looked at him and then to Nani and then back to him.

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  He shook his head.

  “I won’t go without you.”

  I cried harder than I ever had, I was almost hysterical as I lay back on the sofa and covered my eyes with my hands.

  I was praying with my hands clasped together.

  “I wanted one night with them, just one night dear God, one night in my own bed and I prayed and I asked you for that and
you’ve let me down, you’ve let me down again. Why do you do this to me?”

  My father was getting agitated.

  “We will need to go in thirty minutes.”

  Still I argued and protested and asked him why they couldn’t come with me. He said something about the money, said that it was impossible. I always listened to my father as he had a way with words and was always very persuasive but I was fighting him like I’d never fought him before. My mother was sitting on the floor packing a bag for me and then it hit me like a blow from a sledgehammer, a thought far worse than anything I had been through, a vision a thousand times worse than any torture I had ever gone through.

  My lip was trembling and I began to cry as I blurted out the words.

  “But they’ll kill you.”

  My mother looked down at the bag and threw a few more things in as my father stood and walked back through to the kitchen ignoring me. I knew what these men were like and my father had brokered a deal. They would be furious if they found I’d fled.

  I almost threw myself from the sofa and ran through to the kitchen.

  “I won’t go. They’ll kill you.”

  Father was standing by the sink washing a cup or a dish with his back to me. He turned slowly.

  “I know they’ll kill us so you had better say goodbye to your Mother.”

  He held out his hands and I ran to him burying my face in his chest.

  “This will be the last time you’ll see us,” he whispered before kissing the top of my head.

  I argued with my father right up until the time I left the house but I was wasting my time. I told my parents that life would not be worth living without them but they would not listen. They were sacrificing their own lives to save mine and at that point I realised how much I meant to them. This was a love that no words could begin to describe and it was so powerful to me that I found a determination from somewhere, a determination that told me I had to win this final battle. If that’s what my parents truly wanted then I would make it to England and I would survive and I would beat my tormentors otherwise their sacrifice would have meant nothing.

  I told my mother she was the best friend a daughter could ever wish to have and we held each other for so long. Agi kept telling me that we had to leave. When I eventually let go of my mother she collapsed onto the ground in the garden and she put her hands together and looked skywards.

  “Dear God, why have you punished us so much?” she said as the tears stained the ground.

  I asked myself the same question.

  It was pitch black as we made our way across the fields at the front of the house. I remember it being very flat and the moon was bright with millions of stars lighting our path through the short grass. I could hear the sound of the wild dogs barking in the distance, the dogs with no owners who lived in the mountains.

  In due course we crossed the main motorway to Pristina, thankfully it was almost deserted and then after a twenty minute walk we crossed the main Serbia to Macedonia road. Agi led me a little further and we walked close to a river and up ahead on the road I could make out the shape of a truck despite the blackness of the night. The main lights were out and I could see the faint glow of the parking lights.

  Father stopped.

  “Wait there.”

  He walked around the truck and disappeared from view, coming back just a couple of minutes later.

  “I need to put you in the truck now,” he said.

  I wrapped my arms around him and ran my hands through his thick hair.

  “I love you Agi, I will make you so proud of me.”

  He was kissing me and crying, telling me he couldn’t be more proud of me as it was.

  “You are the best daughter a father could ever have hoped for.”

  “You are not going to die Agi, I know it.”

  “Perhaps not,” he said, “but we will always be there with you locki. If you think of us hard enough we will always be there with you. Promise me you will remember that.”

  “I will Agi, I will.”

  He walked me round to the passenger seat of the truck and opened the door for me. He hugged and kissed me one last time. He smelled of Agi, my beautiful Agi and I knew that the smell would never leave me no matter what. As the truck pulled away, I looked in the side mirror for one last look at my father but it was too dark and I couldn’t see him and I felt somehow as if I had been cheated.

  I could see the lights of Veliki Trnovac over to the west and I watched carefully as they gradually disappeared from view. I had never felt so alone in the world, I felt like an orphan with no roots. I remembered my father’s final words. I closed my eyes tight and within a few seconds my beautiful parents were with me once again.

  Agi had been right.

  Epilogue

  In 1991 Laura was just eleven years old when her home country of Yugoslavia started to disintegrate into chaos as a result of disorder in several autonomous regions. Groups, mobs, self-proclaimed and elected leaders as well as individuals paraded under the flags of nationalism and sought independence from Yugoslavia, which prompted the president to send armed security forces to the regions effected, initially Bosnia and Hercegovina.

  On 25th June 1991, Slovenia and Croatia declared their independence from Yugoslavia, which resulted in more troops being sent to secure international borders. The problem across the entire Slavic states and autonomous regions was perfectly demonstrated in Bosnia and Hercegovina where the population was made up of Bosniaks, Serbs, Croats, Yugoslavs, Montenegrins and Albanians. The region was also diverse in religious practices with Orthodox Christians, Catholics and Muslims all practicing and preaching that their particular religion was God’s chosen one.

  It was a recipe for disaster, which was exactly what happened. Like the vast majority of the population in the land known as the former Yugoslavia, Laura Aslan had a mixture of blood flowing through her veins. With Turkish grandparents and Yugoslavian parents as well as links to Macedonia, Albania and Serbia, there were times she could be forgiven for not knowing who was fighting who or indeed which side she actually belonged to. It was the same right across Yugoslavia, from Slovenia and Croatia in the north to Kosovo and Macedonia in the south.

  During the mid-nineties the conflict spiralled out of control, which prompted the UN, NATO and the EC to take a hand and diplomatic solutions such as The Vance Owen peace plan were unveiled to the waiting world. The agreements appeared to achieve little as large scale fighting broke out between Bosniaks and Bosnian Croats and the Markale Market in Sarajevo was mortared in February 1994 in a scene reminiscent of Guernica at the beginning of The Spanish Civil War. It was also in early 1994 that NATO war planes first conducted air strikes in the region.

  In 1995 Laura and her family heard about the horrendous massacre in Srebrenica where 7000 Muslim men were massacred and in the following year the war came dangerously close to her home town of Veliki Trnovac as the Kosovo Liberation Army declared open hostility towards Serbia and in particular soldiers of the Serb Army.

  After the near massacre of Laura’s home town towards the end of the war in Kosovo her father took the heart-wrenching decision to send her to Pristina, the capital of Kosovo believing hostilities there were almost over and that NATO troops were in control of the peaceful city streets.

  Laura was caught up in the aftermath of the Kosovo war, a war that claimed nearly 12000 deaths with another 4000 reported missing and unaccounted for some twelve months after the hostilities ceased.

  When Laura arrived in Pristina an estimated 800,000 Kosovo Albanians were either displaced, unaccounted for, or had simply fled their homes. According to the Yugoslav Red Cross 200,000 Serbian refugees had also left the country to escape anti-Serb attacks and riots.

  It was the perfect formula for the would be criminals and lawless gangs to step in and make a killing, where
not only life was cheap, it was almost impossible to identify a murder from an accident, an execution from a genuine casualty of war. As one leading war prosecutor described - “It was one vast crime scene.”

  Azem Kupi disappeared from the radar after Laura’s ill-fated return to Veliki Trnovac preferring to keep a low profile but his name cropped up again and again with people accusing him of many crimes perpetrated during the course of the conflict. There were many accusations levelled against him from residents from the town of Kukes in North-eastern Albania where in his role as a commander of the KLA, he allegedly mistreated and tortured ethnic Albanian prisoners at the detention facility there. But altogether more sinister accusations were being levelled at Kupi relating to a concentration camp in Daphne in Drenica, where it was said he participated in the executions and torture of prisoners and removed their organs where he sold them on the black market for up to $40000 at a time.

  Azem Kupi was not arrested until October 2000 and it was only by a stroke of luck that he was. He was detained by the UN Mission in Kosovo, following a shooting incident at one of Pristina’s nightclubs after which he was charged with involvement in organized crime networks and extortion under the pretence of financing KLA activities.

  Kupi was tried in April 2001, and sentenced to 5 years and 6 months in jail by the UNMIK Tribunal for endangering security and damaging the property of others through extortion.

  In 2002 the EU Rule of Law Mission (EULEX) began an investigation into Kupi for mistreatment of persons held in KLA facilities during the conflict.

  It was not until the summer of 2011 that Kupi was found guilty of committing war crimes against civilians and sentenced to 15 years in prison by the Mitrovica district court. Three accomplices were also found guilty of torturing civilians to obtain information and confessions. In court it was revealed that Kupi was a close associate of the Prime Minister during the war which showed just how far Kupi’s influence over the region stretched.