Simply shopping...

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Today we drove through the rolling hills and passed the familiar mountains that linger on both sides of the border. Usually I can describe Kosovo as a giant image of poor peasants and scenes of prior combat that has left destruction in its wake. But today, the scenery was stunning as we passed through the small villages. It would have been nice to remain in my dreamy stooper, but I was driving and around one of those long and winding corners we suddenly popped into the bustling city of Gnjilane.

Horns honking, cross walks full of pedestrians with places to go and parking spots at a premium. The cars (kind of) follow some resemblance of traffic laws, while the same rowdy rules apply for the traffic circles. I have yet to take off someone else’s bumper, but I surely have been tempted just to add another dimension to the normal daily grind! So here we were trying to find a parking spot on a busy Saturday afternoon during market day. Round and round we went, turning corners, avoiding bicycles and people walking along the street without a care, all in search for the perfect spot so that we could…Go purse shopping!

Yup, some of my friends wanted to experience the only good shopping here in Kosovo. Purses are super cheap and they are famous brand knock offs, so they will probably make good gifts. There are soldiers here who have purchased many purses of all colors and shapes, and so today’s adventure was to find a bargain in the middle of the town market.

We finally parked and started on a small hike along the city streets. People really didn’t pay much attention to us, but I felt a little over dressed as we marched along in full uniform with our pistols hanging off our shoulders. For some, as they look at us it’s as if they can look right through you, and for others they stare and don’t say a word. But for children, we are usually worthy of a grin and a finger pointing in our direction. But I’m betting that walking around these cities is safer than New York City on a good day. Keeping an eye on everything around us, while navigating through the alleys and along the sidewalks, we finally found the perfect purse shop.

I had no intentions of spending any of my hard earned cash on a hand bag that has potential to fall apart sooner than later, so I didn’t enter the shop and hung out on the street at the entrance to the street market. It was a busy crowd, hundreds of people walking to the market and just as many leaving the market, so it was a constant flow to keep me occupied with my camera. The vendors had everything from cheap cell phones to flowers, fresh meats and home grown vegetables. There was a man sitting on the sidewalk right next to the purse store and he was selling fresh eggs. Strangely, it wasn’t by the dozen but instead individually. Someone would come up, they would exchange courtesies and then he would grab a couple of eggs and carefully wrap them in paper toweling and hand them over as if they were made of gold. He was intrigued by Dobie and gestured to me that he would hold him if I wanted to take a picture. I gave him a small little tip for his time and he seemed to be very grateful. For all I knew I might have tipped him enough to buy a dozen eggs.

I was so busy with the sights and sounds around me that I didn’t notice the young boy of ten or eleven come up next to me, all I heard was, “I can interpret for you!” I looked down at him and in a wave of my hand gave him the international sign that means, please go away, I have no intention of hiring you. He was nothing short of persistent. “Really Major, I can help you out.” I looked at him in amazement, not only did he speak very good English but he could also tell what my rank was. He went on to inform me that I was from KFOR 12 and he has always wanted to interpret for the Americans. Hmmnn. He sure does know a lot about us without me having said one word. I still tried ignoring him. Didn’t work.

Shoppers were coming out with chickens, shoes, watermelons and a host of novelty items. I grew increasingly interested in a couple of old men who were bent over pinching the cheeks of a young boy. They were talking rapidly and I honestly couldn’t tell if it was in anger or excitement. So the closer I got the more pictures I took and then after a few minutes the men noticed me and next thing I knew they diverted all their attention to me. The boy had been placed behind them so that there was nothing separating me and the older men. They were both inches away from my face, invading my space and now sending all their energetic words right at me. Quickly I tried to ascertain whether they were angry at me or some situation in the area.

Next thing I hear, “Major, can I be your interpreter now?” Sure enough, the pesty little half pint was standing right next to me, eager to be of assistance in my dire time of need. I looked at him and gave him the go-ahead nod and away he went talking so fast both our heads were spinning. The old men were gesturing like crazy and were totally engaged and seemed a little relieved that somebody understood them. As my young friend began to give me their message I slowly relaxed and understood that they had no animosity towards me, instead he was telling a history story to the child by his side. The old man continued his story, he would fly his arms in the air as if flying a plane and then point at me and touch my uniform and then ramble for minutes on end. The young boy would smile and nod and my interpreter began to tell me the story from the old man. “A long time ago, the big planes came, dropping bombs and freed the people of this country. We are grateful for Americans and when they came to our streets we cheered. They were nice to us and did not harm our families so we felt safe. Since they stay, we will always be happy and safe. Nice soldiers and even girls help to make us happy.” My young interpreter was smiling the entire time he talked and as he talked he would touch both my arm and the old man's arm, as if connecting us through his story. The old man said that his grandson would always know why the soldiers were here with guns. To do good for the people in Kosovo.

I am glad that young pesty boy continued to stay by my side and talked the man’s story to me. There are times as I walk around these cities that I have a hard time finding exactly what the purpose is that we are still in Kosovo as a military force. For a split second it all made sense. This old man’s recollection of the past, the story that he was passing down to the youngest generation, was of thankfulness and a unique tolerance of an armed force that he viewed as for the better and not for the worse.

Our conversation eventually ended, two cultures shaking hands and separating to live our very different lives in our own meaning of peace. Mine, to return back to the states and live with a freedom no other country experiences; and him, to also live with a newfound peace that probably was never expected from his generation, but so very treasured now.

We eventually finished shopping, the bags loaded down with purses of every color as we walked back towards the vehicle. Just like in any city, some people are friendly and others will just walk on by and not give you the time of day. I would wave at the shop keepers and say hello to the strangers walking close to us, and then stop and take bunches of pictures at little things that caught my eye. For a brief moment, the dichotomy of the have and have not’s crossed paths on our walkway. Within eye sight of each other there were two children, both whom represented what I have come to know Kosovo as. One child was happily playing with a ball with his siblings and the other was curled up on a piece of cardboard lying in the middle of the sidewalk. My mind immediately went to both of their activities, except my individual emotions were feeling both happy and sad simultaneously. I smiled at the kids with the ball and quietly passed the child on the cardboard. I continued on for a few steps and then turned back around, just to look. People continued to pass by this young child and every once in a while some stranger would throw out a few cents in change onto the cardboard. It was one of those times I wished I could have just picked him up and took him with me. I know there are poor people everywhere here in Kosovo and that unemployment is in excess of 50%, but no child should have to go hungry or sleep on the streets. These may be the toughest times to be a soldier. It would be so easy to make a difference in this child’s life, but at that very moment there was absolutely nothing I could do.

We went from shopping to searching for a fancy restaurant to dine at before we returned to Camp Bondsteel. The traffic was crazy and we ended up a little lost. Driving down narrow alley ways and roads that were unfamiliar, and every once in a while I might have guessed we were going down the wrong way. But without street signs it was a crap shoot and eventually we reached our destination.

As always the restaurant was decorated tastefully with unique wall decorations and table clothes on every table. We were seated quickly and asked for our drink orders. Well, he didn’t really ask, he looked at us for a long pregnant pause and then tried to point at a glass and that clued us in to he wanted to get us soft drinks or maybe some coffee. The elegant menu had many choices, but as a soldier who doesn’t read Albanian, the writing looks somewhat similar between steak and noodles. Our first waiter went for back-up because we were asking so many questions, and eventually a helper came over and did a pretty decent job at translating for us. So we all ordered something different, in hopes that we discovered a local dish that would knock our socks off.

After a few sodas each the food began stacking up on the table. Homemade bread with oodles of cheese and garlic, noodle dishes that were dynamite and small meat medallions that were perfect in texture and taste. We hit the mother lode and needless to say we gorged ourselves until we nearly had to roll ourselves out the front door when we were finished. I have really enjoyed the local affair at most of the food establishments I have patronized over the months, in fact this countries white sauce for noodle dishes is better than most back home. What a great opportunity most soldiers have had to dine in the towns we travel through. It’s cheap and the service is always outstanding, albeit a slower pace than we are used to. But there are many times as Americans that we tend to rush through events, not taking the time to enjoy each moment to its fullest. Maybe this can be a lesson I take home; slow down a bit and take pleasure in everything I do.

Amazingly, my little jaunt to do some simple shopping turned out to be much more. Not only did I have a great time laughing with friends, shopping for purses and driving amongst the locals. I was lucky enough to be paying attention for a few moments to the small things. The old man and his grandson. The beautiful trees and country side along our route. The small boy without a home.

So many times I just don’t take the time to look around; to see the stories behind the eyes, to feel the heartbeats of the past, and to experience the simple breathes of today. For every tomorrow I experience, I hope that the today’s and yesterdays have an impact that I will forever remember.

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