By Jerina Zaloshnja
Do you remember Bashkim, ‘The Moustache,’ our military education professor in high school? His horse tail hair, a little receded at the forehead because of the line his hat left. His jet black moustache, so dirty, his teeth colored like seed potatoes and one of them gold? Do you remember how he used to say to us in dialect, “American Imperialism is a frying pan made of paper,” a drop of spit from his mouth flew right into your face if you had the bad luck to be in the front row of the team? Really, don’t you remember ‘The Moustache,’ pathos, sparkle, determination, his other favorite placard, “Socialism is a case that needs to be resolved” ?
Me? Yes!
With the image of the professor, other thoughts came back, deeper than I could have expected. I realized this suddenly one day while I was asking myself a seemingly simple question but with a very deep answer. Why don’t I like the United States of America?
Because I don’t like the United States of America and this has been one of the troubles of my life! Everyone around me can witness to the fact that I love every country and am dying of curiosity to see Europe, Africa, Asia or wherever, but not the United States!
Is there a reason or explanation for this? In fact, there isn’t. In my life, I have been surrounded by people who love American freedom. The only ‘Anti American,’ whose lectures we were forced to listen to twice a week for 45 minutes, was Professor Bashkim!
What can I tell you about my previous family?
They have all been pro-American since birth! My grandmother, as long as I remember has been in love with Kissinger and stuck her face in the television anytime the Italian news spoke about across the ocean. Every day at 6 p.m. exactly, everyone in my house gathered around our Tesla radio as a rite to listen to the Voice of America’s Albanian program, even the grandfather who couldn’t hear well. Everyone knew her obsession with America and often teased her. … Now I remember it as a film: Dad who bought her Partizani cigarettes which he put in an empty Dunhill packet and fooled her easily. “Take them,” he would say. “They’re American cigarettes.” Grandmother caught the packet in the air and smoked with pleasure every cigarette, swallowing the smoke without mercy for her atrophied lungs, sighing afterwards … “ah … those are cigarettes Shkelqim!”
In my second family?
Well, I have to say that regarding the ‘American issue’ from the beginning we have been divided into two camps. The children and I in one camp, in the camp of Professor ‘Moustache,’ let’s say, and my husband ‘The Doctor,’ on the other side! Shall I tell you now how often we have argued with ‘The Doctor’ about America, how much we suffered his journeys alone to that world. His obvious enjoyment and the pro-American portrait when he returned, the way he tried to hide from us his enjoyment? Shall I tell you how badly we experienced the American dreams the ‘The Doctor’ had at night during which he, sweating and groaning, after being schooled in the best schools, took part in open competitions, won all without exception, from a simple person, managed to be chosen as the mayor of New York or a senator with two mandates? Or should I tell you about the postcards that he brought from far with the words, “Greetings from my previous life!” Because, so that you know, from the time that we met the ‘The Doctor’ has believed that he has lived two lifetimes. That in his previous lifetime he was an American and that if he had a third lifetime he would dedicate it to America!
What solution did I find for my ‘American Phobia,’ for my run against the tide? No solution. Things worked out strangely well. At a point in my life I calmed down, began to be more wise, to reason, to realize that to fight idiotic phobias is necessary and healthy. So I made up my mind that the memory of the professor and his favorite placard “Socialism is a case that has to be resolved” needed a basic correction; “My life is a case that has to be resolved!” Yes, Yes! “My life, (and yours) is a case that has to be resolved!”
There are at least two people who helped me in this reflection.
First, my favorite uncle, Ahmet, who dad with an ironic love called ‘Worthy Ahmet’ or ‘Science Ahmet!” He called him this because no one wanted the Communist Party praised or wanted the wellbeing of our socialist nation like him. And because in his briefcase he carried a science bulletin and the ‘Zeri i Popullit’ (Voice of the People) newspaper. As it’s said, Uncle Ahmet is ‘The last Communist.’ His devotion surpassed his ability many times over and so, often he caused considerable problems for his relatives. Shall I give you an example? The call of the Communist Party in the mid 70’s as to which of the elite of the administration would volunteer to give up his job in capital for any sort of work in the village, Ahmet raised his hand and said, “I’ll go!” If you could only have heard the cries of his daughters who had to leave school and their life in Tirana to start again in Lushnja!
Three years ago, I received an envelope from this person, the first and the last from Washington where he had moved to with his family ten years previously! There was nothing in the envelope except a photo which had the date July 4, 2014! In the photo was a large crowd of people with placards, hats, bands who it seemed were celebrating American Independence Day. Amongst them a gentleman with white hair who was shaking a little American flag in front of the camera! I knew him from his inner calm, unchangeable, just like him! It was my dear uncle, the Communist and pro-American!
The second person who helped me in my new reorientation came to our home one morning — in a completely original and unexpected way — Mrs. M.
Here’s how it happened, ‘The Doctor’ got up to go to the bathroom leaving his cell phone on the pillow. I opened his cell phone, (why, what do you say, shouldn’t I check ‘The Doctor’s’ cell phone?) a ‘tring’ a what’s up.
“Dear friend, I thank you so much for your help, you have changed my life. Hug M.” I don’t know what you would have done dear ladies, but I waited, just as if nothing had happened. I waited with the patience of one who was going to catch the other in the act, totally, absolutely, with no way out. In the following days the level of thanks and gratefulness rose. … Next week, we’re leaving finally and moving to Washington,” Mrs. M. informed … “How can I thank you?”
As if this hazy case wasn’t enough, another person, a Mr. A. wrote the same words, time after time to ‘The Doctor’! What’s going on?!…
“What is it, What are you doing?” I yelled at the top of my voice since I can’t control my hormones!
Then, with a victorious smile, ‘the dear doctor’ explained that A. and M., husband and wife and my colleagues, had moved to the United States and, with the right recommendations he had helped them to find work in their field!
They have gone to the United States? Even my colleagues, A. and M.?
Do you know anyone who doesn’t have someone in his family or acquaintances in the United States of America? Is there anyone in this place who has not been tempted even a little at least one time, with the idea if not in practice of the ‘American Issue’? No, I bet not! It would be difficult!
So, I too decided: let the waves take me, let the American lottery take me there! Let this change include me!
Often I think that this is a trick of the mind (and for thousands like me) and that nothing is going to happen. But often it seems as if I’m running to catch the last train, the last chance left to me. …
“Eh…what can you do… this place is finished,” whispers ‘The Doctor.’
For the first time, I agree.
I picture our Albania as we’re putting the lock on the gate, as we’re leaving, as we’re leaving it alone, only with our graveyards! It’s an unclear picture, not normal, it’s like a lump that rises in your throat, when it wants, how it wants!
Then I understand that something awful is happening: Either I’m going crazy or ‘The Doctor’ is right.
