The New York Times

Friday, June 11, 1999

REFUGEES

Frightened Kosovars Won't Rush Back Home

By ELISABETH BUMILLER

KUKES, Albania -- There were shouts of joy in the refugee camps last night as Kosovar Albanians crowded around radios to hear news of peace in the Balkans. But on this morning after, most said they were too frightened to rush back across the border for now.

Instead, many refugees said they would wait for assurances from NATO and aid agencies that Kosovo was safe. Some said they expected to remain in the camps for as long as two more months, even though many are only an hour's drive from home.

"Kosovo should be empty of Serbian police -- then we'll go," said Sanije Sopaj, 37, who arrived here by tractor with her husband and four children on May 5. "And we're also scared of land mines."

Other refugees, chiefly men who were forced to leave wives and children in Kosovo, said they would go back as soon as the border opened, possibly within days.

"I will walk in after NATO," said Hajrullah Smakiqi, 41, who was imprisoned for a month in Kosovo and does not know what happened to his wife since he was separated from her by the Serbian police on April 25. "I am sure when I go back, I will cry."

Rupert Colville, a spokesman for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, said today that aid agencies could not stop people from going back to Kosovo before it was safe, but that if they did, it would be "complete chaos," and "at their own risk."

The agency estimates that about half of the 785,000 refugees in countries and provinces neighboring Kosovo will return within three months.

The peace agreement brought cautious hope to the the 120,000 refugees at the seven camps in this crumbling border town, who have tried their best to settle into a semblance of normal life.

Schools in at least two camps started on Monday, but without books, paper, pencils or any other supplies. Babies have been born and birthdays celebrated. Crudely made swing sets and volleyball courts have been set up.

Refugees who were doctors, nurses and teachers back in Kosovo have become doctors, nurses and teachers in the camps. Children who never knew one another before, like Violeta Sopaj and Albulena Hoxhaj, both 10, have become close friends.

"When I go back to Kosovo, I will miss her, and she will miss me," said Albulena, who was walking around her camp holding hands with Violeta. Both went to school Thursday at their camp outside of town run by Doctors Without Borders and the United Nations, where 678 students in grades 1 through 8 went to classes for three hours in large, very warm tents.

The second grade of 23 students was taught by Vlora Hamzam, 26, a second-grade teacher in Kosovo, who said she was happy to have work, even though it is as a volunteer. "It's very, very good for us to do something," she said. "I'm in contact with children again."

Her 23 extraordinarily well-behaved students sat on the rocky red dirt inside the floorless tent, then stood one by one to recite multiplication tables. When one boy got all the way through his 5's without a hitch, Ms. Hamzam praised him as he took a bow.

By and large, the people in the refugee camps are the poorer Albanians of Kosovo -- those with money have rented houses and apartments here -- but there are exceptions. Nadire Hasani, 42, who designs traditional Albanian clothes for weddings and celebrations, and whose husband owns a coffee bar in the city of Mitrovica, said in her tent that "never in my life did I sleep on the ground."

She wore an old T-shirt and a long, brown skirt. "You can't imagine how I looked in Kosovo," she said. "Color in my hair, very elegant."

Ms. Hasani offered her visitor coffee in a china cup she had bought in town, and showed the cans of Norwegian herring and packages of Italian pasta -- capellini and spaghetti -- that she receives from the camp. Food is distributed twice a day, at 10 A.M.

and 3 P.M., chiefly canned fish, meat and bean soup.

Ms. Hasani's daughter, Vjollca, 17, brought out pictures of family vacations on the beach in Montenegro and of her high school class. When she said she missed her friends, her mother's eyes filled with tears.

The Hasanis were ordered out of their home by the Serbian police on April 14 and fled to the home of an aunt in a nearby village. But within a day the police had surrounded the village, shooting and burning homes, and the Hasanis got in their car and entered the convoy heading for the border. They crossed over on April 18, unsure that they would ever be back.

"When I came into Kukes, I told my father that if I'm going to die here, it's better that you should bring my body to Kosovo," Vjollca Hasani said. "I don't want my grave to be in Albania."

The Hasanis looked into renting an apartment in town, but decided that it was too expensive -- refugees complain that local Albanians are charging exorbitant rates -- and that they would feel more secure with other Kosovar Albanians.

One of the biggest problems with the camp, Ms. Hasani said, is boredom. "We clean tents," Ms. Hasani said. "We eat. We walk around. We wash clothes. We wait to make phone calls."

Although physical conditions in the camps are still hot, dusty and basic, and some, like one run by the Italian Government, have foul-smelling latrines, Ms. Hasani said the peace agreement has allowed her to tolerate life here, at least at this moment, until she can return home.

"We just want to be sure that the land mines are gone," she said. "Until now, we have been impatient. But now we know NATO will go inside. Now it's not a problem. We can be patient and wait."