Doctor, Woman, Patriot.

A Woman. A Doctor. A Patriot.
By
Ian Rome

"You have five minutes to leave or you'll be shot!" It was
March 28th 1999 and the masked Serbian gunmen meant every word. His
rifle was pointing at Albanas' chest and she didn't argue. "Turn
round!" she screamed at her brother, "or they will kill us all."

There had always been something special about Albana Krasniqi. All her
family knew it and so did everyone in Vlashnje, a hamlet 10Km from the
Albanian border in southern Kosovo.

Unlike many of the village children, she loved school, loved learning
and most of all, loved people. She explains: "As the smallest girl in
the school I felt that I had something to prove. Women in my culture
are not born to be educated; they are put on this planet purely to stay
at home to look after an often lazy husband, his parents and lots of
children. I was very lucky that many members of my family were highly
educated and this was obviously a major factor in my brothers' decision
to allow me to study."

Finishing primary school as best student, Albana went on to a secondary
school in the nearest town, Prizren. This school specialised in nursing
and this was to be the stepping stone to her realising her dream of
becoming a doctor. She once again came out with top marks and was
accepted for the medical faculty at Prishtine University. Albana points
out:

"My family had very little money, but my brother swore that he would
pay for me to study until I graduated." Unfortunately this was to take
a lot longer than she thought.

Everything was looking good. She began university, but then, in 1991,
Slobodan Milosevic took control of the Yugoslav Republic and one of his
many decisions was to kick all ethnic Albanian students out of the
universities. What happened next shows the determination of these
people in the face of adversity.

Albana explains. "We had to continue studying as it would have been
such a waste, so we set up a parallel education system. This involved
using private accommodation for our studies and we knew it would take a
lot longer to graduate but many others, as well as myself, were
determined to carry on." And carry on she did.

Finally, in 1996, she graduated as a medical doctor. At last the dream
had come true.

Like all newly qualified doctors she had to carry out her internship,
and once again, because of the cruel regime, there was only one
hospital that allowed Albanians to practise. This was in a place called
Gjakove, luckily not too far from her home town. She
carried out her duties without pay, but, during this time things
were going from bad to worse for the majority ethnic Albanian
population. Most of the men had lost their jobs and ethnic violence was
becoming a common occurrence. Determined to carry on with the
profession that she loved, Albana went to work for the Mother Theresa
charity as a GP. She was based in two villages (Poslisht and Arbana)
and the only money she got paid for this was donated by the villagers
themselves.

It was at about this time that the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) was
coming into its own in the fight against the brutal Serbian regime and
as most of her male patients in Poslisht had joined up, she was
naturally asked to join as an official KLA Doctor.
She explains, "I knew that this village was a KLA stronghold so it
really was my duty, as a patriot, to join them. What had I to lose? KLA
or not, the Serbian police and paramilitaries were persecuting members
of the medical profession. Many of my colleagues were either beaten or
shot and I knew that if any of them discovered that I was a doctor I
too would have been raped or killed-probably both. On top of this, I
knew that if they did find out that I was a KLA member they would
arrest and torture my Brother and his sons."

She continues: "Getting to the village each day was a nightmare
journey. I had to go through Serbian checkpoints, mostly by bus, but
sometimes by taxi or on foot. Each checkpoint was manned by some very
bad people, including at times, Arkans infamous Tigers. My mother knew
that I was in some kind of danger, and each morning when I left home
she would be at the door, begging me, with tears streaming down her
face, not to go. I had to ignore her. I had my duty and no one, least
of all these evil people, was going to stop me!

On the 28th March 1999, her real nightmare came true. The previous
night she had sent her family to bed having volunteered to stay awake
and keep watch. "I had no weapon and I was very frightened. Inside
myself I knew that very soon something was going to happen and that it
wasn't going to be pleasant. I could feel that the time to escape
Prizren was fast coming."

During the night she heard movement in their yard, and she was sure
that the Serbians were going to blow up their house, because during
previous nights many of her Albanian neighbours' property had been
attacked and destroyed. She was extremely relieved when morning came
and everything appeared to be normal. However, this was just an
illusion!

During that morning a friend called and advised them that it was time
to go, as things were getting very delicate. In the streets there were
marauding bands of masked Serbian gunmen, terrorising any unfortunate
Albanian that they happened upon. Albana didn't
panic. The plan devised by her brother was that if the Serbians came
into the house, she and her two nephews would run through the back
entrance, leaving her mother and father to fend for themselves. Surely
they would not hurt two old people? Albana refused, saying that if she
had to go she would take everyone with her. She ushered her family out
to their small car. Her mother was screaming. "What about your sister?
We can't leave her." They had tried to contact her, but the phone line
was down. "We can't wait," Albana screamed, "let's go, hurry."

She explains: "Outside of the house and at the end of the road were
about ten masked gunmen, each carrying an AK47 assault rifle. We drove
towards them and you could feel the hatred emitting from them even
though I knew that until very recently they had been neighbours and
probably friends. They came towards us. At this time I was very afraid
but I knew I had to stay calm for the sake of my family."

"Not this way," the men screamed. "Turn round, go back. You have five
minutes to get out or we are going to kill you. Go to your people in
Albania. Go to your NATO friends!"

A gunman walked up to their car and pointed his rifle at Albana' chest.
She screamed to her brother to turn around. They had to get out. As
fast as they could they drove to the outskirts of the town and nine
hours later, after travelling a mere twenty kilometres along with
thousands of other Albanians, they arrived at the newly opened refugee
camp in Kukes, Albania. They were safe!

Albana returned home to Prizren on the 16th of June 1999 after the
withdrawal of the Serbian forces. Her home was still intact and
ironically, a Serbian neighbour had kept their garden looking beautiful
for them. During the next three years she worked for various non
governmental organisations until eventually returning to work as a GP
in Prizren in March 2002. She has since met and fallen in love with a
British police officer who was working in Prizren with the United
Nations Civilian Police force.

Presently, Albana is living in Southern England. Her qualification as a
doctor has been accepted by the General Medical Council and she is
studying for her professional and linguistic examination.

End.