Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Explosion at shopping mall in Kosovo kills 2, injures 9
I am sure many of you saw this news before I did as I was informed about it by a friend in the U.S. as I was waking up yesterday. My roommate claims she heard it. I have chosen not to go to the site to take pics; I am superstitious about going to places where people just died. Below are pics culled from all over the net. They speak better than words about the demonic, wicked and stupid side of mankind:
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Question....
.... can anyone inform me where I can donate clothes in Prishtina or other parts of Kosovo?
Faleminderit!!!
Faleminderit!!!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Ginger
I am dedicating this post to my favorite store ne Prishtine - "ginger" ... when you have a need to feel suave, intellectual or just plain bourgeoisie, ginger is the place for you -- books, music, dvds, couch, dog and all. This store rocks....
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Ramadan!!!
As Ramadan begins, I am wishing my fellow Kosovans a blessed and peaceful time. I pray we all remember, as the Holy Quran quites, that Piety does not lie in the East or West but only in God. Let us seek the face of Allah and prayerful seek a renewal of our minds and souls which are on the brink of total human corruption. In this spirit, I share with you a personal prayer from a friend of a friend:
RAMADAN
RAMADAN
My Dear Sweet Allah,
the Holy month of Ramadan is coming upon us with the subtle certainty of time.
The flame inside re-ignited, the burning within me reinforced.
This passion I have for You erupts with vigor, this vigor resonates within all my brothers and sisters, covering the ends of the earth, touching all of humanity.
The energy of our worship is consolidated into a bright, shining light, a reflection of that flame inside each of us, the manifestation of our selves fully realized.
With every heartbeat, every movement, every hunger spasm, every prayer, this energy pulsates with a constant beat.
It propels me forth, I go forward in your Name, I actively engage in this world as your humble servant.
I look to only You for an understanding, a greater meaning, a rationalization of all I see.
My Dear Sweet Allah,
the Holy month of Ramadan is almost here,
Every drop of blood inside me flows with the goal of prayer,
Every muscle contracts with the goal of personifying a noble Islam in Your name,
Every frustration, every ounce of knowledge I have, all is submitted to Your will,
I trust in You, I know that on the Day, the meanings will all unravel,
I will not allow myself to feel that you have failed my brothers and sisters in Islam whom I see suffering at all corners of this earth.
My soul will no longer bleed as I think of their suffering, my heart will no longer mourn tears for injustices in this world.
I will channel all of my hurt and all of my frustrations into sincere and desperate prayer.
For these are your dearest children, those you hold closest to your bosom,
Veiled by my human ignorance, I cannot see what You know
I will not allow my faith in You to waver at the sight of adversity
On the contrary, my conviction grows even stronger
I trust in You, the Most Merciful and Most Beneficent.
The Holy month of Ramadan is now but breaths away,
I am eager to please You, my Dear Sweet Allah.
For what cause should I not serve You, Who hath created me, and unto Whom I shall be brought back? (36:22)
By Asma Chandani UC Berkeley, 2001
March Against Organized Crime
After the shooting of the police officer, about 5 000 residents of Prishtina (less than the over 10 000 that showed up for Ramush's support rally) marched peacefully through the city to show their disgust at crime in the city. It was a beautiful and powerful march. But even the residents who marched are skeptical about things turning around since the Region seems to be held captive by "local tax collectors" and corrupt officials who lay in bed together. Read this for a brief assessment.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Request
A fan in Belgrade is seeking to establish communication with people in Kosovo to facilitate better communication and understanding with people in Kosovo. He seems genuinely interested. So, if there are any readers in Kosovo that might be interested in making a penpal or email pal in Belgrade, let me know and I will put you in touch with this person.
Monday, September 3, 2007
This is what I am looking for....
The story below is so cute and intriguing. I really really wish I have been there to be part of this festivities. As much as I enjoy the the shedding and cutting of phalli parts as much as the next guy, there is just something about the rich cultural history of this that needs to be explored. So, in all humility, I beg of my readers, if you have any idea or knowledge of culturally rich and worthwhile rituals like below in any villages or hamlets in Kosovo or the Balkans, do let me know. I would happily travel to witness these and share in people's cultures, regardless of the involvement of a phallus or not.
PS: Erecting statutes of Rocky Balboa or Bill Clinton do not count.
Published on TaipeiTimes
http://www.taipeitimes.com/News/editorials/archives/2007/08/28/2003376197
AFP, DONJE LJUBINJE, Serbia Tuesday, Aug 28, 2007, Page 9
Every five years, two tiny Muslim villages in a remote corner of Kosovo put politics and all else aside to welcome family and friends -- some from across Europe -- for an age-old ritual: The mass circumcision of young boys. To the untrained eye, Donje and Gornje Ljubinje -- or Upper and Lower Ljubinje -- look like many other sleepy hamlets in southeast Kosovo, tucked into an isolated ravine in the rugged Shara mountains. A majority of the 2 million inhabitants in this breakaway Serbian Province are ethnic Albanians, many practicing Muslims. While the 3,000 residents in the two Ljubinjes share their religion, they proudly defend their ethnic differences.
The tiny population is Gorani -- or Bosniaks as some now call themselves, a Slavic subgroup in Kosovo's southern highlands who speak a language similar to Serbian, with lots of Macedonian, Albanian and Turkish influences, though their names are closer to Albanian.
The villages, which lie 5km apart, are poor and many of their youths have left in search of jobs and a better future in western Europe. But every five years in the heat of summer, residents forget every hardship that has shaped their lives during a four-day festival that culminates with the mass circumcision of young boys, performed according to rites that date back centuries.
"Everything stops when the festival begins. No one works or does anything these days except celebrate," said the doyen of the village Donje Ljubinje, 80-year-old Sadrija Karadollami.
Even he could not explain the origins of the ritual, called Sunet. Sunet is deeply rooted in both the lore and soul of these mountain villages that, until recently, could only be reached on foot in winter and where goods are still sometimes brought in on donkeys. Locals feel the ritual has helped hone their difference from other ethnic communities in the Balkans. "This is why we are not the same as the others, even when it does not help us," said 40-year-old Arif Kurtishi, in a reference to the bloody wars that have beset ethnic and religious communities in the Balkans.
So attached is Kurtishi to his roots he traveled from Sweden, where he has worked for years, to take part in the festival.
Donje Ljubinje was the setting for this year's Sunet when 130 boys aged from 10 months to five years -- some brought from abroad for the ritual -- were circumcised by 70-year-old Zylfikar Shishko, a barber from the nearby town of Prizren. Shishko, in a neatly pressed suit and traditional crocheted white cap or terlak, is the honored guest as well as a living legend in these parts after performing circumcisions for the last 45 years. "It has been so long, that I don't even know the number of boys I've circumcised in the Prizren area, maybe 15,000 or 20,000 or more," he said. The festivities began with traditional dances as hosts greeted their guests and neighbors from Gornje Ljubinje. Preparations took up the second day when the boys to be circumcised paraded through the village, dressed in special outfits. On the third day, the ritual started bright and early amid great fanfare as a local imam led a dozen men from house to house along the steep narrow streets of the village, followed by a five-man brass band playing the traditional zurla and goc, similar to a flute and drum. The imam entered the home where 13-month-old Amar Hashani lay in a bed covered with an ancient baldachin. To the sound of Muslim religious chants, Shishko pulled out his simple equipment -- a scalpel, iodine and medical powder. Two of his assistants took hold of little Amar who, suddenly among strangers, started screaming. But Shishko, unmoved, deftly finished the operation with no anaesthetic in less than 20 seconds. Only after the honored visitors left, the women -- Amar's mother and two sisters, all dressed for the occasion in elaborately gold-embroidered traditional blouses and pantaloons -- entered the room. The boy's father Efrim, part of the Gorani diaspora who brought his family from Sweden, was choked with emotion as neighbors and relatives poured into the house, wishing good luck and bringing presents for the boy. His voice trembling, Efrim drew deeply on a cigarette and said he did not think his son would remember much of the rite. "I remember mine only because I bought a bicycle from the money I got from relatives for Sunet," he said.
Washing his hands before hurrying to the next home, Shishko said he has not had a single mishap during his long career. "I learned the trade for 10 years with a master before I started to work alone. But now, I don't have a successor. All young people are obsessed with computers and this new, loud and poor music," he complained. Shishko is paid 10 euros (US$13) to 15 euros for each operation. "I do this for free for the children from poor families," he said proudly.
The circumcisions were over by early afternoon, as families of this year's boys prepared lunch for all in 14 huge military caldrons. Their neighbors from Gornje Ljubine had brought a barbecued bull for the banquet. Shehadin Hasani, 70, a retired pastry shop owner, was in charge of preparing halva, a traditional desert offered only on special occasions. Troublesome political issues so present elsewhere in Kosovo seemed to have bypassed the village, sparing it the uncompromising bickering between Serbs and Albanians over the future status of the UN-run province where some 16,000 NATO-led peacekeepers are still deployed. "Someone else, stronger and more powerful, will decide over the status," Shishko said. The fourth and final day was dedicated to traditional sports dating back to Ottoman rule in the Balkans -- tugs-of-war, long jumping, Turkish wrestling and stone-throwing. The next morning, silence again prevailed in the small hamlet as it would for another five years, until the next Sunet.
PS: Erecting statutes of Rocky Balboa or Bill Clinton do not count.
Published on TaipeiTimes
http://www.taipeitimes.com/News/editorials/archives/2007/08/28/2003376197
AFP, DONJE LJUBINJE, Serbia Tuesday, Aug 28, 2007, Page 9
Every five years, two tiny Muslim villages in a remote corner of Kosovo put politics and all else aside to welcome family and friends -- some from across Europe -- for an age-old ritual: The mass circumcision of young boys. To the untrained eye, Donje and Gornje Ljubinje -- or Upper and Lower Ljubinje -- look like many other sleepy hamlets in southeast Kosovo, tucked into an isolated ravine in the rugged Shara mountains. A majority of the 2 million inhabitants in this breakaway Serbian Province are ethnic Albanians, many practicing Muslims. While the 3,000 residents in the two Ljubinjes share their religion, they proudly defend their ethnic differences.
The tiny population is Gorani -- or Bosniaks as some now call themselves, a Slavic subgroup in Kosovo's southern highlands who speak a language similar to Serbian, with lots of Macedonian, Albanian and Turkish influences, though their names are closer to Albanian.
The villages, which lie 5km apart, are poor and many of their youths have left in search of jobs and a better future in western Europe. But every five years in the heat of summer, residents forget every hardship that has shaped their lives during a four-day festival that culminates with the mass circumcision of young boys, performed according to rites that date back centuries.
"Everything stops when the festival begins. No one works or does anything these days except celebrate," said the doyen of the village Donje Ljubinje, 80-year-old Sadrija Karadollami.
Even he could not explain the origins of the ritual, called Sunet. Sunet is deeply rooted in both the lore and soul of these mountain villages that, until recently, could only be reached on foot in winter and where goods are still sometimes brought in on donkeys. Locals feel the ritual has helped hone their difference from other ethnic communities in the Balkans. "This is why we are not the same as the others, even when it does not help us," said 40-year-old Arif Kurtishi, in a reference to the bloody wars that have beset ethnic and religious communities in the Balkans.
So attached is Kurtishi to his roots he traveled from Sweden, where he has worked for years, to take part in the festival.
Donje Ljubinje was the setting for this year's Sunet when 130 boys aged from 10 months to five years -- some brought from abroad for the ritual -- were circumcised by 70-year-old Zylfikar Shishko, a barber from the nearby town of Prizren. Shishko, in a neatly pressed suit and traditional crocheted white cap or terlak, is the honored guest as well as a living legend in these parts after performing circumcisions for the last 45 years. "It has been so long, that I don't even know the number of boys I've circumcised in the Prizren area, maybe 15,000 or 20,000 or more," he said. The festivities began with traditional dances as hosts greeted their guests and neighbors from Gornje Ljubinje. Preparations took up the second day when the boys to be circumcised paraded through the village, dressed in special outfits. On the third day, the ritual started bright and early amid great fanfare as a local imam led a dozen men from house to house along the steep narrow streets of the village, followed by a five-man brass band playing the traditional zurla and goc, similar to a flute and drum. The imam entered the home where 13-month-old Amar Hashani lay in a bed covered with an ancient baldachin. To the sound of Muslim religious chants, Shishko pulled out his simple equipment -- a scalpel, iodine and medical powder. Two of his assistants took hold of little Amar who, suddenly among strangers, started screaming. But Shishko, unmoved, deftly finished the operation with no anaesthetic in less than 20 seconds. Only after the honored visitors left, the women -- Amar's mother and two sisters, all dressed for the occasion in elaborately gold-embroidered traditional blouses and pantaloons -- entered the room. The boy's father Efrim, part of the Gorani diaspora who brought his family from Sweden, was choked with emotion as neighbors and relatives poured into the house, wishing good luck and bringing presents for the boy. His voice trembling, Efrim drew deeply on a cigarette and said he did not think his son would remember much of the rite. "I remember mine only because I bought a bicycle from the money I got from relatives for Sunet," he said.
Washing his hands before hurrying to the next home, Shishko said he has not had a single mishap during his long career. "I learned the trade for 10 years with a master before I started to work alone. But now, I don't have a successor. All young people are obsessed with computers and this new, loud and poor music," he complained. Shishko is paid 10 euros (US$13) to 15 euros for each operation. "I do this for free for the children from poor families," he said proudly.
The circumcisions were over by early afternoon, as families of this year's boys prepared lunch for all in 14 huge military caldrons. Their neighbors from Gornje Ljubine had brought a barbecued bull for the banquet. Shehadin Hasani, 70, a retired pastry shop owner, was in charge of preparing halva, a traditional desert offered only on special occasions. Troublesome political issues so present elsewhere in Kosovo seemed to have bypassed the village, sparing it the uncompromising bickering between Serbs and Albanians over the future status of the UN-run province where some 16,000 NATO-led peacekeepers are still deployed. "Someone else, stronger and more powerful, will decide over the status," Shishko said. The fourth and final day was dedicated to traditional sports dating back to Ottoman rule in the Balkans -- tugs-of-war, long jumping, Turkish wrestling and stone-throwing. The next morning, silence again prevailed in the small hamlet as it would for another five years, until the next Sunet.
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