Kosovo lives: Not gone with the wind
Courtesy BBC
The three women thought they would be left alone in Urosevac after the war because there were no men in their house
In the fifth and final piece by BBC journalists on life in Kosovo today, Patrick Jackson meets three Slovenian-Serb women who intend to be the bane of K-For’s life until they regain their ancestral home.
Their great-grandfather built Urosevac, the Nikolic daughters like to say, so how can they leave it now?
Sani (Santipa), the very image of mildness and physical slightness, beams mischievously at the memory of how she floored a US soldier with her karate skills, the day K-For came to evacuate her family.
I am not saying she is over 60, because her disabled younger sister Lili (Liljana) reminded me, when I inquired, that you must never ask a lady her age. A smile of assent crossed the mask-like face of their blind mother Dani (Daniela).
However, the soldier’s commanding officer was certainly impressed by Sani’s resilience, telling her she was “as tough as a Texan lady”, according to Lili.
The Americans evacuated them from Urosevac (Ferizaj in Albanian) on 18 March 2004, to save them from Albanian rioters, who then destroyed the house.
But the Nikolic women have refused to join the thousands of other non-Albanians who fled (most of them in June 1999).
They argue that K-For failed to defend their property and removed them against their will, so it should take them back.
And that is how they come to be living today inside a Greek army base outside Urosevac.
Sickbay
The sole civilians to live on a base in K-For’s eastern sector have a medical ward to themselves at Camp Rigas Fereos.
The facilities in the room meet the family’s basic needs
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It is a large, spotlessly clean room equipped with the bare essentials such as a fridge and a microwave oven, but no television set or radio.
From the window they can see only the camp and the mountains in the distance. Some paper religious icons are stuck to the blank white walls.
What personal effects they have seem all to come from charity.
Asked what she misses most from her home, Daniela says her family photographs and her jewellery, including her wedding ring from her husband who died before the war (she had taken it off to wash her hands the morning they were evacuated).
There is also the antique furniture, her library of 1,800 “beautiful books in five languages” and her paintings, especially a 17th-Century Italian Madonna she brought with her from her native Slovenia when she married her Serb husband.
Theirs was a wealthy family in its time, Lili explains. Their great-grandfather helped found Urosevac, a late 19th-Century town that arose around the new Belgrade-Thessaloniki railway, after he persuaded the Turkish authorities to let him build there.
Thessaloniki played a new role in the Nikolic family’s history in 2004, when Greek K-For, having sheltered the evacuees at Camp Rigas Fereos for four months, transferred them to its military hospital.
All three women needed specialised medical help.
Life for the women at the base is punctuated by bugle calls
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During the evacuation, Lili, paralysed in one leg since a car crash in her youth, was struck by a rioter’s stone, which broke her bad knee.
Daniela was already going blind and Sani suffered from arthritis.
Nearly five years of constant stress had also taken its toll.
Their house was placed under 24-hour K-For guard in the summer of 1999 after intruders robbed and beat them.
The last time Sani had left the building was in October 2000, when she slipped past the guards to go to the nearby market.
Some teenage boys recognised her as a Serb and started to beat her. She fought back with her karate, but she says she “did not want to hurt them”. She returned home covered in blood.
The boys told the police she had fired a gun at them, she adds, and an Albanian policeman turned up at the house. But when he saw the K-For guards, he just said “no problem” and left, Sani says.
In November last year, the women left the hospital in Thessaloniki and returned to Camp Rigas Fereos at their own request.
Private property
While they were in Greece, new buildings were erected illegally on the site of their property, a prime location in the centre of Urosevac.
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 We have just this one card left to play, and we are playing it now. We have nothing else to lose 
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Sani says she was phoned by an Albanian when she was still in Thessaloniki, and advised not to try to come back because there was “no room” in the town for her family now.
“I said to him: ‘You Albanians want to join the EU and from what I know, the English and the Americans respect private property very much. I don’t want yours, I just want my own back. And nobody can deny me that’.”
The UN refugee agency has offered them a new home in a village enclave near Urosevac but they are refusing.
“What would I do in a village?” asks Sani, an architect by profession.
“I have never lived in a village. I know nothing about agriculture. I am ill.
“If we agreed to be relocated to a village enclave somewhere, we know that we, like the other IDPs [internally displaced persons], would never get our home back.”
The newly elected mayor of Urosevac has taken an interest in their case and visited them at the camp this June. They gave him a file of property deeds.
The mayor pledged to ensure their information was processed through the legal system, K-For says.
Last card
K-For also says the Nikolic family cannot stay on the base indefinitely.
After all the family has suffered, and given their ill-health, age and isolation from other Serbs, I ask the women if it is not better to yield and accept a peaceful existence somewhere other than Urosevac – perhaps in Greece, which has they say, offered them asylum.
How can these three women, so proud and outspoken about their Serbian identity, even think of living again in a town that war turned against them?
They admit themselves that they feel uncomfortable in the camp, ever grateful to the Greek army for its hospitality and ever embarrassed about getting in the soldiers’ way.
Sani accepts the difficulty of returning now but her sense of grievance is greater.
“I will be frank,” she says.
“We know that we are like a thorn in the side for the Greek camp because as long as we are here, we are a problem they have to resolve.
“But this is the last card we have to play. We have nothing else to lose.”
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