like every morning we struggle to rise up out of bed… we had a meeting with the OSCE (The Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe) so we were all excited about meeting an organisation that rivals UNICEF in terms of size! got down to the bakery with the usual order of a couple pan a chocolates and mendander down.

suddenly Mark and Will realise that we have no idea what to talk to OSCE about. Securitisation? By now Mark has got into the habit of asking for ‘logistical and technical support.’ However, on each encounter he is calling their bluff seeing as none of us have any idea what it really means.

When we get there we are put through the usual surrendering the passports, scanning, the usual jokes about ‘Baghdadi’, and proceed up stairs. We meet klement, blerim and another OSCE associate. Coffee time for all. we go through the repetitive speil of how heroes aren’t born on trees, in essence we are selling the brand ’save the world’.  The OSCE have a couple of potential projects that we could send students to but they don’t really have that many people on the ground so not sure how much we could work with them. Mark asks the common question, ‘can we use your logon on our website’. They all look at us as if to say, ‘is that all you want?’. Will being the saviour of the day interjects and says ‘on specific projects that OXAB are involved with’.

The meeting is tied up  and all the pleasantries are run through and we part ways… now it’s off to Mitrovica. Will we venture into the north? who knows.

We walk down to the Pristina bus station, have a last minute wee, find the correct bus and all board. Joking that we only need a one way ticket, spirits are high and we are all making jokes about what we are getting ourselves into. Hero Will is talking about how he wants to save lives and is excited about the trip, he’s so dreamy.

We drive pass several run down factories, go through the country side, steel communist artifacts and finally the bus stop, South Mitrovica. We walk into town, the feeling is tense. I am not sure if it is all in my head or if it the people around us that are all on edge. We walk towards the bridge, dividing North from the South, and talk to some police. They suggest that we don’t cross over, if we have no reason to be there then there is not point in taking the risk. We walk on and get to the bridge, all winding each other up about how it might kick off at any point. Will is sure that he will cross, Mark and I are a little bit more hesitant. We get to the edge of the bridge and chat to another bobby, Kosovan this time.  He repeats the same thing, ‘as a friend I am saying don’t cross.’ When we asked if it was safe he said, ‘right now it is but you never know and at any point it could become a war zone.’ For the first time I felt like a lad on tour, frozen conflicts are pretty laddy if you ask me. We have come this far, the tension is building, and we all really want to have a look at the other side. We decide to cross, we are told that it should be fine as long as we don’t go past the Serbian flags on the other side.

We take the first couple of steps onto the bridge. There is bar wire all over the place, cars with no number plates, police litter either end, Will then whips out his camera and suddenly the tension dissipates as the phone shoot begins. We all document the occasion, making light of the situation is always the best thing to do. We get to the other side, bordering the North, a couple of police come up to us and tell us to get off the bridge, and tell us that we are not allowed to just walk up and down for fun, either come over or go back. We decline the offer to join them in the North so retreat down to the safe South.

After saying good luck and goodbye to the friendly police we go to get some post cards. We bump into some French soldiers and ask to have photos taken with them, such a friendly couple of people. They all pose and we stand by them as Will clicks away (think they should be on the blog by now). We then walk around and hunt for some lunch. We have kebabs, these aren’t just any kebabs though, they are good, i mean really good. Drenched in Mayo and Ketchup, fantastic. So, feeling content with our lunches, we head for a caf to make sure that Mark’s caffine levels don’t fall below critical. We get in and speak English, probably a mistake. Two groups of lads just stare at us. Apparently they are speaking Serbian and don’t like the Americans or English, I don’t know why. We stick it out and stay for the drink and a chat but not much longer.

After walking around for a bit we and decide to head for the bus. As we get down the main street we pass a bakery, I can’t remember who thought let’s pop in but Mark wanted a peice of cake and that means that Marks having a piece of cake… great idea if you ask me. We sit and eat and chat to the baker about the situation and he tells us about how it is the Serbs that are making things hard for them in the South. He explains why the English and the Americans are respected. We eat up and pay, amazingly somewhere near the going price.

Ask we get to the bus we all decide to make one last minute toilet stop, see the WC signs and think quids in. So we walk into this cave, it is the bus shelter but nothing like I have seen before. There are no lights, it is cold and moist, and the smell, well you can’t imagine sitting there in the warmth of you room but I can tell you it was an experience. The best things however was having to pay for the privilege. Genius.

We get on the bus and we follow procedure. All asleep within the first twenty minutes and don’t wake up till Pristina.

Getting off the bus and feeling groggy we head for the Maxi, supermarket, and search like hunter gathers to fill our stomachs. We walk past a counter with a clear shield guarding it, we see body after body of animal, and start to get excited. The guarding warrior looks at us knowing that he trade will fair well and that he has ample supply of food to sell the excess for blood or money. We agree money would be best and get some small meat shaped discs. We leave with the meat, a couple of cakes and about 15000 wafers.

Going home we stop off at the local shop and grab some tomatoes, chilis and beer. The shop keeper know the routine so he no longer helps us weigh anything… feelling like a local now. We get back, cook, discuss the days events, Will insists on discussing feelings, how exciting the potential projects are, and after a wile head for bed.

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After the excitement of the night before at the opera, we have a good sleep and wake up relatively early to set up meetings via phone and email, with REC (Regional Environmental Centre) and KWN (Kosovo Women’s Network). This is followed by our customary walk down into the city, via our bakery and the language barrier that it so well illustrates. This day, unfortunately, a rogue pain au jam makes its way into our order of six pain au chocs. Needless to say, Luke, the recipient of this pain au joke, is not best pleased. In fact, it would be safe to say that he is inconsolable.

Once we’d taken some time to recover from this trauma, we walk down to the city centre for our meeting with Arbena from UNICEF. The meeting point is right outside the Ministry of Culture, Youth and Sport (MKRS). Fortunately, we gave ourselves plenty of time, because our journey ends up taking a lot longer than planned: we walk to each end of the main pedestrianised strip, Nina Tereze (Mother Teresa), looking for the big orange building that Fazz told us to go to. It ends up being right in the middle, a building which we had immediately dismissed earlier in the day. In the meantime, we go to the Parliament building at the one end, and the Grand Hotel at the other, where the concierge helpfully (but inaccurately) directs us up the steps to the first floor of the hotel, in broken German. We are promptly told that, no, the Ministry is not on the first floor of this hotel. It’s just down the road. Still, we get to the meeting point ten minutes before our scheduled time. I suggest that we get an espresso to help the conversation move more fluidly, but my idea is unhesitatingly shot down by my colleagues.

Arbena is a very nice woman from Macedonia who has worked for UNICEF in Kosovo for about a decade. She takes us just round the corner to a small restaurant called Soho, where we sit down for an extended business lunch. We start out by presenting ourselves, who we are, our history, and our plans for Kosovo. She follows by explaining the great scope of the work that UNICEF do in Kosovo. We discuss how we might be able to work together - possibly by sending interns to work at UNICEF Kosovo (although we would have to properly structure this internship), and also by sending volunteers to work at centres around Kosovo, the contact details of which she agrees to send us. We then turn to the by now standard discussion on ethnicity and nationalism, the two hot topics on which everyone has something to say here. We begin to learn of the great gulf that separates the ethnic groups here: even after eight years, community relations, particularly between the two main ethnic groups, are tense and fragile. The Roma group is another one that faces particularly discrimination and poverty (a story repeated throughout the Balkans and the rest of Europe), partly because some Roma joined the Serbs in the 1999 war and others the Albanians.

Shortly after 2pm, we thank Arbena for meeting us and head off to meet Valbona from SDSF, at XIX restaurant, near the OSCE. It should be noted that XIX is pronounced “xeex”, rather than 19; without this helpful hint from the guidebook, who knows what could have happened. We arrive a bit early for our 1430 meeting and get started early on the macchiatos, digesting and discussing the previous meeting. After only five or ten minutes, Valbona arrives, flanked by two colleagues from her organisation “Shpresa & Shtëpitë e Fëmijëve”, or SDSF. Her organisation seems really interesting and something that we all felt we could contribute to. SDSF is based around a family home which takes in up to 12 children at a time. All the children have come from particularly difficult and sensitive circumstances - often victims of trafficking or abuse. SDSF takes in children from across Kosovo, and with absolute indifference to ethnicity or statehood, as was evinced by the current composition of their centre. For the children, they provide clothing, education (through local schools), pocket money, and above all, loving care and attention.

In the past, volunteers from Ireland have come and helped to provide such individual care and attention, along similar lines to the way OXAB currently operates in Bulgaria and Bosnia. SDSF’s funding is currently under review, but if they are still provided with funding after February 2009, we would hope to be able to send volunteers out from the summer. We certainly hope that this funding is forthcoming because the work that the centre provides seems to be invaluable. Recently, SDSF sold two old cars with the intention of buying one new one. However, Valbona took the decision that it would be better to refurbish the centre and with help from local businesses, she carried out work valued at about €20,000 for something like €5,000. This shows that there certainly is a significant volunteering culture in Kosovo which we need to tap into and help to nurture.

After an hour or so, we leave the meeting buzzing with the potential for cooperation on this project. At this point we get a sudden brainwave: as we’re opposite the OSCE headquarters, why not pop in and ask for a meeting? We had tried this last Friday at UNMIK with no success, but this time we have something else: Arbena from UNICEF’s job title, “Communications Director”. Armed with this secret password and our business cards, we go into the OSCE’s reception and ask to speak with the aforementioned job title. The receptionist (he was more of a guard, actually) put us on the phone with the Deputy Spokesperson of the OSCE headquarters. This is a bit too high up for us so we are passed down to Blerim, the OSCE’s Director of Higher Education for Kosovo. We briefly outline who we are and what we want - mentioning all the buzzwords, including Oxford University, 15 years’ work, in Pristina until Friday. Blerim agrees and the meeeting is set for 9am the following morning!

Chuffed at how easy the whole process was of getting a meeting with such a renowned international institution, we head over to our Internet café just off Bill Clinton Blvd. There are certainly cheaper and more conveniently located places in Pristina but OXAB’s loyalty knows no bounds. We set up lots more meetings for later in the week and write up the blog. At this point, an recognising the fact that we had been in the Internet café for quite a while, we decide to head back up to the apartment. We stop off at supermarket no.1 at the top of No. 1 Tetori, the thoroughfare that we use to get down to the city every day. The map incorrectly marks it out as a main road; in actual fact, it’s (mostly) a one-way street with copious amounts of seemingly reckless drivers. The standard purchase is yet again spam, tomatoes, peppers and onions. We get back to the apartment, cook, write up the projects from the day, and arrange yet more meetings for the coming days. With our early meeting at the OSCE the next morning, we head to bed, satisfied with the day and looking forward to the rest of our busy week.

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New Years' Concert

We’d been up late the night before; Luke had suffered more with his shot of JD inside his pint (it’s how Finns drink apparently).  We leave late with plans only to make more plans because there is nobody to meet on Sunday.

We take the liberty to take more photos than usual on our way to the centre. We stroll down the steep hill through a park rebuilt by the international community.  Luke and Mark get increasingly annoyed at the number of photos as I snap away, but they relax in the end through sheer perseverance.  We miss our standard bakery trip and go in search of food in the centre.  We walk by the University of Pristina, but many of the bars and cafes are closed.  However, cafe Bosna is open, and there is therefore a clear opportunity for a hearty meat and bread lunch.

The cafe is not cold thanks to the gas fired almost blowtorch contraption which is roaring away next to the large gas canister.  We order kebabs for lunch.  We get given two sauces. One is obviously tomato ketchup and the other is in a yellow container which may well be mustard or mayonnaise in the UK. I shake this over my food, but quickly realise it’s oil. Luke confirms it’s unflavoured and we all wonder why anyone might want to add more oil to something which has so much oil already!  The bread, as always, is like a large pita bread but thick and filled with grilled meat.

We discuss our plans for the following week over a customary macchiato and make a large list of people to get in contact with the following week. We have learnt our lesson from attempting to “talk to the UN” and decide that an approach of contacting individuals or at least guessing their title is the correct way to go in order to get more potential projects. We even use the guidebook to get some names.

We get a text from our Kosovar friends who are at a bar on the other side of town and we decide to go for another macchiato. We arrive at the large coffee bar which always has young people sipping macchiatos and chatting or reading magazines. This could be anywhere in Europe, and in fact there is much to recommend these cafés over those in the UK.  For a start the coffee is much better and cheaper!  We meet our friends who we chat with for an hour or so, we communicate mostly in English but get taught some Albanian too.  We have an interesting conversation surrounding identity and what a Kosovan might be and how Serbians might be integrated into this identity.  Again we get the abrupt Albanian ending to meetings, which is perhaps refreshing but also always quite surprising.

We notice Agroni and Lu, the brother and girlfriend of Faz, walk into the coffee bar we are in. We go over to say hello and they invite us over. We chat for a while about what they are up to and their experience of English tuition. Agroni expresses an interest in going over a few issues, and I get a chance to use some of my English language teacher training. This means conversation moves slower, but it really feels as if he’s making progress.

We are then asked if we would like to go to a concert at the national concert hall. Naturally Agroni knows a soloist who is singing in the concert. We gladly accept and walk across town and beyond the “NEW BORN” sign unveiled with independence a few months ago. These are large yellow metal blocks covered now in public art and graffiti and used by children as a climbing frame, although this seems a rather dangerous activity.

We meet Agroni’s friend who is wearing black tie and appears not to be too concerned about his upcoming performance.  We sit in the concert hall which is lit by interesting fixtures above, light bulbs connected with pinkish tubes although it seems as if not all the bulbs are on.  We sit on stackable chairs which are arranged in rows, but even these in combination with the balconies is not enough to accommodate all those watching and there is standing room only for the performance which might have come from a classical music top 20.  Tracks from Carmen, Tosca, Trubadur and more are played with many different soloists taking the stage. The quality of the full orchestra is undeniably good and it is filmed by state television. New Year is celebrated after a count upwards to eleven in German. The attitude of the audience is somewhat more relaxed than in the UK with applause at moments which are considered extra good and one man in the row in front even is able to answer his phone!

Although we have not done as much as we had done during the week we are still tired so after we part ways we walk back to our apartment. We buy food from the local shop and Mark cooks. We are still unable to tell the difference between chillies and peppers and it also seems as if they are not separated in shops either.  Regardless we have a good meal and retire to bed early in order to be ready for the busy week we had planned during the day.

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We woke up about 10 trying to make it to Fazz’s for 11-12 for a traditional Albanian lunch. Will, Mark and I all struggled to convince ourselves it would be a good idea to get up, knowing that at some point last night’s beer and dancing were going to take their toll. After needles messing around, showering and whinging we leave the flat and wonder down to the bakery, as is now customary. Mark continues the trend of over paying but this time tries to take someone elses food… they were not overly happy.

 We eat the chocolate buns and progress to what we thought was the bus stop, we waited and nothing happened. Unsure we walked further down the road. Causally parked half on and half off the pavement was a man shouting ‘Podejeva!’ Will and I assure Mark that ‘it will be fine. He looks nice enough.’ We hope in and wait. The driver tries to make some last minute sales by shouting at people as they walk past, sometimes he uses the surprise softly spoken attack, luring people into a false sense of security so they are seduced into going somewhere they didn’t originally think they would. It costs us a euro each and we get to Podujeva.

We meet Fazz, Agroni (Fazz’s Bro), Lu (Argoni’s girlfriend) and another cousin for a coffee. We are presented with art and exhibition catalogues that are outstanding. Fazz had talked about the quality of work his artists produce but I had no idea just how amazing it was going to be. ‘Fragile State’ exhibition really illustrates and reflects the people’s emotions about the political situation in the country. Using steel left over from weapons a face was created by one artist that is terrifically horrific. It really showed the mutilation capabilities of war and the exposure people had to the events that took place – I suggest that you try and get hold of the ‘Fragile State’ booklet to see what I mean.

After the coffee and the art talks we were whisked off to Fazz’s mum’s house for a traditional Albanian lunch. The house itself was an art exhibition. I forgot to say that Agroni is an artist, Fazz’s father paints, so does his uncle and all to an incredible standard. It was amazing to see it all. After 10 minutes the food started to come. Soup, then a plate of cheese and pastry, bread, chillies and tomato, yogurt and all in vast quantities emerged from the kitchen. A feast fit for kings. We chatted about the customs of Kosovo, how to behave at the table, what was acceptable in bars, that sort of thing, in an attempt to look cultural. We ate and ate and ate. I was curry full, ready to pop and when the fire got going it was perfect napping conditions, so I lay back and took 20 minutes out of my day to rest my eyes.

After the food Fazz suggested that we go and see his uncle’s art studio. A classis eccentric artists hang out. Up a track and in all alone so there were no distractions, perfect for focussing his thoughts and getting the art just how he wants it. When we went the sun had set and there is no electricity, so by paraffin lighting we saw some of the works and established that only Will and Fazz would be happy to live there. Mark and his OCD would not last a week! Then we came across some shells, tank shells, large solid steel tank shells that were found and picked up. Once again we were reminded of the conflict, it is now hidden and but does occasionally show its face. It was a very sobering experience. But as they say life goes on and now there is much to do, so all we can do is agree and take that same approach, much healthier if you as me then dwelling on it.

After the mini adventure we got a lift back into Podujeva and the bus back to Pristina, we all fell fast asleep and woke up just in time for our stop. Being lazy and because of the rain we got a taxi. Back in the hostel will messed around then Yole, a Fin was on the computer outside our door so we invited him in. Yole was travelling to Istambul to meet his brother. We went for some food in a café, luckily Mark didn’t choose or we would have been thousands out of pocket. We spoke about the reservation of the Finish and the difference between the two countries education systems, all very high level stuff for a first encounter, but that is what Mark seems to like, cutting the small talk and heading to the head of social problems, much more interesting than ‘isn’t the weather lovely.’ We then got onto cycling and Mark, Will and I all agreed to go cycling around Finland sometime this summer! It turned out that Yole used to be a cycling courier, which not only makes him slightly insane but also an absolute hero in my mind.

We moved bars and Mark and Will got talking to an international policeman from the UK. As Mark introduced himself, saying he was from Birmingham, the bloke replied, without a hint of sarcasm, ‘are there any white people left there?” oh great, that is one way to uphold the multicultural aspects of the UK. They were both taken back by the comment and did not pursue any more conversation with him. After that we then discussed the problems of ethnicity and identity, something that you really can’t get away from in Kosovo, people see themselves as Serbian, Albanian, Kosovan, or a mix, a perfect opportunity for someone wanted to do an incredibly interesting dissertation! Once again time flew past and before we knew it 4 am had approached.

We walked back to the hostel and all fell asleep with new ideas, realisations and problems that are faced all over the world. .

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Meeting with Afrim at Handikos

We got up fairly early and after the customary pain au chocolats and broken discussions about payment in the local bakery, we headed into town for our 11am meeting with Handikos, 20 or 30 minutes outside the centre, near Hajvalia. It was fortunate that we gave some time for this journey as we accidentally went the wrong way and had to double back.

Handikos is an organisation founded in the 1980s, aimed at advancing the situation of and attitudes towards disabled people in Kosovo. It has had some success: as its director Afrim told us, Kosovo has significantly better attitudes towards and provisions for disabled people than is the case in other countries in the region. Nevertheless, it really is still an uphill struggle: Handikos manages 13 centres across Kosovo with just €150,000. While Kosovo has pretty good disability protection and support laws, the reality is that enforcement and implementation is often much more patchy. Most ramps that you see in the Pristina are as a result of Handikos’ work, for example. Disabled people in Kosovo get a ‘pension’ - a term Afrim dislikes - of just €30 a month.

We are constantly reminded of the importance and significance of community in Kosovo. Without large families and a tradition of neighbours helping neighbours, life for the disabled people here, while still very tough, would be that much harder. Handikos has a big network of volunteers to help people, particularly in rural areas where the problems are that much more acute than in the big cities. The centres also work with people spanning the ethnic divides, which seems somewhat unusual here, given the strong feelings between the communities. At the same time, the ethnic Serbs only come to the centre in Pristina in the evenings, after ethnic Albanians have left.

We are shown round the large centre on the outskirts of Pristina, overlooking the city on a hill. It’s a spacious building with lofty ceilings and large glass windows giving a view of the surrounding area. This is all very well but it also makes it very expensive to heat during the winter - and with such a small budget, funds are tight.

Afrim wants to underscore the importance of stability. He is of course grateful for the support that he has received in the past from international organisations, but points to the necessity of long-term giving. The vehicles in the centre in Pristina are a very good example. Several international organisations have kindly donated cars and vans for them to use, but there is then no support for the long-term costs of running these expensive vehicles - money for fuel, drivers, insurance and taxes. If OXAB commit to support organisations like Handikos, we need to ensure not only that we can do so for an extended period of time, but also that we are actually helping.

We leave Handikos with a greater sense of the problems that institutions like Afrim’s face. We walk 5 minutes down the road to the bus stop and just as we approach, a bus helpfully pulls in! We jump on the bus and take the the 40c journey to the bus station. The bus station itself turns out to be slightly out of the centre (not far - nowhere is too far in Pristina), and on the 20-minute walk into the centre we pass a Kebab restaurant, very common in Kosovo. At only about €1.50 for a tasty and filling meal of kebabs and tea, we leave very satisfied.

We wander back into town and decide it would be a good idea to get UNMIK, the United Nations Mission in Kosovo, on board with our proposals. We walk up to the UN compound in the centre of town and explain ourselves to the guards. Satisfied, they allow us to pass stage one and move on to the receptionist, stage two of the security apparatus. We wip out the business card and briefly explain what we do. Unfortunately, she asks the killer question: who do you want to talk to? Our reply is less than impressive. “Erm, you know, just someone at UNMIK. Who do you think we should meet?” There are three main problems with this response. Firstly, she doesn’t know. Secondly, UNMIK is quite a large organisation. Thirdly, EULEX is taking over many of its functions, so we should really be speaking with them. She provides us with their address - they don’t yet have a phone number, having only started on Tuesday - and after (unsuccessfully) attempting to palm off a business card in case she bumps into someone suitable, we leave.

By this time, it’s getting late and so we head back up to the apartment to drop our things off. Afterwards, we head back down to the centre and meet Fazz at Caffe Z, a small and comfortable place near the large ProCredit Bank building. (It’s actually between that bank and another Raffeissen Bank; banks and mobile phone companies seem to be ubiquitous in Kosovo.) Caffe Z has leaves in the table, under the glass top.

The first order is a round of large Peja Beers and Coke for Fazz. Peja seems to be the only Kosovan beer in Kosovo, but it’s very good which is just as well. We discuss our developing ideas about OXAB Kosovo being a partnership between Oxford and Pristina Universities. Five students (say) from each university go and work together on projects in Kosovo. This seems to be better than just sending Oxford students, because it helps break through the language barrier, skills can be exchanged between the two groups of students, and hopefully a greater (and more continuous) culture of volunteerism will remain in Kosovo after the Oxford students go back home. Satisfied and agreeing with our revolutionary plans to change the world, Fazz heads back to Podujeve, and we carry on with the Pejas in Caffe Z. We were initially under the impression that between 1700-1930 it would be happy hour at 50c a beer; in fact it turned out to be 50c off the €2 price for half a beer. We carried on anyway.

After several beers and making new friends with the waiter Vlla, we head out to another bar in town, Caffe Kontra. Unfortunately and shockingly they have stopped serving macchiatos by this point so we settle for Pejas. At this point Will goes over to a group of girls (and boy) and asked where they are heading on to. None the wiser we end up walking round the Palace of Youth and Sport to an underground (?) club called Harem, which really is like it sounds. Lots of exposed brickwork, drapes hanging from the ceiling and Middle Eastern music. We dance rather awkwardly and unsuccessfully for a while before heading back home ready for another day.

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