Whilst sitting on a plane bound for Tirana, the capital of Albania, the realisation of a two year dream (which had been instilled into us by our good friend Yke Visser from the Netherlands) was about to be fulfilled. Little was I to know then, what a huge impact the next eight days would have both in and through us.
Most people’s view of Albania, is that of a little known, small European country governed by a communist dictator, but this is only a brief part of a much longer and richer history. It is a very strong belief among scholars that the apostle Paul in his biblical journeys through Greece, Macedonia and Turkey at one time also visited Illyria, the former name of the region used before the eleventh century. During the 2nd century the Roman Empire occupied the country and subsequently it became part of the Byzantine Empire. After suffering under various other invaders, the Ottoman Turks finally took control in the later part of the1400’s. It was during this time period, that a brilliant chapter was written in the country’s history when an Albanian resistance led by George Scanderberg stood strong against the Ottoman Empire for 25 years from 1443-1468. This valiant stand brought great admiration from the Vatican calling him “the saviour of Christianity” due to the fact that he had held up the powerful Islamic Turks from penetrating deep into Europe. After World War II Albania was governed by a communist regime for 45 years. Due to a number of political and economical reasons the country more or less remained isolated from the outside world.
As we flew into one of the smallest country’s in Europe, bordered by Greece in the south, Macedonia in the east and Serbia on the north, the mountains loomed around us, reminding me of books I had read calling the land “Eagles Country.” My tranquil flight over, I was suddenly confronted by the chaotic bustling turmoil of the Tirana airport. Memories or Africa flooded into my mind as I was pushed and shoved into various queues. Loud voices screamed instructions about baggage in a language very foreign to me and all this in a sub-tropical temperature……and NO AIR CONDITIONING! A hand caught my arm “You must be Martin?” I had arrived in Albania.
Safely installed in a four wheel drive Land Rover which now was bouncing along trying to avoid the numerous pot holes towards the main city, I had been transplanted into a totally new world. It was as if I had been transported back in time over 100 years. There were horse drawn carts, small weather beaten old Muslims walking their solitary cows, shepherds in the fields with their flocks, over laden escorted donkeys and small groups of cross-legged vendors selling peppers, melons and colourful fruits on the side of the road. As I was flooded with new sights, sounds and smells, my face must have shown sheer bewilderment as a black Mercedes passed by. The modern car has become a part of the bizarre melting pot of western imports. Five years ago the capital Tirana had seven cars! Over the next few days I was to learn much about the conflict of the western influenced entrepreneurial Albanian trying to emulate his new found modernism and the more traditional mountain village farmer trying to scrape out an existence from the rocky soil.
Tirana is going through an incredible facelift, as the doors are now open allowing tourism. The hope of money wielding investors from the western country’s has created a conflict between the “haves” and the “have nots.” Crumbling apartment blocks with filled washing lines blowing in the evening breeze rise above the litter-strewn roadways, a backlash to the years of forced dictatorial cleanliness. Fines or imprisonment was the punishment for littering in the bygone communist years. Now piles of litter fill every piece of empty land and the once beautiful small streams struggle to flow through copious amounts of pollution. Against this sad picture of poverty, the satellite TV dish is the only speck of paint that tells you the modern world is creeping in to this country lost in time.
Suddenly, a corner is turned and another side of Albanian culture is met. Each night the centre of Tirana became a colourful vibrant walkway of wonderfully diverse people. The work clothes of the day have been replaced like Cinderella going to the ball. The central park which two years ago had a couple of café’s now contains numerous residences able to accommodate hordes of coffee drinking families, gesticulating, laughing and doing what the Albanians do well, being friendly. In a scene reminiscent of Paris or Milan, it is only a seemingly insignificant statement that reminds me where I am “how else do you think everyone meets their friends, we don’t have phones!”
Yke and Kevin had already been in the country for a day and were getting used to the surroundings. Kevin, jet-lagged from his flight and having had some allergic reaction to penicillin, was covered in a red rash, not a real good start! Our first engagement was a youth service in the cultural palace in the Town Square. Youth is a significant word in the Albanian church, seeing as no one in the country has been a Christian for more than five years. The whole church is young but growing.
Clutching an acoustic guitar and a bag full of percussion instruments, Kevin and I nervously played a few tunes. It is always hard going into new situations, to know how to build a genuine relationship between ourselves and the people we’ve come to serve. We were astounded when people sang along with Kevin’s songs, obviously they had heard them somewhere before. The wonderful sound of worship filled the building; God had helped us yet again to break down the barrier of culture and language using music. Over the next days we were involved in a number of church services and felt the incredible love that God had for this beautiful race of people. The wonderful thing about worshipping with different peoples is how you come away with a new fresh perspective of God. At times we were learning so much I often felt my brain was about to explode. In our seminars we finished with times of questions and answers. It was a very insightful time for Kevin and I. Many western songs have been translated and are being used in the Albanian church. Our suggestions of writing their own songs about their unique perspective of God and using their own indigenous instruments was extremely encouraging to them. It was very humbling to realise God was using us to encourage a relatively new church in the whole area of music and worship.
On our journeys through the country the landscape portrayed an incredible dichotomy, rolling hills, green olive groves and tilled farmland was infiltrated with concrete bunkers and pillars with bayonet type spikes. During the communist dictatorship the people had been deceived into building defences against attack from the west. The pillars were set up to stop an invasion from army parachutists. All information had been cut off from the outside world; no one was to know anything different than what they were told by the government. Protesters were removed and your best friend may have been a government informant, hence fear enveloped everyone. Religion was banned and Albania under its dictator proudly boasted of its belief “There is no God.” It is hard to imagine this was happening only 10-15 years ago.
Two other highlights of the trip were visits to an orphanage and an area of Skopje, Macedonia where we met some Gypsy children. From the moment we started singing in the orphanage smiles, laughter and clapping filled the air, only the multiple orange T-shirts and oversized shoes reminded you of the individual stories they were hiding. After the giving out of sweets and too much excitement, a young boy stood up to give us a taste of his singing accompanied by an accordionist. With upright stature, clenched fists and the veins in his neck popping out, the little lad gave a passionate rendition of an Albanian song. As I sat amongst the children, hands from every direction reached out to hold or touch me and soon their voices rose to join their friends in a cascade of sound.
In Skopje we had a very similar experience with some beautiful Gypsy children. We had taken lots of clothes and shoes up to our contacts there, they were so thankful. One comment stunned us “Oh we’re so glad you brought shoes, some of the children will now be able to go to school!” Apparently children are not allowed to attend school unless they wear shoes. We were also able give a guitar to a young worship leader in the city. The look on his face was a picture. These things which are so simple or significant to us, mean so much to these people.
As I sat on my return flight on the tarmac trying to hold back the tears not wanting to leave a country I had fallen in love with, pictures and memories of new friends flooded my mind. I realised that during my whole trip I hadn’t seen a single video, teaching tape or brightly coloured “in your face” T-shirt, but I had met many people whose love for God and men was a shining light in their personality. The image of Christ was very evident in their lives. We had gone away to try and help a little but it was I who was returning encouraged, stronger, receiving more than we had given out. It reminded me of a lovely quote I had once read:
“But if there is any joy of angels to be had in the flesh,
it is that of finding your soul confirmed in its faith
through the soul of another.”