Xhevushe (Xheva) was born on November 9, 1977, in Duraj village. She completed primary school in Elezaj (1992) and secondary education at “Skënderbeu” Gymnasium in Kaçanik (1996). Xheva then trained as a hairdresser in Dubravë village.
After establishing the family business “Mërgimi Commerce” and a bakery, Xheva worked as a multifaceted worker and organizer. After meeting Burim Caka from the village of Vatë,Xheva decided to marry him and create a new family.
Xheva vividly remembers the Kosovo war, particularly in Duraj, Sllatina, Vatë, and Dubravë. She lost four brothers, a sister-in-law, and her brother-in-law Burim. Reflecting on the pain, she said, “We never expected good days from Serbs and Serbia, and we shouldn’t expect them.”
April 13, a day of immense pain, marked the loss of 13 freedom martyrs in Vatë. Xheva recalls her refugee journey, first settling in Bojanë, Macedonia, for a month. On May 14, 1999, she was relocated to Austria through the Austrian Red Cross, where her partner Burim was already living.
Sister Xheva takes care of 5 children, two of whom lost both parents, and three who lost their father.(Children of her brother’s ).Today, she lives and works in Austria, and she is mother of five daughters.
It was March 28, 1999. I woke up early and saw Serbian forces surrounding my village, Duraj, with tanks and armored vehicles. My husband’s village, Vatë, was just 500 meters away. I watched helplessly as machine gun fire erupted, and my family gathered in the yard. The shots seemed to be coming from my village, specifically my family’s bakery where my brothers worked.
After the militia left, a horse-drawn cart appeared, carrying something from our house. I later learned that my sister-in-law, Lumnija, mother of two, had been killed in the gunfire. Our cousin, Naim Salihaj, was wounded, and other family members escaped by fleeing through the bullets.
I ran to meet my family in Dubrava, where I found my parents and brother, Kemajli, grieving over Lumnija’s death. The village filled with people offering condolences. We prepared Lumnija’s body for burial, wrapped in blood-soaked clothing. It was a devastating moment.
We had to be extremely cautious and careful because there was still danger, as we were being shelled from all sides. The only shelter for us was the basements. After a while, I returned home, because life had to go on. Pain and fear had joined, had become one. Days passed, but other, more difficult ones came. There were screams, murders, injuries, looting, and burning of villages.
The bakery “Mërgimi Commerce” in the village of Duraj stood as a testament to our family’s endeavors since 1996. One day, we heard that a woman in the Selmanaj neighborhood had been injured and asked for help. This help had been given to her by my brother, Izahir. Izahir had graduated from high school in medicine and could provide first aid. Thus, he had put himself at the service of his citizens, but also of the soldiers, who needed help.
When Izahir returned from the woman he had helped, I asked him: “Hey brother, how did it go and how is the woman’s condition?” His answer was: “Sister, I don’t know what to say! I hope I helped her, but the wound was very big. I hope she survives.” After he was cleaned, he sat down to rest a bit! I still keep the cleaning supplies he left for him as a souvenir; his last toothbrush and toothpaste.
We started talking about the war, about the sacrifice and about the suffering of our people. He told me: – Sister, the situation is getting worse! We are at war. Kosovo is burning everywhere, but I am very sure that freedom is coming. After these words, we went to sleep, not knowing that this would be our last conversation and night with my brother.
The next day, in the early hours, around six o’clock in the morning on April 13, 1999, Tuesday, we were surrounded by Serbian forces. Our other brother, Sabri, informed us about the siege. He told us that we were surrounded by the Serbian army and militia. He told me, because I had woken up earlier. We had many displaced people at home. I immediately called my mother, Kemajli, with his two children, Armend and Argjenda, and my sister Kimeten. Without holding back, I told them that we were surrounded and that we had to get dressed and leave as soon as possible.
We quickly left the house and headed towards the Faiku Stream. I also went back to the cemetery in the village of Duraj, where the reburial of the four martyrs of freedom is taking place, to get bread, cheese, and water. I also took some other food items that we had to take with us, since we also had small children with us. We stayed at the stream for five hours, without moving from our place. There were about 150 men, women, old people, and children there, among whom there were also sick people who could barely stand.
From there, we could see how the Serbian forces were burning houses and killing animals. Life was always difficult. There was not even enough basic food. My brother, Izahir, along with my two brothers-in-law, went to the house to bake bread for the population. While Izahir was preparing the bread, Ilir guarded the door for security. But, at one point, Ilir spotted the Serbian forces and notified Izahir. They ran to come to us, where we were standing.
After a while, we were together, the men separately and the women nearby. Kemajli and Izahir stayed with us for about half an hour. I asked Kemajli for bread, but he said: – No, Xhevë, I am not hungry. I gave Izahir the bread with cheese, he ate a little and leaned on my chest. Kemajli leaned a little on his mother. They were with the children. We were all anxiously waiting to see what was happening. We were surrounded and defenseless.
The army arrived, with an emblem on their chests and the inscription “Tigar” on their hats.
They were dressed in black uniforms! Many of them had black masks on their heads and their faces were not visible! As soon as they asked us where we were, they came towards us, with rifles pointed at us. When we saw the army, we told the boys to leave, so that they would not be captured alive. The boys stood up and ran downstairs as fast as they could. From that moment on, we never saw them again.
Soldiers and militiamen came to us and ordered us not to move. They told us: – If anyone makes the slightest movement, we will shoot everyone! We crouched down, at the mercy of the Serbian Chetniks. We stood there for about two hours, frozen like statues, insulting us with the dirtiest and most shameful language. The men who were with us searched them and then mercilessly beat them with machine gun barrels.
After identifying us, they tore up the documents we had with us. During those mistreatments, they put the barrel of the machine gun to the throat of the old man, Brahim Caka, saying: – We will kill you all! In those moments of life and death, my mother began to have serious heart problems. Trying to give us courage, she often told us: – Oh, my daughter, our fate is in God’s hands! Hopefully the boys will be saved, because it’s not my fault! Seeing that these worries had brought my mother to the brink of death, I tried to convince her that all the boys had been saved.
However, to our bad luck, not far from us, about a hundred meters away, later we found my two brothers killed in the stream, among many others; Sabri and Kemajli. Their murder occurred at the moment when the Serbian paramilitaries heard the children’s cries. Two shots were heard at 9 am, which took the lives of my two brothers.
After the army and the militia left, we started looking for our relatives who were not with us. A young boy from the village of Rakaj, about 13 years old, was telling someone that two brothers from the village of Duraj had been killed. Hearing the whispers of the people, especially that boy, I quickly approached him and asked him: – What happened, please tell me!? He told us that two brothers had been killed in the stream.
After receiving this terrible news, I took my sister-in-law, Xharije, and that boy from Rakaj to show us the place where the dead were. As we went, we brought the 13-year-old boy back, because we didn’t want him to see the bodies and, as a young man, he could be traumatized. When we went down to the stream, we found the bodies of Sabriu and Kemajli next to each other, head to head, sitting together, near an oak tree, each shot in the chest. The pain was bigger, as heavy as the sky and the earth.
The people there were helping each other to get their relatives, who had been killed by the bullets of the Serbian barbarians! After we had recovered a little and found out who had been killed, I went to my parents, who were anxiously awaiting news about the fate of their sons. I approached my mother with special care so that I could somehow tell her and console her about the murdered sons.
As soon as I approached her, the terrible premonition almost overcame her, she let out a half-hearted sigh and said to me: – Oh, daughter, tell me exactly what happened to the sons, where were they? Questions that would put you in the ground alive. How can you run away and not tell a mother about the fate of her sons?!
- Mother! Mother! Stay strong! Mother! Your two sons and my brothers have passed away, we found them killed; Sabri and Kemaj. After this tragedy we still had hope, that Izahir had escaped. How we prayed that this would be true. Terrible hope! This hope was given to us by a girl from the village of Kastrat, when she told me: – Izahir is up there. He is alive! (It was only a trick, but not intentional)
- Oh, how happy I was! My brothers have come back to life, – I said! One of the brothers, at least, has escaped. This hope quickly vanished. I saw four people, who were being carried in blankets; three wounded and one was killed! The killed one was my younger brother, Izahir, 17 years old. Then I could not hold back and shouted: – Oh, Izahir too! Ah, wretched me for my brothers! I let out a sigh of death accompanied by a shower of tears!
I saw my father-in-law, Osman, who told me, restrained by pain: – Ilir was also killed at the Lepenc River, along with Izahir! How I regained control of myself, I don’t even know. I turned to my father-in-law: – Stay strong, we also lost three brothers today!
With pain, we collected the bodies and placed them downstairs in the house of Sylejman Qamil Caka. The entire population of that area had gathered there, coming from the villages of Dedaj, Rakaj, Baica, and others. In this pool of pain, we not only had the killed but also the wounded and seriously ill. My mother suffered from a blocked artery in her heart, and Doctor Ekrem Deda took care of her health.
The doctor, with tears in his eyes, spoke about our brothers: “These respected and beloved boys were killed at a young age.” The deep sighs we let out seemed to shake the mountain, moving it to and fro. The wise and respected old man, Tefik Caka, also had these pains. He sat on a rock on the upper side of the shore, encouraging us to hold on and become strong.
“My mind would occasionally go to my mother, when she would ask: ‘Ah, my daughter, what did you tell me! But Izahir, where is he?’ These questions from my mother remained in my mind forever, as unforgettable questions!
That fateful day, among the 15 killed were Sabriu, Kemajli, and Izahir Salihaj, Jakup and Ilir Caka, Shiqeri Halili from the village of Rakaj, who received 8 bullets in the body, Ramadan Xhokli, Hysen Elezi, and two others from the village of Lamaj. My brothers were shot in the chest, while Izahir was shot in the back.
The next day, at 1:30 p.m., the burial of the dead was organized in the village of Vatë, precisely in the Cakëve neighborhood. The graves were dug with an excavator by Isuf Tifeku, and each grave had an identification number. After the burial of our brothers, we had no choice but to go across the border with Macedonia. We took refuge in the village of Bojanë, near Tetovo. While crossing the border, Serbian militiamen robbed us, demanding 500 DEM (German marks) for each person as a condition for crossing the border.
