After 20 years, Chitaku met the woman who took care of her when she was allvanted in the war and gave her the ring from her finger

Citaku has shown how in October 1998, he and a group of foreign journalists had fled to the mountains of Kishnareca, where thousands of inhabitants of surrounding villages were being accommodated.

As she listened to their touching stories, she was allvanied. And for her, it was a woman she calls young, beautiful and smart. Having no money, Chitaku recalls giving her her finger ring.

Chitaku then relates how in 2018 a girl had written them on social networks and told her that the woman she had given her ring was living in Necoc with her family and that she was safe.

Chitaku has shown that these days she met again with Rifadija the woman who gave her the ring during wartime as a sign of thanks for her care.

Read the full story of Chitak on Facebook:

Kishnareca 1998

It's been a warm October day. 1998.

With Haziri Reka and a group of foreign journalists, we were headed to the mountains of Kishareca. For a long time in the mountains of that area, thousands of inhabitants of the surrounding villages were finding refuge.

The road to the mountain area's home was longer and more demanding than we expected. Finally, we found the place where women, older ones, and children were taking refuge. As long as I'm alive, I won't forget the pain, the poverty, the impacts that my eyes saw that day. As a new translator, I had accompanied journalists to combat zones on the sides of Kosovo. I'd seen the cemetery massacre. The war had brought us up prematurely.

But the dead do not speak.

And the women and children who had found refuge between the mountain talked to us. We heard stories of women being expelled from their homes under the hail of bullets and tanks. They had seen their memories and vital labor burn down. Many had lost loved ones. They were holding fast. And they shared everything. Sleep they made in the open mountain.

I don't remember exactly how it happened, but as we were interviewing a young woman, shocked by her confession and what I was looking around, I fell down on the tcuff.

When I came to consciousness after a few seconds, I saw myself on the lap of a pretty girl who was cooling my forehead with a snow towel. In the middle of that poverty I don't know where they found coffee and sugar, but they brought me coffee.

Never in my life have I felt more ashamed of myself. Those girls, my peers lived every day with that terrible reality, and I didn't have the strength to endure one day, even though I was only there for a few hours, plus, I was paid enough for my work. Such a shame.

As ashamed of my weakness, I felt as much fried by the care that my peers in the middle of the mountain were showing me. Imagine, instead of being strong and encouraging, they were strengthening me and caring for me. Especially one of them. Young, beautiful, wise, had offered her life only to the mountain. I wanted to thank him for taking care of me somehow. Money I didn't have, because those of us who went out on the field during the war told us not to carry money with us because it would take Serbian police to our checkpoints.

I took the ring off his finger and I gave it to him. After recovering a little, we greeted ourselves and left for Pristina.

Washington 2018

March weekend in DC. While I was checking the social network messages, one hit my heart. “Hi Ambassador, I'm Starters and I live in Germany. I'm the niece of a war friend of ours. Do you remember this ring? Please write to me. “My eyes filled with tears. Rifhadija, my friend of war was safe and sound. She was married and had three children. He lived in Necoc with his family. She looked just as good and beautiful as 20 years ago. The beginning showed me that Rifadija had been in Kosovo during the entire war. If I ever meet Vlora, this ring has to tell me “. The beginning told me that Refading felt bad about contacting me, but she, head to heart, had decided to bring us back together.

Necoc June 2019

Excited as never before, Haziri and I again took the road we had taken together 20 years ago. The beautiful house at the foot of the mountains had opened the doors for me. Rifadija was left. We hugged with condolences. They brought me my coffee again. But this time I drank it along with Rifadina and her wonderful family, in the garden full of flowers and love.