2025 08 Albania, Shkodra
Every day, Hendrik Darragjati takes his place at a reserved spot in the heart of Shkodra, at one of the cafés. He arrives precisely at 12:00 and again at 20:00. Now 91 years old, he has witnessed the devastation of World War II, endured the oppression of communism, and, since the 1990s, found peace in the quiet charm of his favorite terrace on Rruga Kolë Idromeno — the street named after the Albanian painter, sculptor, architect, photographer, composer, and engineer of the nineteenth century, who helped shape much of Shkodra during the Albanian Renaissance.
Rosa, the waitress, looks after him, though he asks for little. In return, he shares some of his artwork and manuscripts of Ngarje të vërteta — true stories he has written from memory. Beyond his writing, Hendrik is also a painter, a gifted violinist, and most of his life he was a violin teacher. His former orchestra now plays among the angels, he says.
Henrik Daragjati comes from a well-known family in Shkodër, Albania — the Daragjatët. Read more about this on: Memorie.al
His family built some of the first industrial / workshop machinery in Shkodër starting in 1860: factories for tobacco paper, cords for national costumes, silos, socks, etc.
The splendor of that family faded with the arrival of the communists in power in 1944 After that year, their property and possessions were confiscated and some of the men (there were 8 brothers) ended up in prisons and internments. The family, like most, could hardly make a living.
The City in His Lifetime
Hendrik has lived through all that came after the fall of the Ottoman Empire — he experienced the quiet dignity of the royal years under King Zog, the unease of Italian and Nazi occupation during World War II, and lived in the long shadow cast by nearly half a century of communist rule. As a deeply Catholic and intellectual city, Shkodra was hit hard. Churches and mosques were closed, religious figures persecuted, and artists like Hendrik were forced to work in silence or express only what was allowed.
Yet even under pressure, the city’s soul remained intact. For centuries, Shkodra has been known for its rare harmony — a place where Muslims, Catholics, and Orthodox Christians lived side by side in mutual respect. That spirit of coexistence, remarkable in any era, quietly endured behind shuttered windows and closed places of worship, as if waiting for the day it could reemerge.
After the fall of the regime in the early 1990s, the city slowly woke up. The chaos of 1997 tested its resilience, but life returned. Terraces filled, books resurfaced, mosques and churches reopened, and the cobbled Rruga Kolë Idromeno once again became a place for conversation, art, and music.
Now, at 91, Hendrik sits at the edge of that long story — a witness, a storyteller, and a quiet reminder of all that was lived and survived.
The New World
Rosa, on the other hand, is just beginning her life in full. She comes from a small farm in the hills, but unlike her brothers — who take on any job and believe working in Germany will secure their future — her choice was to study Law. As a waitress she earns money on the side, but her true ambition is to one day become a public prosecutor, determined to make a meaningful contribution to her newly awakened homeland.
She is one of many young, entrepreneurial Albanians who see possibility in the future. With the door to the European Union potentially opening, Rosa and her generation are preparing — not to leave, but to build something better here.
Below some of Henrik’s stories with a straight translation of his minimalist style.
Henrik Darragjati
SHKRIME TË SHKURTA Short Writings
Ngjarje të vërteta True Stories
1.Historia e një sahati
The Story of a Watch
Te i mjerë/fatkeqi Nuh Sahatçija, një oficer gjerman la sahatin për riparim.
With poor Nuh Sahatçija, a German officer left his watch for repair.
Me ngut, ushtria u largue prej Shqipnie.
In haste, his army left Albania.
Mas shumë vjetësh, një turist gjerman interesohet për sahatin.
Many years later, a German tourist became interested and inquired about the watch.
Mbas pak minutash mjeshtri i dorëzon sahatin.
After a few minutes, the master handed it to him.
Revista gjermane, me fotografinë e sahatit dhe fjalë të mira, lëvdon sahatçiun shqiptar.
A German magazine published an article about the event, with a photograph of the watch and some kind words, praising the Albanian watchmaker.
Si oficeri ka qenë pronar i sahatit asht ai jo turisti, nisi kolegu të interesue për sahatin.
However a former German officer came forward. He was the original owner of the watch and it was he who left it at this shop.
“Nie Shqipni nuk mund të shkoj, se atje kam ba një krim. Wu dha urdhën me pushkatue.
“I cannot go to Albania, because there I committed a crime. The Wehrmacht gave me the order to execute an Italian soldier, who was hidden by the highlanders.
Unë, zbâtova urdhënin dhe pushkatova.
I obeyed the order and I executed.
E kërcënova se do ta pushkatoj familjen. Ai nxorri djalin e vet të gjallë: ushtarin italian.
We threatened that we would execute a highlander’s family if the hidden Italian soldier was not given up. The highlander brought out his family and I shot the son.
Hijja e atij krimi gjithmonë më ka ndjekë. Prandaj edhe nuk mund të shkojshëm në Shqipni.”
The shadow of that crime has always followed me. That is why I could not go to Albania.
Shkodra ka pasë qytetarë malsorë, burra e burra beset. Gja që e dëshmon edhe sahati.
Shkodra had citizens and highlanders, honourable men of their word. The watch itself bears witness.
2 Natën e mirë Nanë!
Good Night, Mother!
Pranë rrugës që të çon tek vorret, ishte një shpi e vogël e rrethueme me degë pemësh.
By the road that leads to the cemetery, there was a small house surrounded by branches of trees.
Në vorfni jetonte nana me djalin e vetem, por dashnija mes tyne ishte një pasuni e madhe.
In poverty lived the mother with her only son, but the love between them was a great wealth.
Çdo ditë nana kryente punët e shtëpisë dhe prit’te djalin me hanger.
Every day the mother did the housework and waited for her son to return for dinner.
Një ditë të jashtëzakonshme, djali nuk erdhi. E trishtueme, nana doli me gjetë djalin.
One unusual day, the son did not come. Saddened, the mother went out to look for him.
Ma në fund shkoi në polici me ditë ndonji gjâ. Aty i thanë:
At last she went to the police to ask if they knew anything. There they told her:
– E ke këtu djalin.
– He is here, your son.
– Po pse aty? Ai kurrë nuk ka ba keq.
– But why? He never did any harm.
– Patjetër ke marre ndonjë faj.
– Surely he has committed some fault.
E shkretë nanë, nuk hangri e nuk piu, gjindej tue pritë djalin.
The poor mother did not eat or drink, waiting for her son.
Tuj dale drita, e shtrime në tokë, si djali në burg, shtangu papritmas kur ndigjoi zanin e djalit shumë të kjartë: Natën e mirë Nanë!
When daylight came, lying on the ground, and the son in prison, she suddenly froze when she heard her son’s voice, very clear: “Good night, Mother!”
O Zot! A thue me të vërtetë ishte zani i djalit?!
Oh God! Could it really be her son’s voice?!
Shumë e lodhun në trup e në zemër, u çue. Ndëgjoi krisma pushkësh.
Weary in body and in heart, she rose. She heard the gunshots.
Ra në tokë, u bashkue me djalin, n’sa sytë i kish te shtrati e veshët i shungullojshin: Natën e mirë Nanë!
She fell to the ground, united with her son, and in her eyes she still saw him on the bed, whispering: “Good night, Mother!”
Natën e mirë Nanë!
Good Night, Mother!
Fatmjerët ata që vuejtën krimet e komunizmit çnjerëzor.
Blessed are those who suffered the crimes of inhuman communism.
3 Dila, viktimë e nji nane
Dila, victim of a mother
Kur kujdestari shkoi me hapë derën e Kishës, në prag gjeti nji foshnje të braktisun.
When the caretaker went to open the church door, on the threshold he found an abandoned baby.
Zani i dhimbshëm e i trishtuëshëm thirrte nanen.
A painful, sorrowful cry was calling for the mother.
Mbasi u lajmëruen, shpejt erdhne dy murgesha saleziane e me shumë shpirt sakrifice e morën në kuvend.
Once notified, two Salesian nuns quickly arrived, and with much spirit of sacrifice they took her into the convent.
E rahatuen e foshnja u qetësue.
They comforted her, and the baby was soothed.
Meqë u gjet ditën e dile, e pagëzuen me emnin Dilë.
Since she was found on a Sunday, they baptized her with the name Dilë.
Të murgeshat u rrit, u mësue e u edukue.
With the nuns she grew, she learned, she was educated.
Doli në jetë tuj punue në familje të mira.
She went out into life, working in good families.
Çdo të dielë shkote në kishë, aty kalote momente qetësie shpirtërore.
Every Sunday she went to church, where she found moments of spiritual peace.
U ndite e barabartë në mes të besimtarëve të tjerë, lutej e këndote me gjithë të tjerët.
She felt equal among the other faithful, she prayed and sang with all the others.
Vitet kalojshin e Dila gjithnji e vetme, e vetmueme.
The years passed, and Dila was always alone, always lonely.
Në moshë të madhe Dilë vdiq.
In old age, Dila died.
Tashiti nën dhé asht me shumë e shumë të tjerë, aty nuk asht e vetmueme.
Now under the earth she rests with many, many others — there she is not alone.
Kush ishte nana?
Who was the mother?
Pse e braktisi foshnjen e vet?
Why did she abandon her child?
Si e përballoi Dila vetminë? Ishte rast i veçantë.
How did Dila endure her loneliness? It was a special case.
Erdhi në këtë botë e shkretë,
She came into this world forsaken,
Dila, viktimë. nji nane.
Dila, victim of a mother.
4 Vorri i Prelës
The Grave of Prela
Në nji natë të ftohtë në malsi, prifti mbasi kishte krye detyrat e ditës, fiku qirin e fjeti.
On a cold night in the highlands, the priest, having finished the day’s duties, put out the candle and slept.
Edhe kujdestari shkoi në oden e vet me fjetë.
The caretaker also went to his room to sleep.
Mbas do kohe u ndigjue nji trokitje në derën e kishës, mbas pak edhe ma e fortë.
After some time, a knock was heard at the church door, soon after, louder.
Kujdestari hapi derën e u ballafaque me katër trima me armë në brez, nji vajzë të re e nji të moshuem.
The caretaker Prela opened the door and faced four armed men, a young girl, and an old man.
Me ngulm thanë: Na thirr priftin për kunorëzim!
They insisted: Call the priest for the wedding!
Prela i thotë, pse natën, ejani ditën.
Prela told them: Why at night? Come in the day.
Meshtari i detyruem filloi ceremoninë: A e pranon për grue? Përgjigjet: po!
The priest, forced, began the ceremony: Do you take her as wife? The answer: Yes!
Ndërkohë sytë e vajzës me sytë e meshtarit u kuptuen. A e pranon për burrë?
Meanwhile the priest read the girl’s eyes. Do you take him as husband?
Ajo heshti. Njeni prej trimave: thuej moj po!
She was silent. One of the men: Say yes, girl!
Gjatë heshtjes Prela i bjen kumonëve.
In the silence, Prela rang the bells.
Shumë shpejt malsorët me pisha të ndezuna e të armatosun i afrohën kishës.
Soon the highlanders, with torches lit and armed, approached the church.
N’sa trimat të çatrafileum prej sa po ndodhte ikne, Prela mshehi vajzën.
While the men fled in confusion, Prela hid the girl.
Malsorët e siguruen në një shtëpi aty afër. Ma vone e rahatuen tuj e martue larg me një djalë të mirë.
The highlanders secured her in a nearby house. Later they settled her, marrying her off far away to a good young man.
Nusja prej larg falenderoi priftin, Prelën e malsorët.
The bride from afar thanked the priest, Prela, and the highlanders.
Kur trimat mësuen për Prelën, i xunë pritë dhe e vranë.
When the men learned of Prela, they ambushed and killed him.
E, kur nusja mësoi lajmin e zi, u lut për shpirtin e Prelës.
And when the bride heard the dark news, she prayed for Prela’s soul.
Prifti në kuvend me malsorët vendosën që trupin e Prelës me e vorrosë afër Kishës.
The priest together with the highlanders decided to bury Prela’s body near the church.
Gjithmonë njerëzit kanë thanë:
People have always said:
Vorri i Prelës.
The Grave of Prela.
5 Kola i pafat
Kola the Unfortunate
Dy vllazën, n’sa prej pazarit po shkojshin në shpi, panë nji djalosh që po rinte në prag të nji dugaje i merditun. Ata i thanë:
Two brothers, as they returned home from the market, saw a young boy sitting sadly at the shop’s threshold. They said to him:
– Ke po pret?
– Who are you waiting for?
– Kurkan – i tha djali.
– No one – said the boy.
– Pse nuk shkon në shpi.
– Why don’t you go home?
– Shtëpinë e kam larg, në malci.
– My home is far, in the highlands.
– Pse je këtu?
– Why are you here?
– Pramë m’kanë prurë robt e m’kanë thanë: “rri në Shkodër, se jena në gjak”.
– My people brought me here and told me: “Stay in Shkodër, for we are in blood feud.”
– A po vjen me ne?
– Will you come with us?
– Po more, n’ m’ merrshi, jam kah vij.
– Yes, if you take me, I will come.
Rrugës e pyetne:
On the way they asked him:
– Si e ke emnin?
– What is your name?
– Kolë, m’ thonë.
– Kolë, they call me.
Vllaznit shikjuene njeni-tjetrin, njeni prej tetë vllazenve e kishte emnin Kolë, ishte në Itali në shkollë për prift.
The brothers looked at one another: one of their eight brothers was also named Kolë, studying for priesthood in Italy.
Në shpi e rehatuene dhe e veshne shkodrance. Tashma ishte Kolë Darragjati. Ishte shumë i kënaqun, punote e delte si shtatë “vllaznit”.
At home they welcomed him and dressed him in Shkodran clothes. From then on, he was Kolë Darragjati. He was very happy, worked, and went out like the seven “brothers.”
Familjarët diktuene se asht tuj u sjellë nji malcuer në Gjuhadol. Ishte gjakmarrsi, çá kishte hetue dhe gjetë Kolën e malcisë.
The family learned that a highlander was moving through Gjuhadol. It was the avenger, who had tracked down the Kolë from the highlands.
Ata vendosne me e çue Kolën dikund larg. Njifshin nji shkodran të respektuem që jetonte në Amerikë. Atje e çune me nji shumë pares.
They decided to send Kolë away. They knew a respected Shkodran who lived in America. There they sent him, with a good sum of money.
Kola i kënaqun, atje punoi e jetoi.
Kolë, content, worked and lived there.
Fatkeqsisht prej nji sëmundje të shpejtë, i shkretë vdiq.
Sadly, from a sudden illness, the poor boy died.
Shkodrani i bani ceremoni funerale dinjitoze. Familjes Darragjati i çoi foto.
The Shkodran gave him a dignified funeral and sent photos to the Darragjati family.
Në këtë jetë kje tamam:
In this life he truly was:
Kola i pafat.
Kolë the Unfortunate.
6 Kadare: Ku t’i gjej rrënjët e tua o Parti!
Kadare: Where shall I find your roots, oh Party!
Motra e Enverit tha: Kadaretë janë tanët.
Enver’s sister said: The Kadares are ours.
Ai ka shkue për vizitë te Enveri. Kishte shoqni dhe shkonte në mbramje me varzat e djemtë e udhëheqsave.
He went to visit Enver. He had company and spent evenings with the sons and daughters of the leadership.
Nji nga personeli kallxon: “erdhi me nji veturë të bardhë luksoze,” e ka fjalën për Klubinë e gjuetisë në Lezhë, të ndërtuem prej Ciano. Në odën e veçantë ka fjetë ma vonë Enveri e mbas tij edhe Kadare.
One of the staff recounts: “He came with a white luxury car,” referring to the hunting club in Lezhë, built by Ciano. In the special chamber Enver once slept, and later Kadare too.
Për eksodin tha: “Iku jashtëqitja.”
About the exodus he said: “The waste left.”
Edhe ai iku në Francë si i jashtëqitun.
And he too fled to France, as waste.
Kritikoi udhëheqjen.
He criticized the leadership.
“Të shkojmë në identitet.” – tha.
“We must go to identity,” he said.
“Njeri pozitiv, i njoftun dhe i pranueshëm asht Jezu Krishti.”
“A positive, known, and accepted figure is Jesus Christ.”
“Veriu ka pasë zhvillim letrar me Budin e ato të viteve ’30.”
“The North had literary development with Budi and those of the ’30s.”
Nuk i përmendi emnat kolosëve: Fishta, Mjeda, Koliqi etj.
He did not mention the giants: Fishta, Mjeda, Koliqi, etc.
Në një përvjetor u tha: “Fishta asht Homeri dhe nacionalisti i Shqipnisë.”
On one anniversary he said: “Fishta is the Homer and nationalist of Albania.”
Kurse ai, Fishten e quejti: bejtexhi.
But he himself called Fishta: a rhymester.
Nexhmia, tha: “Si poet i ke këndue oborrit, kurse si romancier nuk e han Europa ulli, me të dhanë Nobel.”
Nexhmije said: “As a poet you sang for the courtyard, but as a novelist Europe won’t swallow you whole, to give you the Nobel.”
Makron e bani “Kalorës i madh.” Ishte kështu i vetmi burrë shteti që vlerësoi shkrimtarin.
Macron made him “Grand Knight.” Thus he was the only statesman who honored the writer.
Ceremonia e funeralit ishte si e Enverit.
The funeral ceremony was like Enver’s.
U largue nga jeta pa i gjetë rrënjët e Partisë.
He left this life without finding the roots of the Party.
7 Rusko me sharabajkë
The Russian with the Wagon
Ishte bjellorus. I gjatë, me flokë të gjatë, sy bojëqiell, tip rus. I heshtun e i vetmuem.
He was Belarusian. Tall, with long hair, blue eyes, a Russian type. Silent and alone.
Gjuhën e tij askush nuk e dinte.
No one understood his language.
Komunizmi i kishte pushtue Atdheun. Me shumë kurajo u nis për një botë të panjoftun, me një sharabajkë (karrocë ruse e madhe, me katër rrota e dy kuaj) mrrijti në Shkodër te Jezuitët, mbas nji rrugëtimi shumë të gjatë.
Communism had conquered his homeland. With great courage he set out for an unknown world. With a sharabajkë (a large Russian cart, with four wheels and two horses) he arrived in Shkodra, at the Jesuits, after a long journey.
Pranë kullës së sanës kishte dhomën e gjumit. Në katin poshtë kishte stallën e dy kuajve të mëdhej, të krejt të zezë. Në strehë ishte sharabajka.
Near the hay tower he had his sleeping room. On the lower floor was the stable of two big, completely black horses. The wagon rested under shelter.
Në Bardhaj, Jezuitët kishin fermën bujqësore. Aty banonin e punonin tre fratela. Për roje ishte një qen i madh, qenuj dhe një tjetër pino.
In Bardhaj, the Jesuits had a farm. Three brothers lived and worked there. For guard there was a big dog, a qenuj, and another called Pino.
Rusko me sharabajkë transportonte prodhimet. Simbas rrethanave bujqësore çonte xhakojt për me punue.
The Russian with the wagon transported the produce. Depending on the farm work, he also carried the brothers to their labor.
Në vitin 1946 komunizmi Jezuitët i largoi. Kuajt e katër rrotat i mori komunalja. Rusko nuk u dijt se si e ku e përfundoi.
In 1946 communism expelled the Jesuits. The horses and wagon were taken by the commune. Rusko — no one ever knew how or where he ended.
Rusko iku prej komunizmit rus Stalinist, por e pësoi prej komunizmit enverist.
lass=”yoast-text-mark” />>Rusko fled Stalinist communism, but suffered under Enver’s communism.
Nxanësit e Jezuitëve e kanë njoftë Ruskon me sharabajkë.
The pupils of the Jesuits remember him: the Russian with the wagon.
