He in any other border crossing point.

He cried out, “Militia came home, ordered us to leave the house, we left the village with houses in the flames, some of them were left on the streets, we went by car, to here in Blace.” At the border, the Serbs gave us another order: pockets, or we killed everyone, we paid for our salvation, our lives, and then, quietly, we passed the border to the Macedonians. ” Three hundred meters of infinite sadness. A confession like many others behind the tears of this traumatized man who behaves like a trickster. The water that flows from the sky becomes even more humble, just like humans. When rain and humans mingle and intertwine together. Behind the barricades of the border, they are accumulating saturated, silent and inert. Macedonian police check the documents, as in any other border crossing point. is absurd. A group of policemen to get rid of the practices of a war. Those refugees do not cry. They do not protest. Stand in line, and so on. The water, however, moves. Like human beings.

The trains have become brazen. Look. Pave the way for their sad whistle. They stop in the middle of the Bllaces valley. They calmly download the load of humble people. Then they come back, with those twenty long wagons, and they leave with an unbearable whistle. People then open plastic bags, trying to protect themselves from rain, and wait. A great tragedy is thus consumed in this valley. Someone is alone. Even those who suffer from their inability to stop this sluggish massacre.

“Open, we’re the police,” a powerful voice breaks the mortal silence of the building. “Paramilitaries?” We are confused, lost in our sad thoughts, but if we tried to hide it somewhere? “How to hide a tall man of a meter and ninety?” “Sit down, the police!” My heart beat me hard.What is it for now? Ariana is going to open the door.You’re like fucking. “Weapons, we love weapons. Car keys. Who are you? How many people are you? What are you doing in this apartment? “We do not have a weapon, a car, or a brand.” We are still alive, awaiting the consequences of this expected visit. “You have to leave here. leave the apartment until tomorrow in the midday, “a final order. Residents of the building feel the same after this “visit” of Serbs. Let’s go, leave our homes, be like nobody! Not to be the master of your life. Take my mobile phone, personal documents, and very little underwear. I did not think that would be so. From the building, along with eighty others, tomorrow morning compel us to head for the railway station. I see thousands of other threatened people, from their relatives, to be deported to violence. There is an infinite train, black like a dangerous snake, filled with people to close the eye. With dozens of policemen pushing the deported. It seems surrealistic this scene in front of my eyes. I have no words, I have no tears. I hear you say they are taking us to Skopje. God knows where we are, modern Jews, for us. “Yes, they are deporting us,” says Vetoni. On a 23-train train, a freight train, a train for animal transport. Sodis Pristina for the last time. Who knows I will see it in my life. I’m leaving on a hell journey. From the windows, I see towns and villages in flames. Behind the barricades of the border, they are accumulating saturated, silent and inert. Macedonian police check the documents, as in any other border crossing point, is absurd. A group of policemen to get rid of the practices of a war. Those refugees do not cry. They do not protest. Stand in line, and so on. The water, however, review. As human beings. The difference between their confessions