Operation Tirana
I was walking with a group of kids when a guy came galloping down the road on an ill looking horse. He had no spurs, but was cracking a whip and outrunning the cars. ‘Tirana Cowboy,’ I remarked to a wave of giggles. I was hoping the horse had a radar for the deep square potholes that pepper the streets here. You have to look down while walking around, and not because of dog droppings like in this part of Europe.
Tirana reminds me of pioneer days. The cowboys are in Mercedes and most of the ‘Indians’ I’ve met haven’t hit puberty. Ethnic Albanians seem especially lost in the wave of change. The darker people are, the rougher they seem to live. There are too many children sleeping on the street or being used as bait for the cash that can come with having your heart ripped out. Where is Angelina Jolie I wondered while stepping over children curled up on cardboard mattresses as I crossed the park. I don’t think the grass had been cut since Spring had sprung. A young chap in his older brother’s tracksuit tried to convince us that our football was his. He wanted that ball so badly that we broke down and bought him one for the equivalent of five euro. Chaz looked at me with a straight face and said, ‘feeding homeless dogs and buying footballs for kids, what better life could you have.’ Personally I could find a lot of answers for that, but none of them detract from the truth I felt in his statement. The land of the eagle is humbling and full of limping youngsters.
