And they dance into the night...

The night was quiet, another Thursday in Pristina, Kosova. But the sounds of voices began floating through our curtains, disrupting the peace. A few of the kids in the group - Justin, Anna and Lauren - came into Austin's and my room asking if we know what was going on outside. Austin and I had no clue. We, along with Lauren, just finished a run through the city, which led us up Mother Teresa Boulevard, down a few side streets and eventually to a city park that was beaming with life - children playing soccer and basketball, locals sitting on benches sipping drinks and talking, couples sprawled across the grassy coves whispering to one another and kissing as if no one could see them. So, we jumped from our idle positions and looked out the window. A mob of bodies was forming, congesting the streets and all entrances to the hotel. Mercedes Benz SUVs, Volvos and Audis fought their way through the mess of people, horns blaring. From our fifth floor vantage point, we could see young men in suits and sequins from girls' dresses sprinkled throughout the mess of people. We had to find out what was going on.
I took a quick shower, grabbed a notepad, a camera and went to work.

Justin and I entered the lobby of the Grand Hotel. Through the sliding glass doors, we saw hundreds of bodies, all packed together behind yellow ropes wrapping the perimeter of the carport of the entrance to the hotel. We went outside and immediately felt hands grab our shoulders. "Get back behind the ropes," a man in a dress shirt and argyle sweater said to us. "We're staying here," we replied. He was instantly apologetic as a smile crossed his face. He told us these kids are crazy, gathered here to celebrate senior prom for the graduating classes of two high schools in Pristina. In the crowd are kids ranging from 10-years-old to adults in their 40s and 50s. And the noise keeps growing louder as more bodies join the mix.

When you hear about Kosovo in the states, it's the stereotypical rundown - war-torn, impoverished, scary, third-world. At least those were the images and associations presented to me from many people. But this scene was anything but that. Luxury cars, designer clothes, jewelry, cameras, every aspect of a commercial pop culture was present outside our hotel. It looked like the Grammy Awards or the Oscar's, not a high school prom. But the more I learn about this place the more sense it all makes...




...Family is everything here. You don't see homeless people on the streets because, as a girl with golden bangs (who I will get to in just a bit) told me, people always have a family to turn to in times of need. So, families turned out en mass to celebrate their loved ones' transition to the next tier of life. They cheered and screamed, knowing this group of youth will be entering a newly-free nation as graduates. This is the second graduating high school class who will know what it feels like to have real opportunity in a political and economic sense. Yet, the statistics are working against them. As I mentioned in "Culture Shock," Kosovo's unemployment rate is soaring, approaching 50 percent. They have the highest unemployment rate in all of Europe. And these kids are left to deal with that, to embark on a new chapter in their life with that in the back of their minds.

But fuck that, for now. On June 4, 2009, these kids wanted to party, forgetting about the harsh realities of the world represented by statistical bullshit. "We're going to party all night!" one kid said to me when I asked him what the celebration was for. "We graduated. This is our night." And who can argue with that? Who can remind a fresh-faced young man with a beautiful girl on his arm that this world is full of political nonsense? Not me. Not that night. I told them to have fun. And if security would let me in, I'll be dancing right along side them.

In a city pummeled and crushed only 10 years ago by rockets and bombs, this is a perfect juxtaposition. Now, they are deafened by the cheers of friends and family and blinded by flashing camera bulbs...

What to expect?

It's 12:30 a.m. in Kosovo. I am in prayer position - knees on the floor, elbows on the bed - with my laptop opened in front of me. In 8 hours I'll be going to my first day of work at Kosova Live, the country's first independent media organization, as a reporter. But for now, it's time to reflect, it's time to think about what comes next.

I'm pretty sure my roommate Austin is doing the same thing as me right now, blogging. What are we writing about, I ask him. Observations of the past few days, he responds. And I suppose that's valid subject matter. These past few days have been a trip. A full day's traveling. No sleep. A plane crashing in the Atlantic a few hours before our flight departs over the blue beast. My luggage lost somewhere in Vienna, Austria. Beers at the airports. Beers in the hotel lobby. Conversations over beers with my new colleagues and friends. Those are some tidbits, but they are nothing out of the norm. I don't know if I'm experiencing culture shock, but I just don't know where to begin with my thoughts.

Journalism - I'll start there. That's what we are here to do - report, write, edit, write, report, talk, write, edit, share ideas, write. The news cycle is upon us. Yet, I've encountered maybe 3 people in Kosovo who can speak English well enough for me to envision having a conversation with them. And I'm nervous about that. Today we talked about the role of a journalist for some hours amongst our group of 10, and the conversation was great. What came out of it was the concensus that to be a good journalist you have to remember what your mission is - to facilitate a conversation with the public, the audience, the people, to the best of your ability. You must tell them what is going on through description and observation. You must relate to them by interacting in a pure way, a way that lets them know you are a part of the conversation because you care, not simply because it's a job. There is an element of heart that goes along with this line of work. I thought I knew these things before I came here, and I suppose I did to a certain extent, but when you look down a street of foreign people in a foreign country, knowing they are your audience, your public, your conversations waiting to happen, the entire ideal notion, the formula of journalism, becomes a knot in the stomach.

Nervous - that's where I'm going with this. I'm fucking nervous. And I should be. Tomorrow I'll be an official employee of Kosova Live. I'll walk into the media building in Kosova, wave at the security guard while I say Kosova Live and he'll let me pass. That admittance holds some powerful realities, however. I'll be working for the number one independent news medium in the entire country. Granted, the country is small - two million people. And there are 10 other news papers generating content for that audience. Amongst Kosova Live and the 10 others, there is a divided circulation of 25,000 readers. That is pathetic compared to American circulations. My college paper reaches 10,000 to 15,000 people daily. But, this is a sign of the nature of this country.

Country - that word means something bigger than what the letters sum up to be. With the word country comes a sense of pride, spirit, autonomy, freedom. To be a part of a country is to have an identity within it. That is something that doesn't quite exist in this place. But it's trying to, and the people are helping. The people, Kosovars, are trying to build, from the ground up, a place where they can call home, not polarized by political bullshit, which has plagued any type of progress for centuries. This is a place where neighbors, who one time were perfectly at peace, turned against one another because of ethnic heritage...Serb vs. Albanian...And the scars still run deep. You can see the scars in the architecture of Pristina, the capital city of Kosovo, in the crumbling stadiums and sidewalks that were victim to bombs and rockets only 1o years ago. You can see the scars in the financial and economic statistics - 50 percent of the population younger than 25. Unemployment in Kosovo is higher than any European country. The culture is crippled by the stagnant economy. It's not that it doesn't exist, it's just that one must seek it out, because it takes place underground...There appear to be no plays, concerts, art galleries, sporting events....Just people scattered around the city, appearing to be doing something important. Or appearing to be doing nothing at all.

Appearance - this is a powerful notion for a few reasons. People judge things based on what they see, it's human nature. From selecting mates, to cars, to houses and everything else, appearance plays an utmost factor in the decision making process. And the appearance of Kosovo is worthy of talking about. Is it dirty?-yes. Is it crumbling?-yes, in places. Does it look like a postcard from commiville?-yes. But it's alive, moving. Like most European cities, the people make the place worth while, beyond the architecture and history. The people here are no exception to that Euro status quo. Girls are dressed to kill, wearing designer outfits, head-to-toe presentable, sunglasses, heels, vibrant dresses, scarves. And they walk with attitude, like they have somewhere important to be. Guys wear sharp suits, square-toe leather shoes, sunglasses. And they congregate in cafes and on street corners, smoking cigarettes, looking over paperwork, talking about things I can't understand because of this fucking language barrier...but it sounds important god dammit. But those statistics still linger, competing with the image, the appearance and what it projects---50 percent unemployed, the GDP per capita is 1,900 Euro, roughly $3,200, depending on the exchange rate. What are they talking about? Are they keeping up appearances? The country's main university, The University of Pristina, is directly across the street from the Grand Hotel, where we are staying. So, perhaps, these are students, killing time, wandering the streets, and I'm sure many of them are....but still. The statistics intrude on the hope these people have of making it.

Making it - Just over one year ago, Kosovo became an independent country with a brand new democratic constitution, bearing nearly the same rights and promises that we have in the U.S.A. Along with that comes the idea of manifest destiny...if you can dream it you can do it...there are no boundaries to success. And I want to believe the Kosovars think that, too. I want to believe they know this isn't a flimsy ideal, that when put into proper practice, the system does work. Only time will tell if it can in a place like this...a place truly trying to rebuild everything.

Time - my time here has been short, going on day three. I know nothing about the people or the place...All I can offer is my observations, my commentary with minimal facts to back them up. In time, however, this will change. I will get to meet these people. I will have meaningful conversations with many of them. I will try to pinpoint what the goals, dreams and aspirations of this society are. I will do my best to report what I learn, so, with hope, those perspectives motivate and encourage others to try harder, inspiring Kosovars to see what can be done to bring success and growth to their country. I will do a job. And in eight weeks I will leave. But hopefully the conversations I have the power and pleasure of starting in those eight weeks will carry on long after I'm gone. And one day, I'll be able to return to a transformed country and say...I was able to participate in this once upon a time.

That's what I expect.

Good night.