On this particular cold, foggy day in Gjakova, Kosovo, I woke up counting down the hours before I could climb back into bed. Coming from Illinois I am used to brutal winters, but the cold here chills you to your bones, making you rethink any idea of going outside. Preparing for ministry, I layered on my leggings and jeans paired with my sweatshirt and winter coat bracing myself for a day filled with language barriers, dishevelment, awkward silences, and warm coffee.
Today, we were delivering food and visiting with two Roma families. I had been a part of home visits in the other counties we have visited, but this was the first in Kosovo. Seven of us, 25kg of flour, beans, and oil packed into a car to make the 10 minute drive to the outskirts of town.
We pulled up to a steel gate with a woman and a boy, who appeared to be her son, welcoming us into their home. Walking onto their property I quickly realized this was a multi-family compound. Multiple houses were connected by tin slabs creating walkways between them.
Making our way through the maze, we finally arrived to a wooden door hidden in the back of the compound. I was at the end of the pack, but I heard soft ‘Hello’s’ alerting me of our arrival. At this point, the only information I had about this home visit was the homeowners name was Xhoana*.
Finally making my way to the door, I was greeted by a girl looking no older than nineteen. As she reached out her hand, whispering the faintest ‘Mire dita’ (good afternoon) my body was overcome with rage and sadness as I came face-to-face with the first evidence of domestic violence I had ever witnessed.
Before many of these home visits we are warned about the violence which takes places in communities such as these, but because it had never been apparent, I guess, it never fully affected me.
Following Xhoana into the living room, we filed into our respective seats on one of the three couches. Pastor Nate*, the pastor of our ministry, sat in the most honorable seat, followed by his wife, ending with myself and two of my teammates.
The conversations between the Americans and the Kosovars were limited, so we spent the majority of our time playing peek-a-boo and tickle time with Xhoana’s two year old daughter, while Pastor Nate preached the Good News. We drank our cranberry juice, enjoyed the warm fire, and then it was time to go.
Climbing back into the van, Janet*, our American ministry contact, proceeded to tell us Xhoana’s story.
Xhoana grew up in a traditional Albanian family with an older brother, a mother, and father. During her adolescent years Xhoana’s mother and father died, so it was up to her brother to raise her. He soon became physically abusive, forcing Xhoana to seek safety at a woman’s shelter. While there, she also started seeking the love she so longed for from other men.
At nineteen, Xhoana fell madly in love with a local Roma (Gypsy) man and ended up leaving the woman’s shelter to marry him; they soon had a daughter, completing their small family. Believing she was safe, Xhoana left everything she knew for a future she so longed for.
It wasn’t long after their daughter’s birth, Xhoana’s husband became the abuser.
Desperate for a new life, a safe life, Xhoana has found herself right where she started.
At some point during her stay at the woman’s shelter, Xhoana met Janet, our ministry contact, and they developed a friendship which has lasted through the years.
During our home visit I could tell Janet was urging Xhoana to attend one church service and seek out the help the church is willing to give, she was hesitant, but she promised Janet she would be there Sunday.
A few days, and prayers later, Xhoana and her daughter walked through the church doors with Janet in tow; after service, they were headed to a new woman’s shelter.
Xhoana is one of the few that has had the ability to leave an abusive household. Many woman in the Roma community see it as a customary act, or are too afraid of what could happen if they are found after leaving.
As a woman, I want to shake each and every one of them to tell them about the life they so desperately deserve, but I can’t.
So I pray, and I urge you to pray with me.
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For more information on how you can help these woman, visit http://www.stopvaw.org/kosovo. These women need the education, they need the resources, but most of all, they need your prayers.
*Names have been changed
