My name is Erta. I was born and bred in Berat. When I was 17 my family moved to Tirana. My father died of cancer when I was 15 years old. My family was what once known as intellectuals and I was raised under good living conditions. My father was a very righteous man and taught us to be honest and not do evil so we could sleep sound at night. Had I any plans for the future! Like all teenagers I had nothing specific in mind. I liked to attend the university, like my siblings did but was unsure on the branch of studies.  Moreover, back in those days (after the ‘90’s) the decent image of the school had vanished. You could find the illiterate turn into businessmen, politicians, improperly –educated MPs – rumors ran that they were ex-state prisoners – while the majority of the educated were ignored and given the sack. The survival of the fittest prevailed or better yet, the jungle law. Prostitution, drug smuggling and the pyramidal schemes were blooming in Albania. My generation was educated with totally different ideas on life. You had to work to live, while in those years people started living without working. Almost everyone was thinking of leaving Albania. The idea of leaving had grown roots into the Albanian soul.  I took up flower engineering in 1995. I liked that branch somehow but was keener on having a university degree.After I had finished the second year, I started working as a saleswoman in a boutique at a very low wage. It was my first job. I didn’t like it but I worked to understand what work was like and cover my personal expenses. But it only lasted a fortnight.It was the appalling 1997. For me, as for every Albanian, it was a nightmare. We were afraid to get out of the houses. We were terrified of the gunshot and the trafficking threats. I was dating someone. He had lived in Italy for a while and kept thinking of going back. In August 1997 I decided to leave with him. We were in Berat that day when our car broke down on our way back. We were stuck in the middle of the road in the middle of the night and didn’t know what to do. Some relatives were paying us a visit at home. They were bred with backward mentalities and it bothered me to get back home to be criticized. Every time I recall the running away, I am surprised at how we managed to leave the country. I think it was an age immaturity. I can’t find another explanation. I told Gon I didn’t want to go back home and we decided not to return right on the spot. We had some money with us and stopped in Durrës. We went to a house in Golem and had to wait there for a month before getting on a dinghy to sail to Italy.  My family knew nothing about me. I had not even told my sister I confided to. My family was agitated. My mother has called the police. I called her after a week to tell her I was in Switzerland. That was a lie.I often try to balance the facts, get the pieces of my life together and try to find an explanation for my behaviour but I can only deem it as an age frivolity. I didn’t lack anything, we lived pretty well. My parents didn’t constrain me from the joys of life. My father had always worked in chairman positions; we used to go on vacation every year but you could be easily tempted watching the rest gamble with money. You may not give it much thought but the temptation sleeps inside and the slightest spark awakens it.  After three failing attempts we left Albania in September 1997. The dinghy had twice returned on shore after being detected by the Guardia di Finanzia and once due to bad weather. We were finally heading to Italy. We arrived in Bari without any trouble. We had a good amount of Liras. We paid the driver 80.000 lek each. In Bari we got on a train to Rimini where you could find more Albanians than Italians and all sorts of trafficking: drug, women and others. We stayed in Rimini for four months. My boyfriend worked some hours as a waiter in a bar while I didn’t work. We were staying at some friends of his. We celebrated Christmas and Gon left to Switzerland. We knew you could make a lot there. Gon had an ex-classmate who had made a fortune there. Every time I used to go to Berat, I’d hear stories of neighbors and relatives who had gone to Switzerland and taken up drug dealing. What I knew was nebulous and vague. Drug dealing was considered as any other kind of business. It didn’t mean you hurt anyone. You sold a good that people bought. Drug dealing was considered a very profiting business. It didn’t matter what you did or how you did it. Even nowadays you can hear people say it is deserved money.  What a paradox! I don’t believe Albanians go to Switzerland to work but instead to make swift money through drug dealing and then return and start a business or buy a car in Albania. I thought like that too when I set foot in Switzerland. I left to Switzerland in February 1998 with an Albanian who was headed in a truck to Germany to participate at a fair. I had no documents and very little money with me. My clothes and no luggage were all I had. I was sitting in the front seat. We crossed the border without difficulties. The customs cleared the goods and not me. I got off the truck in Lucerne where I was supposed to meet Gon. We spent one night there and afterwards rented a house somewhere near Bern. A friend of Gon’s had set the links in advance and thus we directly entered the drug dealing network. Drug dealing did not seem difficult at start. It looked like passing the good from one hand to another. I didn’t deal with the Swiss, I didn’t sell to the users but I communicated with the Albanians to whom I passed the drug. That seemed quite easy. I took everything very easy at those days. Thousands of francs circulated in my purse and hands. I worked with Gon. We traveled by car or train to the destination of delivery. We delivered it anywhere: on the train, in a bar, outdoors.

A Macedonian delivered the raw material, I mixed it and the mixing was our profit. I kept my working tools, a scale; I packed it, made it ready and if anyone called, I delivered 100, 200 or 300 gram sachets on demand.We did not have customers every day. However, if we lacked one day, we’d surely have another the next. The trade went according to the functioning links. Everything went smoothly. Whenever we were in short supply, we requested the drug and were soon supplied, although later the dealing got restrained. We made a lot of money and spent it spree. Easy-made, easy-spent. We had been working for one year. We were tasting the luxury of money when we got caught .

I saw and anticipated the catch. Gon had the fever that day so I had to go to Berne alone and deliver the good. I had arranged to meet someone and consign the drug in a bar near the Parliament Square. At that instant I saw two men with walkie-talkies in their hands. I felt four eyes watching me on the train but I didn’t let it show. I delivered the good and went out in the square when two cars slammed on the brakes at my feet. Four tall policemen took me with them. Surprisingly, the square was totally empty and we were in the middle of it. I don’t know why I felt as if I was in a movie set and the director was somewhere close to me. I thought of running but I knew it was useless. The well-built policemen would certainly catch me. Later I heard they had been watching me for six months. They had bugged our phones, had chased us and found my personal belongings at home. It was 3 p.m. when I got caught. I had been working for one year and the inhospitable moment had arrived. At the same time, three policemen had broken in our house and caught Gon. While being detained, I was examined to find out I was pregnant. I was shocked but what could I do? I didn’t want to abort. I took this decision instantly. I had to take it on my own as Gon was taken somewhere else and I could write to him only once a week. The letters were always censured and were delivered one or more months late. I was allowed to write about God or the stars and the moon but if they detected something suspicious, they would send the letters back. When I was six months pregnant they moved me to Hindelbank, a special prison for mothers and their children. I came from a small prison of very few people. In Hindelbank I found many girls and women of all nations and races. The living conditions were the best possible.  The prison consisted of two storey houses and a large yard where children could play. There were playground rooms as well. The doors never closed at night so I didn’t feel like a prisoners in high security jails where the guard closes the door at 9.30. Of course, this is all psychological. In preventive it sounds even more appalling. You happen to stay 23 hours without seeing anyone. You are alone with the TV set and have two choices: you can either become depressive or turn into a wild beast. When I was in preventive I used to sleep most of the day. But in Hindelbank we all worked. Working was compulsory. I had to work too. As I was under investigation, I had no right to go out, speak on the phone or talk to other women outside my section. Now that I come to think of it, I smile to myself. None of those women were charged with my crime – so why not to speak to them! When the guard used to take me to the doctor, the gynecologist, the psychiatrist or the physiotherapist, I had to wait until one of them would come and get me. At times I felt I was waiting for my parents to come and get me from school. At start, my section guards were suspicious and thought of me as a very perilous person as such being advised by the investigator. I was the first Albanian in that section and the Albanians did not enjoy a good reputation in Switzerland, particularly in the days we crowded the Swiss prisons.  I have to say that this is so wrong. Based on my experience and the conversations with my friend I firmly believe that the Albanian prisoners are generally hard-working, creative and clean.

My daughter was expected to be born by the beginning of May but she came to life two weeks later. It was such a difficult birth that makes me think twice before having a second child. My waters had broken and the baby risked choking. As I was not having any pains of labor, the doctor injected the stimulant and decided to give me a C-section. I had to wait on the doctor who was operating two other women. My anguish and insecurity about the life of my child kept increasing. I was on my own and I was feeling like a bitten dog wandering along a dark blind alley. I had visions my baby was kidnapped. I came back to my senses when I heard a voice wishing me “Congratulations”.  In the beginning I was afraid to wash that tiny creature. I was scared I would break her. The other women helped me but I was embarrassed of asking their help so I decided to wash her myself. I cannot forget how scared and unconfident I was feeling those moments, but I had the nerved, locked the door and, to tell the truth, I don’t know whether I washed myself or the child.

All the time I would think what to do with the baby and how to raise it. When the other women gave me something, I would get angry at myself. I hate being pitied. I don’t like people feeling sorry for me.  I try to stand up and find the strength to come out of the difficult situation. Our trial started in June 2001, two years after the arrest. It was hot but I have never been that cold. I was freezing to the bone, had a muddle of fear and anxiety and insecurity for my future and my child’s. I thought a million things at once: the child could not stay with me for more than 3 years. At the time of the trial she was one year old and something. Was I sentenced to many years, what would happen to her? Maybe she would be taken to a foster family and I would see her once or twice a month. This would be dreadful and would slay me more than anything. I didn’t care about my wasted life and youth. My only thought was that guiltless creature, who had done nothing and had to spent her first years locked in a jail. She lacked nothing but my sense of guilt was more stabbing than the imprisonment itself. When she started rising on her feet, she would go to the barred door and shake it open. Every time I saw her, my heart wept. I condemned myself for falling prey of the people that rush to make swift money, the people I lived with and shared my problems and misfortune. The public prosecutor demanded a 7-year sentence for me and a 9-year one for my friend. I was sentenced to 5 and Gon to 7 years in prison. I made some calculations to figure out the time I’d be released and how old my daughter would have been. There were 16 month left… Now that I recall those moments, I feel relieved. I started to think more about the future; I wasn’t as confused as when I didn’t know how many years I would serve. I had clearer ideas on the future. As you have plenty of time in prison, you weave dreams and plans for the future, even though some of them never come true.In Hindelbank I became friends with Latin American women. I started to learn French and Spanish. They knew me, greeted me and were surprised when I did not cry (I hate it as a sign of weakness) when everybody else was. They would ask one another why I did not cry, as this did not seem normal, but later they got used to me, did not comment any longer and we became a family. They could tell when I was happy or sad. I would work, keep my room clean and decorate it. Even the staff noticed it. In Hindelbank you had the chance to work in gardening or other skills. I took up pottery. Never had I worked on such skill but I managed to produce some fine ceramics. We made marmalades and sold them in fairs. We organized sundry activities, learned foreign languages and computer skills, painted and manufactured candles and others. We would organize the Balkan week and we’d cook the specialties. This made us remember where we were and what we had done. We were paid for our works and that was a stimulus to working harder. We also took up sports. We had regular psychotherapy and medicinal check-ups. I loved the psychiatrist because I could fully and easily confide to her. We celebrated Christmas and other festivities with the guards. There were a lot of pessimistic women, too. But the prison made me appreciate life. Jail taught me to better live my life and freedom. When I think of these, I find it odd that men never change, even after being convicted. After being released they think they won’t ever deal with drugs but when free they go back to the previous actions. They are similar to the drug addicts and can’t give up easily. But I would never do it again. I don’t even think of it. I have a child to raise and a life not to waste.

Returning to Albania

 I was released by the end of 2002. Gon had 16 months left. I was allowed to see him two days before leaving. Our daughter was two and a half years old. I traveled with the SWISS company. I had 6000 francs with me. I paid 60% of the ticket and the canton the other 40%. Two civil policemen escorted me to the airport in a taxi and not in a police van. I was free, unescorted in the plane. I was coming back after seven years. I found a changed Albania. I didn’t recognize the streets, my neighborhood had changed, my friends were graduated and started jobs. Some had left the country, were legal emigrants and worked in those respective countries. I felt lonely although I had my family at my side. I didn’t get along with my mother at first. In Switzerland I had dedicated my time to my daughter and when I returned I was worried how she would feel in a new environment. My mother could not understand me and thought I was being reserved and scornful. My daughter started attending the kindergarten and got accustomed to Albania faster than me. She was growing up and it’s comprehensible she needed people around. (She’s now 5 years old and I haven’t told her anything about the past. She remembers something. Sometimes she says “muki-muki” (the name of the place we were staying in Hindelbank), but she does not know anything. Of course, I’ll tell her when she grows up. I want her to know where and in what circumstances she was born. It’s far better to hear it from me than anyone else. That would hurt her).When I returned, I would walk for hours on end. Everything looked strange, unknown and cold. Thanks God I didn’t feel the stigmas that much because I did not tell people everything they asked me about. My close friends and relatives know where I’ve been. I express myself freely with whoever accepts me as I am and does not prejudge me. But, afraid of being prejudged I do not confide to my new friends. I do not like being prejudged and I do not accept the others to poke their noses into my life. I believe that this is my life and I have the right to live it with the rights and the wrong doings but I cannot allow the rest to tell me what is good and what is bad and feel sorry for me.In the beginning I was thinking of going to a women’s prison in Albania and give a present to a convicted mother or take her child to celebrate feasts with my daughter. But I didn’t know who to go to and my wish remained a wish. Once you try prison, you can feel the joy and the worth of your actions because you have been in the same shoes. While struggling to find myself in the changed society, “Take the Future” project came to my aid. I had heard of this project in Hindelbank. Gon had also told me about it. He had watched a documentary in prison and a priest and a social worker had told them about it. I had heard rumors the office helped you get a job but I didn’t know any details. I searched for a phone number and contacted the Swiss Embassy in Tirana that gave me the address and the phone number. I went to the office 6 months after my return. I had been looking for jobs all that time. I wanted to open a studio and produce ceramic objects but had no economic means. This is still my dream. I hope to make it true in the future.I think that the “Take the Future” project is something very nice and formidable knowing that the government does not have a structure to rehabilitate the ex - prisoners.  This is a valuable project because it gives you vigor and encouragement to move forward. I was impressed by the warm welcoming newcomers receive in the office. You can notice you are not prejudged. I remember a meeting, “Open House”, with some returnees. It was a total different thing. People were treated equally and encouraged to forget the past. This project is awesome. There are many emigrants in Italy but the Italians have not initiated such a project yet. I personally believe that the Swiss should invest more in Albania. I think this project should be a long-lasting one because the needs demand it. I also think that those who have served long imprisonments of more than 5 years should receive a more specialized social and psychological treatment. Being released after 5 or more years in prison, it is difficult to find your place in the society of any country, let alone in Albania, a country where things move too fast. Personally, I am against long sentences, except grave crimes. It is harsh to spend 5-6 years closed in one place and all of a sudden come out to see everything changed. Your family and your friends seem so strange. Peoples’ lives have taken different directions, for better or for worse, and you are not able to find yourself or anything in common with them. In an overview, teenagers who have served sentences during their childhood or served long sentences tend to go back to jail because the rehabilitation process is often quite difficult in case you have no one by your side to help, understand and encourage you. That is the reason I believe that “Take the Future”, although lacking financial means, is something amazing that gives you a hand; a hand you need to appreciate. Besides your family who in some cases do not manage to understand how much you have changed and how you are feeling now, as they know that someone of years ago, this project is the instant aid that approaches. It is an aid you need to appreciate. I persuaded a friend who had served her time with me in Switzerland to register. She was doubtful as she thought the project could be linked to the Swiss police, as it is financed by the Swiss. But she joined me and today she is one of the most ardent supporters of “Take the Future”.  

Life stories