Controlling forces

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The deafening sound of sirens rang out through the dark streets. My mum Gina grabbed my hand and pulled me through the jostling crowds.

I was 10 and despite being in this situation before, I was petrified.

Twice a year, for as far back as I could remember, we’d be forced to hide out in a tunnel, huddling up close with other folk from our home city of Pogradec in Central Albania, until we were told to leave.

Unease

I didn’t understand what was happening. Were we about to be bombed? Was an army going to move in? Was life ever going to be the same again?

It was only when I was older that I came to understand we were taking part in what was called Alarm – a government exercise to get us used to the constant threat of attack.

Twice a year, we’d be ordered to switch off our lights and get to our designated hiding place as quickly as possible.

It only added to the atmosphere of uncertainty and unease that permeated my childhood.

I knew not get too attached to anyone or anything – not even my close friends.

My neighbours had a daughter my age called Vana and we used to play together all the time.

Then, one morning, Mum told me she was gone. But it wasn’t a case of her parents relocating for work or deciding to start a new life in the country.

Instead, the family had been visited in the middle of the night, told to pack their bags and shipped off to a camp where they would live in isolation, most likely in worse conditions than an animal.

Why?

Because one of their close relatives had been imprisoned for political reasons.

Pray