The Macedonian Heart Still Bleeds in Zhelevo
August, 2005
Courtesy of Liljana Ristova
Editor, Canadian Macedonian News
I have heard many stories about Zhelevo, nice ones and not so nice. I have friends who come from Zhelevo and I know their life stories. Most of them are tragic. The stories are about war refugees running away from genocide, from hard economic times, from fear of everyday elementary existence and survival. I wanted to visit this well-known village in the Lerin region for a long time. I had tried before, but every time something was in my way, often times it was lack of time. This time my decision was made and nothing would come in my way. I was with Jewel Stoyan who was born in Toronto and whose father, Metodi (Tony), was also born in Toronto some 80 years ago, and has a grandfather and grandmother who immigrated to Canada from Zhelevo. For a very long time she has had a burning desire to one day visit the birthplace of her ancestors.
We arrived in Solun, one of the most beautiful cities in Macedonia, but Jewel was in a hurry to get to Zhelevo fast. The train passed through Ber, Negus, and Voden. I wanted to stop everywhere even for a minute and to see these beautiful places that I have heard so much about but I had only visited Voden thus far. Our plan was to go first to Lerin and then to Zhelevo. From that first night in Lerin, our hearts were filled with excitement. Our friends from the Macedonian political party in Greece "Vinozhito" took us to a village fair in Buff. The next day we took a taxi to Zhelevo. Our taxi driver, Vasil, was wonderful. He is a Macedonian from the vicinity of Lerin. We had him stop the taxi along the way a few times, enjoying the breathtaking scenery, admiring the unbelievable green of the place surrounding us. Vasil showed us the Zhelevo Mountains visible on the horizon and at once we felt the breathtaking beauty of it all. Before we entered the village, he stopped in front of another water fountain and told us to "drink from the famous Zhelevo water, but slowly, because it is very cold".
We entered the village and were all excited, especially Jewel. After almost 100 years when her ancestors left this village, where probably they lived since birth, she came to feel the air that they breathed, to drink the water that they drank and feel the spirit of the people whose blood runs in her veins. We got goose bumps all over from that first look. It looked like the village was abandoned, most houses looked empty and the walls had come down. Nevertheless, in the small village café we noticed some people, and an old lady was working in the garden just across, chickens running around her. A man sitting in the café addressed us in English, because he, himself, lives here in Canada, and after a short explanation that Jewel was here with a goal to see the village of her "baba i dedo" and to see if there are any relatives remaining here.
He said that he knows her family and he led us on the road to her relative's house. The biggest excitement erupted when we heard that one of her cousins is living in the vicinity of Toronto and that he also is here in Zhelevo because his mother was ill. He said to wait a bit, and he himself went inside the house to call Jewel's relatives. Out came her cousin, the one that is from the vicinity of Toronto. Then they started talking and Jewel told him who she is and why she is here. "I always wanted to come to Macedonia, to Zhelevo" said Jewel. "I was born in Canada but I am Macedonian, my Macedonian identity is very, very strong".
What followed was a terrible, awful blow for all of us. Her cousin, who also is called Vasil, replied: "We are not Macedonians, we are Greek and I am proud that I am Greek". Even though we have heard the terrible stories of the heavy Greek propaganda, of the genocide, brainwashing of the people, not one of us was prepared to hear these miserable words for which there is no excuse. I heard Jewel tell her cousin that he cannot, nor that he has the right to, change the history and that when her grandfather left Zhelevo, this part of Macedonia was not under Greek occupation.
I could no longer listen to the "Great Greek", the sold out Macedonian; my heart was bleeding. My own grandfather was a war refugee from the Aegean region too, he was from the village of Smol, runaway from the Balkan wars, and he was never allowed to return to see his village again. I felt the unfolding drama that Jewel felt. Where is our pride, as humans, as Macedonians, I ask you? Did thousands upon thousands died in futility for a free Macedonia, be it in the Ilinden uprising in 1903 or the Balkan Wars, the First World War, the Second or in the Civil war in Greece. We went back to the small café and Vasil "the Greek" trailed behind us.
I cannot write the details of what followed in this text because it may bring heavy consequences in the lives of a few people who live in Zhelevo, and with the life and fate of one young girl and her baba, because when Vasil heard them talking in Macedonian, he lurked and threatened them in Greek "mi milate pola" (don't talk too much).
In Zhelevo, in the Lerin region, the Macedonians live there in a country that is a member of the European Union, in a country where the last Olympic games was held in 2004, which should be the unspoken symbol of respect for the different cultures in the world, they still live in fear of speaking their mother tongue, the Macedonian language. The traitors are Macedonians, unfortunately, trained to spy against one another, brother against brother, and by which they negate and destroy themselves, to be uncivil against their own. Is there a medicine for our ills, I ask, for this terrible syndrome of self destruction brought upon us by our enemies?
Liljana Ristova
The Editor-in-chief of Canadian Macedonian News
Article published in August issue
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