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For the Student City of the '70s and the girls of that time without botox

2022-06-22 23:01:16Pikëpamje SHKRUAR NGA ETHEM RUKA
For the Student City of the '70s and the girls of that time without botox
For the Student City of the '70s and the girls of that time without botox

Whenever the Student City is mentioned, I, but also thousands and thousands of others like me, begin to drop the weight of years to get bored with the self of the age of 20, the age when man begins to affirm himself in his professional journey.

Many, many seasons have passed since then, but it seems as if they belong to a near yesterday. If the river waters do not return to the source, our minds can. They walk redeemed in all corners of life, even to the point where our childhood memory begins to conceive for the first time.

It happened to me to live for almost 20 years in dormitories, of which 4 in the Pedagogical High School of Gjirokastra, 11 in the Student City in Tirana as a student and lecturer, but also another 4 years in the International University City of Paris (Cité Internationale Universitaire de Paris) during postgraduate studies.

It seems a difficult journey, away from the family of her care, but this journey continued in a larger social family, where she daily tests her strength to face real life.

This is what happened in the 60s and 70s of the last century, years when my second home became the Student City in Tirana.

Built in 1960 in one of the most beautiful hills of Tirana, the Student City has hosted and accompanied tens of thousands of students who became engineers, teachers, arts, geologists, linguists, historians, biologists, journalists, writers, chemists, philosophers. , sociologists, lawyers, architects, diplomats, doctors, MPs, full ministers other professions that built over the years the intellectual building of the country.

The student relay in the student town has been going on from one generation to the next for 60 years. Some are no longer alive, some are elderly, some are still active and some are still in university auditoriums.

If the walls of the Student City buildings had a mouth, they would surely tell, the most astonishing stories about dreams, illusions, great loves, about the deeds of naughty boys throwing buckets of water to wet their friends who they walked redeemed under the buildings, for the girls with ribbons, cheeks and lips without botox, for the nicknames that the students of one faculty invented for the students of other faculties, for the beautiful voices of the canto students, for the sounds of guitars and violins, for the students who fell head over heels to complete course assignments, to the histories of expeditions of geographers, biologists, and geologists, to the long hours of study in exam seasons, to the stories of action on railroads and military exercises, and how many other stories happened .

Those were beautiful years, even though the conditions were not what they should have been. In the years when we were students we slept with four people in a room in two bunk beds, we were covered with woolen blankets, hot water was missing, the shower was done graphically in the cabins near the coal boilers, often the mattresses held tartboards that were unbearable at night. , the inner clothes were washed with cold water and with white soap mold Rrogozhine, we had no radios and televisions, but only speakers in each room that were controlled in a centralized way by the Student Cinema Club, and many other things.

Unfortunately the faculties had no heating, while the Student City dormitories were heated very little. We warmed up more with our breath. It felt so cold that the toes began to swell and you could hardly feel them. Almost all of us had a cold from the cold. Our toes and hands were swollen and we felt the need to scratch them hard. The fingers of the hands were so swollen and red that it was difficult to hold the syllabary to take notes during the lectures.

I remember once returning to my maternity home during the winter holidays with swollen fingers. My mother became very angry and asked me so sadly what had happened to me. I tried not to tell him the truth by telling him that we had made an excursion to Dajti mountain and I had felt very cold from my feet stepping on the snow frozen by the bitter wind. She immediately filled a tub with warm water, added a little salt, and dipped my feet in it. After two or three days everything normalized.

My generation of students was strong, accustomed to hardship, and hardened by the cold, the rain, the snow, and the wind. In the study room of the 18th building, where we students of the Faculty of Natural Sciences lived, the walls were also covered with a thin layer of ice. And yet, the hall was packed with students reading while holding blankets over their shoulders to protect themselves from the cold.

If a student today were to read these few lines it would surely mean that this is a beautiful fabrication. It matters little. It was the time we lived in Albania in those years and I feel proud that the difficulties made us stronger to face the difficulties of life.

Beyond these difficulties, what has remained most in our memories was the positive energy of that generation of students, the high motivation to serve the country, the pure friendships we built with boys and girls from all over Albania, the experiences we learned from each other, vibrant social life and enthusiasm for life that left no room for either pessimism or spiritual depression.

Student life everywhere is almost like a bohemian. I experienced the same thing during the four years at the Cité Internationale Universitaire de Paris, where there were students from almost all over the world. Sure, the conditions there were much better than in our Student City, but the student behaviors remain the same. The building where I stayed for three years was called the Dutch College (Colege Neerlandais), while the fourth year in the British House (La Maison Britanique).

At first I was surprised how boys and girls lived together in the same building. On one side of my room I had a Dutch friend, while on the other a Greek student from Ioannina. I got used to it and it did not impress me anymore. We were all friends and gathered in the evenings to discuss, play table tennis or have a glass of wine. We found ourselves freer and more redeemed and realized that life could be lived differently. There I realized that we were all equal though different. We started brainwashing from many dogmas and changed ourselves.

Our barber was Jorgua, a Greek student from the villages beyond Kakavija. I stayed with Liu from China and drank a glass of rice brandy, with Ba from the African Republic of Mali bringing me postage stamps from his country, with Bruno Querati from France who played table tennis almost every afternoon, with Halim Dariu from Fier who was remained one of my close friends, with Anamarian from Spain bringing us cakes from his own country, and with many, many students from different countries of the Balkans, Europe and all over the world.

And yet, the Student City in Tirana remained my favorite. I, and many other colleagues, were appointed professors at the University of Tirana. We were homeless and remained boarders again. In the evenings we gathered in restaurants, but no longer as students but as lecturers. Some talked about theater, some about medicine, others about science and literature. This friendship that was born in Student City still continues just as pure as it did then.

Every time I return to Tirana from the road that goes down next to the park of the Palace of Brigades, my eyes immediately see the buildings of the Student City. A special nostalgia pervades my whole being. Only the young do not suffer from nostalgia, while the older begin to be enslaved by it. The past turns into history then into nostalgia.

And yet, the Student City, my home of youth, continues to stay there, welcoming and escorting new guests from all over Albania.


Në përputhje me standarded JTI

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