Saturday October 9 11:21 AM ETFew Serbs Remain in Kosovo Capital
By GEORGE JAHN Associated Press Writer
PRISTINA, Yugoslavia (AP) - The door cracks open, releasing a waft of stale air, and the old woman peers suspiciously into the dark stairwell. As one of a vanishing breed - a Serb in Pristina - her caution is well-founded.
Milanka Todorovic no longer ventures outside. The last time she did was last month, only to be beaten by a young ethnic Albanian who chased her back up a flight of stairs into her apartment and stole her front door keys and money.
She worries that another trip out might be her last - that she could come back to find her apartment occupied by her assailant or other Albanian squatters from the countryside, such as those who moved into some Serb flats in her crumbling prefab high-rise when the owners fled.
``All my neighbors here were Serbs,'' she says, tears welling in her eyes. ``Now, they are all Albanians - all strangers. We don't exchange greetings, and I am afraid.''
Old, feeble and alone, Todorovic is in many ways typical of the Serbs left in Pristina more than three months after the Serb forces they viewed as security against the ethnic Albanian majority pulled out and NATO troops moved in.
In times of peace, about 20 percent of Pristina's 200,000-plus residents were Serb. Grim-faced Serb police were everywhere, and the victims of repression were the Albanians.
Now, according to various estimates, only 400 to 3,000 Serbs remain in Kosovo's provincial capital. Most of the others have fled, victims of revenge - feared or fact - from ethnic Albanians.
Many Serbs were able to sell their homes before pulling up stakes. But some just left, leaving behind what they couldn't carry, and their apartments were occupied by ethnic Albanians.
Serbs like Todorovic who don't venture out, or can't because of ailments, survive on handouts brought to their door. The U.S.-based Adventist Development and Relief Agency delivers food to about 25 Serb homes each day.
Relief worker Darlene Ward says about 20 percent of the people her group helps are physically able to leave their homes for food pickups but won't because they fear for their safety.
``They feel they don't have the freedom to go to the local market,'' Ward says. ``Even if some market owners are willing to serve them, they could get harassed by others there. The moment they open their mouths it's quite clear they're Serb, because they don't speak Albanian.''
Fernando Herrera of the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees agency says Serbs are subject to ``consistent incidents of harassment.''
``As of late it's been more break-ins, verbal threats, youths throwing stones at windows, but you also have incidents of elderly persons being beaten,'' he says.
Killings of Serbs are becoming less frequent, perhaps, Herrera says, because NATO soldiers now know the territory and respond more quickly to emergencies.
Still, Serbs continue to flee.
``We will often go to an address where Serbs have asked for deliveries and not find anyone there,'' Ward says. ``About five families a week leave.''
The group's food deliveries used to be made from a large truck, but Ward says it switched to vans after hostile ethnic Albanian crowds berated workers for helping Serbs.
Even kids are hateful, she says.
``I had a case of an 8-year-old boy asking me, 'Why are you taking food to her? She's a Serb.' I told him the woman was old, and he replied, 'It doesn't matter; she's Serb.'''
So Todorovic stays inside her one-bedroom flat, windows shut tight, front door barricaded, passing each day from a worn couch she rarely leaves.
She opens the door only for the charity workers - and only after they press their two-way radios against her door to let her hear the crackle of English as proof of who they are.
Canned goods, detergent, toothpaste, pasta - the goods are crucial for survival, but field worker Leonora Mucaj's presence seems just as important to Todorovic.
Though an ethnic Albanian, the relief worker radiates reassurance. Speaking in perfect Serbian, she comforts the woman, squeezing her shoulder before leaving. As she closes her door, Todorovic smiles - through tears.
At the van's next stop, Smilja and Slobodan Deljanin sit in a living room packed with boxes and crates. They are leaving this week for Belgrade, the Yugoslav capital, after selling their one-bedroom flat to an ethnic Albanian for the equivalent of $25,000 - below what used to be market value.
Serving up strong black coffee with a chaser of home-brewed liquor as a visitor looks at a photo album of weddings, family reunions and other mementos of better times, Smilja, 53, says she is afraid to go out.
``I went to a store only 100 meters away, and people threw rocks at us,'' she says. ``We are now the only Serbs here. The others are Albanians, from who knows where.''
A friend, Milanka Jankovic, drops in to say hello. ``We're leaving in four or five days for Belgrade,'' she says when asked about her family's plans for the future.
A few minutes' drive away, Radmila and Nikola Simic emerge from a gate leading into a leafy garden, smiling and hugging Mucaj as they take possession of their food ration. They say they're staying.
``There are incidents - Albanians knocking on the doors of Serb apartments and telling the owners to leave,'' concedes Nikola, 68. ``But my home is Kosovo. I'd rather be killed in Pristina than move elsewhere.''Copyright © 1996-1999 The Associated Press
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