The World Is A Dangerous Place

"Okay let me have your attention," began Laura. "near Kamanice, a grenade was thrown into a crowd of Serbian people yesterday and, in retaliation, they began stopping cars, pulling people out and beating them. Don't go there today. Children in Partes found several live grenades. Fortunately, an adult saw them playing with the grenades and took them away before anyone was hurt. The road that leads to Pristina is blocked today. It's a protest to the increasing violence against the Serbian population. Anyone needing to go to Pristina today, take the Ferizj I route."

before we loaded into the van to go out into the village, Laura reported one last item that caught my attention. "as they returned to work farmers are finding landmines in their fields. They remove them, but often simply carry them to the nearest roadside. Last week two farmers were injured when they attempted to handle mines, and yesterday, just outside of town a heifer was blown up when she stepped on one. Several mines were reported and removed from along the road this past week. Everyone is to be particularly cognizant of this danger. There has been an increase in landmines found on the roads. Everyone be on the alert for any objects in the road. If you see any, report them to the united nation's police. Do not attempt to remove them yourselves!"

With that warning echoing in our ears, we headed down the bumpy road to Novoberde to hold clinic. It was a beautiful, sunny day. The sky was filled with puffy cumulus clouds that contrasted against the deep blue sky. It was far too pretty a day for danger to be lurking out there, wasn't it?

I had been in Kosovo for a few weeks and had grown accustomed to seeing young men in uniform carrying guns on every corner and hummers patrolling the streets. So far, there had been no reports of violence against the peacekeepers, or any of the many humanitarian workers here in the Balkans. The sniper shootings and other violence seemed to be only between the two opposing ethnic groups - Serbians and Albanians. However, an accidentally tripped landmine is a random attack. Like I said, there's nothing like an exploding cow to get my attention.

I wondered how my staff - doctors mirvete and Linda, and nurses bedrejI and dejetare - felt hearing the report. Each had lost at least one family member to the Balkan conflict. Each lived through a personal hell. I had heard bits and pieces of their stories, as well as other's, during the few days we spent together. An uncle's hand severed for writing against the government, a brother's unexplained disappearance, and stories of whole families fleeing their burning homes to name a few.

And, while these sort of atrocities took place, these young people received their medical training in garages and basements or clandestine classes underground, in the system that developed after 1981 when the orthodox Serbian government mandated all education would be taught in the Serbian language. The Albanian Muslims were ejected from universities as well as all government officials. They were not allowed access to the hospitals or clinics.

However, the creative, resilient Albanians responded by developing their own parallel system of government, and system of taxation, education, and healthcare. It was all unofficial, under the radar of the Serbian government.

Medical training was minimal to say the least, however, under the circumstances, it in incredible they even considered studying when all around them was chaos. It took uncommon courage.

Now they were part of the rebuilding efforts in their country. Hard working and eager to learn, they were there to become better doctors. I was there to teach them.

In truth, I felt way over my head.

We were without a driver and guard that day, which was unusual. Nearly every day a male driver drove the all-female medical team. In part this was for protection, but also the drivers all spoke Albanian and English. They served as interpreters if needed.

Because she had been to Novo Berde before, rose, the German doctor and trainer who I was replacing, agreed to drive that day. In the huge land rover, little five-foot rose could barely see over the steering wheel. We cracked jokes about getting her a catalog to sit on. Everyone was in high spirits. The cacophony of laughter and chatter echoed throughout the vehicle as we bumped along the terrible pot-holed road.

I had just completed my orientation at the organization's headquarters in Pristina. This was my first week in Gjalene, where I would spend the millennium summer helping these doctors and nurses practice prenatal care. I felt particularly vulnerable because I knew it was Rose's last day. The next day I would take over as medical team trainer. My head spun.

Am I up to this? Can I make a difference here? Do I know enough to teach these doctors anything? An exploding heifer.... TMI... tmi... way too much information! What the heck am I doing here?

We left town and headed out into the countryside toward the winding road that climbed into the foothills to novo berde. We passed cows grazing in the fields and further up the mountainside, sheep tended by barefoot boys who waved as we drove past. We bumped along quietly with little conversation in the van, each lost in our own thoughts.

Why did I really come to this bizarre, war-ridden county?... am I really here to help?... is this just a lark... an adventure, a chance to catch an adrenaline rush?... no, I've never been one for adrenaline. I like it nice and calm.

Suddenly, smack dab in the center of the right-hand lane, the very lane we were driving in, there it was - a drab, green dome-shaped object, about ten inches in length and half as wide. A landmine!

Those in the front seat saw it first as rose simultaneously slammed on the brakes and screamed, "look out!" we careened toward the side of the road right toward the object she was trying to avoid.

The women in the back seat, thrown forward by the sudden stop, and startled by rose's scream, cried out as well. Ten seconds of bedlam, followed by dead silence throughout the car, everyone's eyes focused on the drab green object, only a few feet away from the car. We held a collective breath.

Private thoughts ricocheted about my head. I am certain each of the women had their own stream of consciousness flowing too. Every one of them had lost at least one family member during the war. Each had lived the horror, up close and personal. They had seen first-hand what damage a landmine could do. They might have been having flashbacks of other landmines. I could only imagine. I questioned why I was there, in a foreign country -- one where landmines were found on country roads! I'm a grandmother! What was I thinking?

Then ever so slowly, little protrusions extended from the mine-two along the longer sides and a single extension on one of the shorter sides.

At the exact same moment, we all realized what the landmine actually was. A riot of laughter broke out among us as that old turtle began to finish his slow trip across the road.

We proceeded down the bumpy, pot-hole-filled road to novo berde, laughing hysterically.

One of my favorite sayings, about how "the lowly turtle only makes progress when she sticks her neck out," came to mind. I tried to tell it to the others, but something got lost in the translation. They didn't understand, though it made perfect sense to me.

Coming to Kosovo was a stretch -- way out of my comfort zone - removed from the technologies of modern medicine. I didn't know if I could make a difference in this shambled country. I didn't know if I was up to the task. However, it is only when we extend ourselves when we take real risks, that true growth can take place.

The country was Kosovo - a country with much work to be done - so much it was overwhelming. A medical team of lovely Kosovar women struggling to rebuild their lives and their country bumped down a pot-filled road toward Nove Berde together. Each lived through horrible times, witnessed terrible things, and suffered large losses, yet they were able to study long hours, show up for work every day and find humor in "a mine that grew legs." it was a van full of strong, beautiful women, every single one with their neck stretched out - way out.