Out from the Shadows: Women in Kosovo

I believe that leaders are born, and I think that I am one of them. My life has been a constant fight, characterized by a refusal to obey my society’s dictates for women.

Had I not been strong in my convictions, I would have ended my education and stayed home after elementary school, and it is likely that now I would be living in poverty with many children in a village or city. But I chose a different path. This is what I tell young women who are just starting to build their future: they can do differently than what is expected of them.

Traditionally, women have carried the weight of responsibility for the welfare of the family in Kosovo. Widespread unemployment throughout Kosovo, combined with the limited education available for girls, means that women are principally employed in low-skill jobs and lack opportunities to gain additional skills and qualifications. These same limitations result in low levels of participation by women in leadership roles, particularly in politics and in public office. In addition, women are often the targets of violence, particularly when their search for outside employment leads them to greater public exposure. Within their own homes, they may be subjected to abuse and to arbitrary decisions and actions made by the men of the family. All of these handicaps contribute to the prolonging, and deepening, of poverty in Kosovo.

Women in Kosovo are very happy to see women lead, for this is a living testimony to them that they can make it as well. My own background is similar to that of the majority of Kosovar women: I come from a rural area and a poor family, with one sister and six brothers, and my parents were not educated. When my brothers completed primary school, they automatically went on to secondary school. I felt that I too had a right to continue in school, but for this I had to fight. My father was very conservative, my mother somewhat less so; fortunately, my older brother supported my position and stood up for me to our parents. After secondary school, I married very young, at 19.I moved in with my husband’s family and was shocked to learn that it was even more restrictive than my childhood home had been. I was not even allowed to open the door for guests; I had to cook and clean for the entire family and to play the part of the bride. Although my husband was not as conservative as the rest of his family, it was all he had known, so their beliefs still had a strong influence on him. And, of course, we were living with them: there were seven of us, including extended family, in one house, and more than 30 people shared the same yard. I was in hell, and I had imprisoned myself there by choosing marriage in the hope of improving my situation. I expressed my dissatisfaction, but this only made matters worse. All of my dreams and expectations seemed to be gone. I thought about divorce, about escape, even about suicide. Then I became pregnant, and I could no longer consider such things.

My daughter, who is now 28, was born, and then my son, and I decided that it was sometimes best to work and be silent. Yet I did not completely abandon my earlier dreams. Despite my duties as a wife and mother, I decided to study law, which to me represented equality and justice and fairness—all that I desired most in my own life. My books became my best friends, even though I could only study from 11 at night until three or four in the morning. I am sure that I slept more hours in my chair than in my bed during those years!

By the time I came to the end of my studies, however, I had become disillusioned with the law. At about this time, my husband decided to move us away from his large extended family. He did not consult me when he made his decision, but I was happy to move. I put the law behind me as well and became a journalist. I was drawn especially to reporting on social issues, for these, I found, were women’s issues. Twenty-five years ago, there were very few women journalists, and I wanted to be the voice of all the women, especially those who seemed to have been forgotten by the state, by the system, even by God.

Today, I tell the young Kosovar women I meet that they must fight for education above all else. Whether formal or informal, education is the road to everything else. It brings power, it opens eyes and minds, it gives life. Many women in Kosovo think that getting an education will be too difficult, that the circumstances in which they are living make it too hard. That is when I tell them my story, and they realize that if I could do it, so can they.

Hamide speaks about wanting to become a “voice of all the women” in Kosovo. What other women in history shared this similar view on their path of fighting for women’s rights?