Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Eventually we headed back into the house, and as the sun went down, I fell quickly to
sleep, overwhelmed by the ghosts of history and another hard day on the farm.
After breakfast the next morning, I convened a small family meeting. Bekim sat in the
middle of his couch with his wife next to him. His father sat on another chair, and his moth-
er sat close by. And I stood awkwardly in front of them like an actor about to give the worst
performance of his life.
As I explained my trip, Bekim translated for his family. They all nodded as I thanked
them for their kindness, and then I took what seemed a dangerously long and deep breath
before adding . . .
“I would like to buy you a cow.”
Bekim didn't say anything at first. And then he finally translated it to the rest of the fam-
ily. Suddenly, the whole group began to cry out, “Kráva! Kráva!”
I couldn't tell if they were happy or if “kráva” was an ancient war chant, but then Bekim
got up. With tears in his eyes, he walked toward me and hugged me. And he didn't let go.
His family was still crying out, “kráva,” behind him, and this time, I was the one being
nearly bowled over by another's gratitude.
Finally, he explained, “Buying us a cow, that will help our family more than you can
imagine. You see, having one cow is like a store for one family. You have milk. You have
cheese all the year. But with two cows, you have store for other people. You go to the mar-
ket; you sell your cheese, your own milk. You have bought us a store.”
I smiled at his family and began to repeat the word, “Kráva?”
Bekim laughed, “Yes, Kráva. This means cow.”
And so together, we all began to chant, “Kráva. Kráva.”
I was going to buy them a cow.
I drove off that morning and saw Bekim's family standing in my only good rearview
mirror, the other still tucked into my backpack, after losing it on the mean streets of Delta,
Colorado.
I had started in Hollywood. I was now in Montenegro. I had begun to see the history of
the world in motion, the past and the present forever trying to renegotiate the future. And
the thread that moved through it all spoke to what mattered most. Home isn't just a collec-
tion of memories and fears; it is also the most permanent thing we have. It is the harbor in
our storm, and sometimes the only thing worth fighting for.
