by Milan RADONJIC
Kukri Bar is the only "institution" in Pristina, besides UNMiK, that employs several Serbs, which is why it is not exactly popular among the majority population in the city. The stories related to this place and its owner are among those that were never told to the end. They range from the accusations that he is a British spy, to those accusing him of war crimes in Kosovo. Nevertheless, Kukri is the only place in Pristina where one can speak Serbian. Of course, if you neglect the YU program building in which about a hundred Serbs live under constant watch and protection of the British KFOR troops. The bar was opened two years ago and it is known for its colorful clientele, mostly foreigners working in Pristina. Another distinguishing characteristic is that its owner, John Forman, a former SAS member, does not react to threats and talks to his employees exclusively in Serbocroatian.
Language: The patio of the café is crowded, people seem relaxed. At the door, a man with a gun and a mobile radio. While we approach him, suddenly commotion is created. He waves us through and addresses us, or someone else, in Albanian.
The bar is full of flags of states and soccer teams. We order a draft beer, the bartender welcomes us. It is hard to behave as at home. The company is merry. The owner, a small stocky man wearing a suit jacket under which one can discern an outline of a large caliber gun, stands next to the bar. We approach him.
"We are journalists and would like to take a few photos of your bar," we say in English, reluctant to say one of the words that is banned in Pristina in any language - Belgrade. Until someone asks. That gives us little choice and makes it obvious that a suspicious looking man standing behind John will not have any difficulty identifying us. While the owner walks to the other side of the bar, we set up the unpleasant eye contact.
"You should not have come here, because Serbs will never again be allowed to come to Pristina. Definitely not as bosses. They can only come back as slaves." He does not provide any opening to start a conversation. For now he is only asking questions. "Where are you from, my friend?" he asks putting exaggerated emphasis on the last word.
"Danube region, Zemun".
"I used to go fishing there. There used to be a guy who sold really good fishing bait, across the street from Venice [restaurant]. He sort of looked like you, had a ponytail. Why are you nervous, my friend? Bad conscience?"
Beer does not help.
"I dreamt of a dead child in front of a burnt house and a barking dog."
"You must have deserved something. Everything comes back."
Guilt: He says that they know everything that happens in Pristina and that nothing gets away, including our arrival. He quickly addresses someone in Albanian. He asks if I want to meet UCK [KLA]. And does not wait for an answer. Slaven is "shooting" around the café, while the employees are hiding behind the bar. They do not want to see their photos in the media. They are not exactly liked in Pristina. They call them "Kukri men".
A man with two long scars across the whole face approaches from the other side of the bar. He gives me a hhostile look, straight in the eyes. While the two of them talk in Albanian, I feel increasingly helpless.
"You are a journalist, ah?" he asks and looks away. "What's it like in Belgrade? I don't hate anyone, you see. I only have one rule in my life. Wherever you go, bring happiness to someone's home, build a church or a mosque and get married. That is all I can tell you. Those who did not dirty their hands can come back always. I feel sorry for the people who had to leave, and are not to be blamed for anything." The owner comes back with a broad smile. This was a profitable evening. While the bar slowly empties out, our two interlocutors leave as well.
"My bar is the only bar that must close a bit after midnight. They are doing everything they can to ruin my business," John says while he lifts the last guests "stuck to the bar". The personnel is also dispersing. "I received an electricity bill for this month, $8,500". We stay on our own with him and the woman who works and lives with John Forman. She is a Serb from Pristina. She states that only he could be crazy enough to run a place like Kukri Bar. Even though he's received death threats many times, he keeps going. We stay in the bar. The lights go out.
While he places his gun on the table, John admits that the idea to open a bar and employ only Serbs was not his originally, but came from two of his friends.
"They were only thinking about short term profits, they did not care about future. I made Kukri Bar into what it is today. A place where Serbs and Albanians work next to each other."
We point out that he managed to do something in which the international community failed.
"The international community did not help me at all, that's true. In this small space I managed to do something they haven't managed to do anywhere in Kosovo. I brought Serbs and Albanians together, to sit next to each other, and speak Albanian and Serbian. I talk to my employees only in Serbocroatian. I don't speak Serbian [Serbocroatian is the language spoken by Serbs, Croats, Bosniaks, and Montenegrins in the former Yugoslavia; after the breakup of the country each ethnic group insisted on calling the language after its own national name, i.e. Croatian, Serbian, Bosnian...]"
Taxes: According to Forman, Pristina used to look different. The mentality of the inhabitants was better before the war.
"What Serbs did here during Milosevic is wrong, and I shall repeat that until I die, but what Albanians are doing now is fifty times worse. Serbs have the right to live here like human beings. They must not be murdered only because they speak their own language. All Albanians here are convinced that I am a Serb. They accuse me of war crimes. Like every Serb, of course. Albanians do not have the exclusive right to this land. It is not theirs, it belongs to Serbs. Today, Albanians do not pay any taxes, which is also true of many Serbs."
John Forman came to Kosovo in 1993. As a SAS member he served in Bosnia and Croatia, in the Falklands. When we ask what he did there, he says that he is not proud of some of the stuff he did in the past, but "that's life". He was recently arrested by the Serbian police because he got lost and entered the zone controlled by the Serbian police.
"Listen, he's a mega spy," his girlfriend interjects while she wipes the bar. He laughs. We also. What will the return to the hotel be like? - we wonder, while groups of loud people pass by the bar on the street, checking what is going on inside.
"Everyone here thinks that I am a certain sort of a man, MI5, MI6, or CIA, or who knows what. I always say to them - you can believe anything you like, but if try to mess with anyone, Albanian or Serb, in my bar, I'll mess you up ten times worse. You get my drift? This is my and only my bar. I pay rent to a Serb. And I shall stop anyone, anyone who turns against my employees or me. I am a man. I am a man here in Kosovo. I run the best bar here. I am proud of the people working for me."
One night, five Albanians came to Kukri Bar. They set the whole night, drank, without causing any trouble. But then they refused to pay because the waiter was a Serb, John tells us.
"The waiter came to me and told me what was going on. Really, I said. I went to talk to them and they repeated that they refused to pay. I don't want to talk about details, but they paid in the end... I can do that because justice is on my side. And a few more things..."
Security is provided by professionals. The mobile radios used by the security and the owner are used to monitor channels used by the Police and KFOR. In case of any incidents they arrive quickly. British KFOR soldiers, of course.
"I hope that things will change here. This bar is a start."
While we stand in front of the bar, saying goodbye, John says that he would like to visit Belgrade and open a bar there. Good idea, it occurs to us.