Life in a City Divided Between Albanians and Serbs

The civil war between Serbs and Albanians that ravaged Kosovo in 1998 and 1999 created a lot of divisions that are still being felt in the country, but the most physical divide is the one that runs through the city of Kosovska Mitrovica.

The city lies on the Ibar river, which separates the northern and southern parts, with Serbs living in the north and Albanians in the south. Those two parts are connected by four bridges, although “connected” may not be exactly the right word here.

The war has divided, among other things, streets, squares, shopping malls – even cemeteries. There's one exception: on a hill overlooking the city, there’s a monument uniting the two groups. The monument is made of two columns carrying a mining container, where one column represents Serbs and the other represents the Albanians. It was erected to honour the miners of Trepča mines, which were the main source of livelihood for this town, and to some extent a source for the entire Yugoslavia.

The local football club was named after the mine. Until 1999, there was only one FC Trepča in Kosovska Mitrovica, but after the war this club was divided, too. Today, both the Albanian and the Serbian sides of the town have a football club with the same name, and both claim that their club is a continuation of the old one.

FC Trepča in the southern, Albanian part of town plays its home games on a renovated Olympic Stadium, currently the largest in Kosovo. It's named for Adem Jashari, one of the founders of the Kosovo Liberation Army.

Ajet Shosholli, a legendary Kosovar footballer, used to coach the Trepča “golden boys“, back when they won the Yugoslavian league and played the Marshal Tito Cup finals in Belgrade, in 1977-1978. Today, he is the southern club’s director. When I speak to him, Ajet says that currently only Albanians play for the club and that there would be no problem for Serbs to play – providing that they want to be a part of the club, and that their game is up to par. Ajet often visits the northern side for a walk with his wife or a coffee with his colleagues and neighbours from the old days. He says that the divisions between Serbs and Albanians are mostly created by politicians, especially those from Belgrade. Hindering the improvement of relations between Serbs and Albanians, he tells me, is in the interest of politicians from both sides.

After we have our coffee, he takes me to see the Trepča stadium. He shows me photos of the team he used to manage, which included players of all nationalities in the former Yugoslavia. He tells me that he mourns the old unity, when FC Trepča had supporters among both Serbs and Albanians.

While we’re driving towards the stadium, he tells me not to park in front of the main gate, just in case, because my fixer’s car has Belgrade license plates. That same Opel has been driving through the streets in the Albanian part of the city for days without any issues. But there’s still a possibility my car will be trashed, Ajet says, since young people – especially the ones born after the war – have just has much hate for the other as their parents. They’ve inherited it.

Later, I meet with a young Serb, Milan, in the northern part of the city. He studies graphic design and is a member of the Mitrovica Innovation Centre, an NGO which has been operating in the city for three years and organises seminars, festivals and workshops in the city.

These workshops usually draw young people from both sides of the river. Last year, they organised a graffiti camp together with groups from the southern part of the city, with both Serbs and Albanians participating.

Milan tells me it is a sad fact that all the camaraderie and friendliness established during the project evaporated as soon as it concluded. Albanian artists and youth in general almost never venture across the bridge to the north side of town, but Milan also almost never goes south. He has no friends on that side, nothing that would bring him there.

In Milan's opinion, the language barrier is the biggest reason young people don't really communicate as much as previous generations, when Albanians were still taught Serbian in school and when they simply learned both languages by hanging out with each other. That’s extremely rare, nowadays.

The bridges over the river are now almost exclusively crossed on business, not for pleasure or friendship, my fixer Ješa tells me. Those bridges are guarded by Kosovo Force (or KFOR), the NATO-led peacekeeping force that's currently still responsible for keeping Kosovo safe. When the night falls during my visit, it's up to Italian carabinieri take up their positions and man the bridges. There's no official border in Kosovska Mitrovica – it's all part of Kosovo. Still, everyone's staying on their own side, with their own people.

Scroll down for more of Irfan Ličina's photos of Kosovska Mitrovica.

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.