By Agim Xhafka
Every time I go to Korça, before I get home, I stop by two shops. The one selling onion and tomato lakrori and the one selling fish, next to it. During the summer, they are units with a lot of customers. Because the seal of quality is signed by the taste you taste. So I always start my city scan there. But this time, the charming fish shop had closed. I was surprised that it had a very profitable business.
"Did he open it somewhere else?" I asked.
-No, no. He went to France.
It was natural that they showed me another fish shop. And it was natural that I went there. But a tinge of sadness fell on my face. And with this hurt, dusk found me. With the street lights on and the entire neighborhood pitch dark. Here and there, a lamp shone like sparklers on a rainy day. Everyone left. We slept under the same sky and stars with them, but we were not near our people.
In the morning I go to my sister's work to have a coffee with her. She is a financier for many fashion companies.
"There used to be many," he tells me with pain.
I learn that there used to be 35 of these in the city. With between 600 and 1,200 employees. Now there are only 10 left, each with 15 employees.—
"They will all leave from January onwards," he tells me.
That the government, in addition to the 40% weakening of the euro that destroyed exports, set 50,000 lek as the minimum wage. So, soon we will have to pay more for social and health insurance. A burden that no one can bear.
After dragging his foot, the fishmonger's boy left. He went to France, but the people of Korça are running closer. To Thessaloniki. There it's like you're in Korça. You hear a lot of words, nonsense, gossip, and the climax comes at dinner on the promenade.
-Come here, you little brat! You little brat.
The city has a big heart. It welcomes us with open arms like our mother and father welcomed us. With a lot of love. Even more so now that people have thinned out. Every now and then you come across a pedestrian. The pedestrian area resembles the field of abandoned schools. Without the noise of adults and without the joy of children. It makes me cry, my city. For today, because for tomorrow, I have to mourn. With oi, oi…
