GRACIOUS  GRUMPIES
I met a young lady on my first convoy last Easter. She was a teenager bursting to help us lay out the aid for the last drop of the day.   There is no rhyme or reason why some people affect you more than others but I remember seeing this bubbly girl with good spoken English who had zest for life.  She offered hospitality at the end of the drop where we met the rest of her family. The Grumpies always enjoy a soft chair and porridge, oops sorry, tea!  I asked if she wanted to write to practise her written English and she was keen to do so. To be honest I expected this girl of fourteen to write to me maybe twice and then to have been bored with it. This was not so. The last letter before the October convoy poured out disappointing news. She was not aware that we would be coming to Kosovo again.
It goes without saying that I wanted to visit her but chances were slim as we were delivering in a different area. I remember my delight at hearing Mitrovica was on the list and an arm was easily twisted so I could be part of this drop.  Sadly this did not include her village group.
The indeed gracious pair, Coxy and Graham, offered to drive to where she lived but we had no map and relying on memories seemed reckless. Coxy was convinced otherwise and reassured us with his knowledge! I can't deny Graham and I had doubts - especially when the road got thinner and the hair pin bends tighter - and it is true we had to turn round - but Coxy's original identification of a road was right and we had to eat humble pie.
Chas would have us shot if we left the truck so Coxy stayed and played security guard. As we walked up towards her home there she was in the street with the other children we had met last March; a taller, blossoming young lady.
We relieved Coxy of his duty then and had tea just as we had done six months previous. The family receive no income now. It is tough. Their situation isn't untypical as we know. Thousands of families are in the same boat. This young lady is a bright girl with drive. Kosovo needs her. There is a fine line between staying on track and faltering.  A handful of cents a month gets you to school to forge a future but when those Euros are needed for food and warmth it sees you end up on the wrong side of the line.
The following day a group of boys, young teenagers I would take a guess, were annoyingly attracting attention outside the warehouse unit. One of the boys again spoke remarkably good English; admitted he had spent time in the UK and had now returned to Kosovo.  The fine line presenting itself this time when he spoke, enquiringly, "do you think our country is good? Not rubbish?" It was the earnest way he said it that was most concerning. He really needed reassurance - but what did it matter what I thought anyway. In the short time of our conversation I am not sure he had made up his own mind about Kosovo but I do think he was spending time with people who had doubts.  Little confidence leads to vulnerability.
Faltering youth there should not be. I was glad that we were there that day. For I could at least turn round and say to him "it is a good country, that's why we are here today".
Thank you Coxy. Thank you Graham.  It meant much.

GIFT OF HUMAN WARMTH
Today we could have been directors.  We could have made a film. A marketing dream of an advert.  Ahead of us the sunlight bouncing off the autumn leaves, frolicking piglets and a sow on cue with a roll in the acorn littered leaves.  A rustic house beckoning you further with your appetite for charm.  A perfect supermarket spin in the making.
It all becomes much clearer when you put the lens down that you are looking at a dilapidated house where these animals are the only means of barter for an elderly couple to exist. A lady who wears a younger body that belies her age.  Her beautiful figure created by animal husbandry.
This rural backwater for milking four cows allows them to sell butter and cheese at the local market.  The destiny of the piglets we can all assume. This house a home.
I am sure when Graham and myself received their hospitality it was with some trepidation.  Just how is this Raika produced? What with? Where is it stored? Worse still; have the pigs shared it? (They were too happy to be pigs)!
There were two cups and two glasses gleaming in the sunshine on a makeshift table with matching makeshift benches.   Achieving cleanliness with so little to work with has amazed me countless times and here was no exception.  I hope this table had not been laid out for us.  I hope that this was a daily ritual of their own.
Could you take such a ritual to a new home elsewhere?  If somebody had been able to offer that to them ten years ago I could see a dilemma.  What I saw today is a couple who have lived here for many years - perhaps a lifetime - who are at a stage in their life where eeking out as much as possible together every day is paramount.  To move them has never been on the agenda; inconceivable.  It would be criminal to do so even in the face of this domestic adversity.
The very best that we could have done that day was to enhance their basic needs.  We met that when we delivered the food and the bedding.
I cannot tell you the pleasure it was to hand over that new, 13 tog duvet.

JUST ANOTHER DROP
To all tense and purposes this was just another drop.  Sounds nonchalant I know.  Group of people planned to meet at convenient location at a predicted time and a truck to share out all aid equally.
This is where the word "just" becomes distorted.  We knew we had 42 families and most were between three and nine people per family.  We were in a position to offer very large tins (the size of a tin of paint) of pulse beans and could afford to give out three to five tins depending on size of family.  I had the responsibility of handing these out along with the bags of pasta and bedding.  The rest of the truck crew were distributing other items to the same families along this line.  When the family name was announced they would come to me first and take a box or bag and I would endeavour to deposit the large tins in what they brought up.
Guilt now furrows across my brow.  I can't be sure what affected my thinking or rationale.  Was it because it was now day three of tiring aid deliveries?  Or the repetitive nature of lifting and placing heavy tins (now 165 tins later) was getting to my back? Or the worst crime of all, being British and indoctrinated with believing that rules should be adhered to strictly.  I called out to see how many families were left to be given aid.  I wanted to judge how much I could split between them.  I was told three but there were four people holding boxes.  I assumed perhaps that one family had two boxes to take the large family load.  When one of the boxes passed by I still had four boxes to go.  I now had another child holding a box at the end with still a lot of people around.  When the three boxes moved past me I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head at the last as if to say "I'm sorry there is no more".  It is so difficult to know when to stop handing out when people are not on that list.  For you know that there is another drop at another location with just as many, if not more, people for aid.
There was a man holding the petite girl's shoulders from behind, he took my hand and placed it on her heart, an irregular heartbeat.  His eyes soulfully looking at mine.  I still do not know whether he intimated "please have a heart and give what you can" or whether he wanted me to understand a medical condition affecting her well being. 
The truth is that it didn't matter what he was trying to say I could have found anything to place in the box and it would have been ok.
"JUST" sometimes you get it wrong.
My conscience could have paid dearly for that.  But when I looked up at Mirlinda she gave me the nod that I could fill the girl's box - the weight of the tins looking as if they weighed more than her.  The weight of my guilt removed.
I can report that there was no missing link in the teamwork that day.
And there is no such thing as JUST another drop.