The superintendent of the building I live in is an Albanian man with a common American first name, Steve, and an "exotic" – which is difficult to pronounce – surname, Krkuti. His parents, wife Fatima, and their four children (two girls and two boys) maintain a very neighborly relationship with both my family and my brother’s family who also live in our building.
You could also say we have an ideal American superintendent-tenant relationship. Steve industriously fixes everything that goes out of order in our apartment, and I give him and Fatima a box of chocolates every Thanksgiving (as I was taught by Judy Rosenbaum, an English instructor at the New York Association for New Americans). I also give them a box of chocolates on New Year’s Day, but never for Christmas. There are many Christians (particularly Catholics) among Albanians, but Steve and his family are Muslims.
Steve and his family know perfectly well that my mother, son and I are Jewish since we hang a Mezuza (religious texts from Deuteronomy) on our doorpost. Just like we know that Steve and his family are Muslims, since during the Ramadan (the ninth month of the Muslim calendar when Muslims pray and fast) many relatives gather at their house at night to celebrate a holiday that remains unknown to many Westerners and Europeans. However, Albanians are themselves Europeans, and their customs, traditions and worldview combine the ancient with the modern, Europe with Asia, and the West with the East.
On the one hand, my Albanian-American neighbors are culturally Eastern: talkative, noisy, warmly hospitable, spirited and traditionally observant. Steve’s parents live with their son in one (sufficiently large) apartment. And just like Fatima, they help fulfill the functions of a superintendent. The mother, a wholesome woman, frequently washes the entrance hallway floor (in the old style, bending down and maneuvering a rag without any modern brushes or mops). The father, thin, limping and polite, is always making something in the entrance, on the front lawn or in the courtyard. Steve’s younger brother and his wife and child, who occasionally takes up the role of super, also live in our building.
The Krkuti brothers have many relatives, and that is why they have guests almost every day. At evening time, the first floor is filled with appetizing aromas of exotic south European dishes and the wonderful smell of Turkish coffee. In front of Steve’s door is a varied and ever-changing collection of footwear. Fatima once explained: "Muslims don’t wear shoes in the house; the house for us is like a mosque, a holy place.” With the same zeal, Steve and Fatima clean the common entrance floor almost every Saturday.
From time to time a Krkuti relative gets married, and then our house begins to stir, scurry and fuss, looking much like some scenes from the popular comedy, "My Big, Fat Greek Wedding," when well-dressed women go from one apartment to another, Eastern music plays, children of different ages run up and down the stairs. The wedding itself is always magnificent, loud and colorful, and it lasts a long time. The celebration moves from the house to the street and back, and people passing by in the street have the unique opportunity to admire picturesque Albanian folk dancing.
At the same time Albanians are modern, Western people. The men neither cover their heads nor have beards and the women neither wear traditional clothing nor even head shawls. Fatima’s typical daily clothing, for example, is shorts and tank top in the summer and pants and t-shirt in the winter. Greeting guests, of course, she’s very well put together, and for weddings she is glamorous (like the rest of the relatives) in low-cut evening gowns and hair done up.
Steve and his male relatives love to play soccer. On summer weekends, they dress up in full soccer uniforms – white shirts, black shorts, high socks, and cleats – to go play in a park or at a high school soccer field. It’s true that the Albanian National Team never appeared in the ranks of champions (although many players are bona fide soccer stars), but at least it advanced beyond elimination matches.
Albanians first arrived in America in the 19th century, but mass immigration only began in recent decades, especially after the disintegration of the Eastern bloc and the fall of the communist regime in Albania itself. According to Census Bureau data, the number of Albanian-Americans grew by 138 percent between 1990 and 2000. In 1990 their numbers did not exceed 47,710; by 2000 they reached 113,661.
According to the same data, the majority of Albanians in New York state live in counties to the north of New York City, like Westchester, Putnam and Rockland. However, former Congressman Joseph DioGuardi, an ethnic Albanian who now heads the Albanian-American Civic League, believes that there are about 750,000 Albanians in the United States. Of that figure, he said, 25,000 of them live in the state of New York.
DioGuardi said that this discrepancy can be accounted for by the fact that many Albanians (similar to immigrants from immigrants from neighboring countries) are not inclined to fill out the forms sent by federal government, while others choose to call themselves Greek or Yugoslav after arriving in the United States.
Like all immigrants, Albanians try to sink roots in America. They work hard, open various businesses – from restaurants to real estate firms – they want their children to become Americans without forgetting Albanian traditions, are proud of their outstanding countrymen like Mother Theresa, and are bothered when the American press examines the Albanian mafia. Also, some have recognized that the "Albanian mafia" (just like the Italian, Irish, and Russian varieties) actually exists, but the criminal behavior can be understood as a response to the heritage of communist regimes.
"Life under Communism corrupted the conscience and the soul," said an Albanian-American businessman from Long Island to journalist Timothy O’Connor. It’s hard not to agree.
Steve is an honest man, despite fears that Russian immigrants spread about greedy supers and rumors about the Albanian mafia. I don’t know if he accepts bribes from new tenants, but long-time tenants have never complained. Sometimes I give him a tip for work he does in my home, but he often completely rejects it, saying that he didn’t do anything special. In disputes between tenants and management, he usually takes the side of tenants and even attempts to get them to replace old refrigerators or repair old bathrooms. It’s hard to say if this the influence of his religion or a socialist past. Judging by his great English, Steve grew up and studied in America, where no one rammed hatred into his head toward the “greedy bourgeoisie property-owners who mercilessly suppress the tenant-proletarians.”
Recently, both Fatima’s and my gas stoves went out of order. For almost two weeks, while management swung into action, I cooked at my brother’s, and Fatima cooked at Steve’s brother’s. Then management finally agreed to give us new stoves. Although mine seems to work fine, I still await the Sunday when Steve can come by to look it over. After his careful inspection, I know I will sleep better at night.
