I always feel privileged to be able to carry out the humanitarian aid work that I am permitted to undertake and this journey to Kosova was no exception.

The response from the people of Kosova was wonderful and they accept what you bring with such love that it was a pleasure to be there, but perhaps I run ahead of myself.

One thing I have to say at the outset is that there are many stories concerning Serb Kosovars who sheltered Albanian Kosovars from the police and military. Although this journal will lean heavily towards the Albanians left behind, and some that aren't, Albanian Kosovars are themselves carrying out atrocities if they can get within reach of Serbs. Perhaps revenge is justified, it is not for me to say, all I can say is that there are good and bad on both sides, and no winners in war.

We left on the Monday and I started sneezing. Ken was my co-driver, with Andy and Hadyn in the other vehicle. We were taking two 7.5 tonne lorries, with about eight tonnes of aid, mainly food. On board we had four tonnes of pasta, one tonne of rice, one tonne of vegetable oil, plus a variety of smaller food and toiletry boxes as well as textiles. Our outward journey was to take us through France, Germany, Austria and Italy, before we caught the ferry across to Albania and then up to Kosova.

We had decided to leave the day before the bulk of the vehicles, there being thirteen of us in all, carrying in excess of fifty tonnes of aid. We had joined a convoy organised by a man from Wales named Mike Rye, who had organised many convoys in the past under the banner of Convoy of Hope, and this one was largely composed of vehicles driven by people involved in Rotary Clubs from around Britain.

Our first night stop was on the French/German border, and our second was just past the Austrian/Italian border. By the second day I was beginning to feel unwell. There were no major hiccups on our journey and we progressed smoothly. On our third day we reached Italy and I was feeling wretched. We drove on until late that night reaching our rendezvous point just north of Bari on the 'heel' of Italy. We had achieved our aim of driving without beating ourselves to the ground through exhaustion.

We spent the day waiting for the imminent arrival of the convoy, and at lunch time the next day the first two lorries arrived, and by three o'clock the remainder of the vehicles had pulled in, ready to assemble before we headed into Bari and the port. One vehicle had broken down in France, and would follow along afterwards.

We met a young lad and his girlfriend from Merseyside who were waiting for a cargo from the ferry before returning to England, and they were less than complementary about the night time events around the port area. There was also another 7.5 tonne lorry waiting for us. They had heard we were driving through Albania and wanted to join us for safety reasons, something we could all understand.

Many stories exist about what it is like driving through Albania and I don't think any of us were looking forward to it.

We boarded the ferry and slept well on the bunks in a cabin. I was feeling marginally better, but still pretty awful. We were up early to deal with customs.

It had been suggested that as we were likely to be held in customs for some time we would wait in Durres, our port of arrival in Albania, and leave early next morning. We were in customs until 14.00 and once they came round and checked our loads and then drove into a secure customs compound where we would leave the vehicles for the night, safe in the knowledge that they would be kept company by security guards and rats. We encountered our first serious Albanian roads, with the side road leading to the compound being full of pot holes three metres in diameter of varying depths, which caused the lorries to rock from side to side as they passed through the shallow end. We also had to manoeuvre our way past open manholes, tricky in the failing light, and even more so in the dark of the next morning.

The hotel in which we stayed was basic, but clean, and a great surprise to us. We hadn't expected anything like this to exist in Durres, which wouldn't win any prizes in a beautiful town competition, or even a partially beautiful town competition, or even..., I am sure you get the picture. I was able to eat my first proper meal for a couple of days and every one had a hot shower and a good nights sleep.

The next morning we were up early, which was more than could be said for our guide, who managed to turn up about seventy five minutes later than we had arranged. We managed to miss the rush hour traffic in Durres!, and headed for the country where the roads deteriorated even further. Our guide was useful however and he took us on a road which was quicker than that we would have taken ourselves.

We started to climb into the mountains where the winding road would vary between quite narrow and acceptable. Whichever it was, there was always a long stream of taxis and small lorries trying to pass on the way to delivering their loads of people or goods or both. We split into two groups in order to make the journey easier, as it is difficult to coordinate thirteen vehicles at the best of times, let alone along mountain roads such as these.

We made our way across ramshackle bridges and water filled pot holes. We would stop and be covered in mud from only a few moments out of the cab. You could see people's lights going out in our convoy as wires came loose, or bulbs broke as the rear of the lorry bounced up and down with vigour as it hit one trough after another. We passed surly looking Albanians, no one seems to smile here, who appeared from nowhere and who appeared to be going to the same place. Miles from the nearest town or village they would just be walking along, hopefully knowing where they would end up.

After twelve hours and one hundred and fifty gruelling miles we arrived at the border post which separated Albania and Kosova, and settled down to wait for the others to catch us up, which they did some ninety minutes later.

Customs paperwork done, we moved through the Albanian side and found ourselves in Kosova. No customs men here, only NATO soldiers, in this case Germans, checking our passports and waving us through.

We had arrived at last and headed onward to the nearest town, Prizren. Here we encountered the first game Kosova lads play. They park near your moving vehicle and then come and say you have hit them. They have a conveniently broken tail light or similar to back up their story and try to extract Deutsche Marks from you. Ken was driving at the time and after some negotiations they agreed to come back the next day and we would look at the damage. Of course, they didn't as there were none.

We stayed in the compound of the Roman Catholic organisation Caritas and had another chilly night's sleep in the lorry. It was Saturday night and the moon was full.

The first thing you notice when you drive through Kosova is the presence of KFOR, the NATO forces stationed here. They are everywhere. You go through KFOR checkpoints with tanks, armoured personnel carriers, machine gun emplacements and soldiers, surrounded by concrete blocks and/or sandbags. As you drive along the road you pass large and small military convoys, perhaps with a hospital vehicle, tank and jeep, or maybe several tanks, APC's, jeeps and others making up some heavy duty military outing. As I explain later, to enter certain areas you need to have a KFOR escort.

This is a country that some regard as still being at war.

The next morning and we started early for our destination, a town in the south west of Kosova called Gjakova.

Gjakova is a typical market town in an agricultural society. Before the destruction it had probably been quite a sweet place. Now the old part of the town has been destroyed and the newer part has taken predominance. Rebuilding goes ahead. One place at which we would eat was the only surviving part of a shopping complex which had been burnt out. More men are missing from the area surrounding and including Gjakova, than in any other part of Kosova. Figures vary depending on whom you speak to, but it is possible over 10,000 men are still missing. Families have been torn asunder, only time will tell whether the damage can be repaired.

We parked in one of the 'market squares' to the east of the town, near the burnt out police station, and within a short time numbers of children started to appear in the hope they might get some little tasty morsel, sweets or item of clothing from you.

This was to be our home for the next few days. Loathe to leave the lorries just in case some less than honest person decided to check things out, we used the bathroom of a local flat and spent the nights in the back of the lorry.

It was morning and the town was alive with people. We were told we couldn't do anything until we had an "ordnance awareness briefing", or "be careful of the mines" talk to us ordinary folk.

That afternoon, we filed into the UNHCR building at the rear of the square and waited for the young South African to go through his frightening routine of explaining what mines are, what they can do, what they look like and what to do if you see one. He then went though a similar routine with regard to unexploded cluster bombs and other ordnance. Apparently the cluster bombs used over Kosova came from old stock and only 16% of them actually exploded. That's a great deal of unexploded ordnance.

With a few parting words at our instructor, England were playing South Africa that afternoon, we left for the vehicles to make our first delivery.

Leaving aid on this visit was different than on other trips we have made. Although as I explain we did take aid to a village the bulk of the aid was left within "community centres" (as they are politely called) in which refugees are housed. The convoy was split into different groups and I headed off to leave part of my load at a place called the Brickyard, which is coordinated by the Salvation Army. They look after almost 400 people, and will do until Christmas when they pull out (who knows what will happen then). The Brickyard is similar to many refugee camps we have seen. Lots of barrack type buildings, housing families, people milling around, washing and children everywhere.

We unloaded into a large room and I found myself talking to the Salvation Army Major who was in charge. He was telling me that practically every agency is desperately short of food, and we would be wooed by just about everyone during our time there. They are not sure they would have enough food to last the winter.

We left one tonne of pasta, some sanitary towels, vegetable oil and a variety of textiles.

As this was being finished off I was introduced to a man named Gary Opfer from Toronto who runs the Toronto Baptist Foundation in Gjakova.

In April refugees from Kosova were sent to Toronto and the Baptist Foundation was one of many groups who helped to feed, clothe and generally look after them. In July Gary moved back with the refugees to continue the work.

The work they do is specifically looking after families who have lost male members of the family. To date they look after almost 2,000 families, consisting of almost 8,000 people. Each month they put together food parcels which are then delivered to the families. These are in Gjakova and in villages scattered throughout the surrounding countryside.

Gary does an excellent job and we left another mountain of aid for onward dispatch to his families. Andy and Hadyn had already left one tonne of pasta. Others had dropped goods at a hospital and others at a depot organised by the Mother Theresa Organisation.

We went back to the square that night feeling that our work was at last being done.

Unfortunately a power cut prevented us from getting a much needed meal, but a good night's sleep was had by all.

The next day we were to go out to a village to give aid personally to those in need. This is not a straightforward exercise. Firstly you have to be accompanied by UNHCR or KFOR, and secondly there are restricted areas where you are not allowed to go without prior permission.

The lady who was to accompany us in her UNHCR vehicle was delayed so it was some time before we could get moving. The convoy was again split into smaller groups, some going a further distance, some into Serb occupied villages (protected by KFOR) while others to Albanian villages. We were in a group which delivered to eighty families in an Albanian village called Zochiste, close to the town of Rahovec (also known as Orhovac).

While we were here, others in the convoy took aid to two Serb villages, which were ringed by KFOR to stop Albanian's getting to them. Their accounts told us of maybe 3,000 people in desperate need of aid, their buildings destroyed and less people wishing to help them.

In our village we were going to do our best to make sure that each family received equal amounts of aid and so we unloaded a lot of goods and shared it out. The rice was broken open and poured into buckets, and then tins of vegetables, fruit, biscuits and sundry other items were placed on top or in another bucket. Then they villagers would move along and receive a large plywood box supplied by a group from Merseyside which contained disaster supplies.

It took several hours to coordinate all of this and at the end we were shown into one of the partially destroyed houses and offered coffee and home brewed raki. It gave me a good chance to walk around the village and see the level of destruction.

Whereas in other places I have visited in the Balkans the destruction has been caused by bombs of some description, this village, and much of Kosova, had been destroyed by fire. A few houses have been rebuilt, but most houses have no roofs, and families are getting what shelter they can by living on the ground floor where the ceiling acts as some form of protection. There are no windows or doors, no water or electricity, just the minimum of protection from the elements. This situation is for the few, many others have to live in UNHCR tents.

Let's hope for a mild winter.

It was here that we witnessed one of the more distressing events of our journey.

While everyone was having a drink in the house one of the women with us found out that there were twins recently born to a woman in the house, but that one of them was very poorly. She went off to investigate. When she came back she was very worried about the baby and had found out that although the initial problem seemed to be chronic nappy rash, where the skin had almost completely been removed down to the muscle, the underlying problem was that the mother was not producing enough milk and so had made the decision that the twin daughter, the other being a son, would be allowed to die. She was badly malnourished. This may be what happens in a rural community like this, but it is difficult to accept, especially is, like me, you are the father of two daughters.

As we left we took the mother and child with us and the UNHCR vehicle dropped them at the local hospital in order that the child could receive treatment.

Perhaps that was why we were there. This is real humanitarian aid. Hopefully we have saved that child's life. We may find out on our next visit.

We reached Gjakova later that afternoon and went out for a much needed meal.

The next day we were to offload the rest of our supplies and start our long journey home. We moved goods onto different vehicles so that single lorries could deliver things rather than several arriving with a little aid on each. We gave the rest of our goods to some families who worked in the local rubbish site. They hadn't been paid for four months and their life is as difficult as anyone else's.

With that done we started the journey home, driving north through Pecs and up to the Montenegro border, where they more or less waved us through. Ken had been in Montenegro only three weeks before and helped us with the quality of road and the direction. The roads were much better than Albania.

We drove through the afternoon and evening pushing on to the Montengran/Croatian border. En route Ken directed us to a small town where there was a ferry which crossed the bay cutting thirty five kilometres off our journey. At the border we had some formalities to overcome, but these were made all the more easy by the distribution of a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of wine!

We slept in the lorries, which were parked on building land just past the Croatian border and in the morning woke to find a man, possibly a security person, shuffling by the lorries. He said something to us, we replied we had been to Kosova. He gave us a thumbs up sign and said O.K. and wandered off.

We drove through the day, by this time we had split from the main convoy, and reached Zagreb that evening, where a welcome hot meal and an even hotter shower awaited. We stayed at Ljubica's house, the coordinator for our aid trips to Croatia. We left early next morning driving up through Slovenia, Austria and into Germany. We slept for a few hours and then pushed on at 7.00 in order to reach the ferry as early as possible.

We arrived back in England at 16.00 and the lorries split up, Hadyn and Andy to go directly to Bath, I was to drop Ken at Brentwood before heading there myself.

Such things we have seen and heard, so much misery, but also so much joy, the joy of freedom. We did hear that maybe as much as 45% of villages had still not received a visit from any aid agency and no aid. When people do get there they find them traumatised.

That's where we want to go next time.
David Crosweller

November, 1999

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