Signals from Another World

Hello, this is Bryštinais Everywhere, a podcast brought to you by Radio Otherwise, a program of Manifesta for Team Bryština situated at the centre for narrative practice. My name is Simon Kurti and I'm pleased to welcome you to the seventh episode of this series titled "Signals from another World" by Ardit Hoja. With other worldly sounds, it seems that an encounter with a radio play around the adaptations of Albanian folk tales is the most appropriate way to end the first series of Prštinais Everywhere. Tune in and listen to a play voiced by Lili Voril, Nourhanje Haya and Ardit Hoja as well as music by Tetras. Once upon a time, there were peasants who worked the land. This was a time when entire families and communities labored together, producing their own food, their own tools and materials. All year round they sustained themselves, yet the little they produced above their own needs was seized by local aristocratic elites. Monarchs and their henchmen fed off their labour, filling their coffers with surpluses. In this feudal universe, rank and class were fixed by biological destiny by the divine right of kings. All actions, all events, were preinscribed in the cosmos and pre-determined by the gods. Traces of which were found in the entrails of animals, in the prophecies of oracles, in the pages of sacred texts. Here, even the stars conspired against the agency of mere mortals, where fate was sealed by birth. To be born a peasant was to be assigned a life of toil and drudgery. Much like the resources they produced together, their folklore was communally crafted, orally shared and adapted, with no discernible authors. These were didactic morals, stories obsessed with food, where serfs dreamed of abundance against a backdrop of scarcity and hunger. In a novel twist of fate, they told tales of peasants becoming kings and kings peasants. Stories which under the brute force of oppression were relegated to the very margins. The Foolish Youth in the Ring Sourced from Albanian oral tradition. There was once a man and a woman who had no children of their own. One evening, the man of the house was returning from the field with his oxen. At home, he found a dervish leaning against the wall. Can I come inside? I have been travelling for quite some time. The Dervish asked. It was the fifth day of Ramadan. As is custom, he was invited inside. In the early hours of the morning, the wife began to beat the drum. To show that the time had come for supper before the daily fast. As they were eating, the dervish asked. How is it that you have no children? My dear Dervish, I am 50 and my wife is 40. God in His greatness has not given us a child of our own. At the husband's reply, the Dervish brought out a book which had their fate written inside. Leaving through it, he predicted that God would in fact give them a son. But under no circumstances are you to give the boy a name. The Dervish said. Two years passed and the couple did have a son. Just as the Dervish had prophesied. Following his instructions, they gave the boy no name. Not long after their son's birth, tragedy would befall their house. The father's life was taken by a lightning bolt. The widowed woman was left alone with her son. She began spinning yarn to make ends meet. One day, her young boy kindly offered to take her finished thread to market. Mother, you're exhausted. Why don't I take your beautiful yarn to sell? Thank you, my son. Please, sell it quickly. And return home in time for dinner. Don't forget to buy a loaf of bread with the money you've made. The boy set off to market with his mother's yarn in hand. Finally spun and beautifully crafted, he sold it immediately. His job now done, he was off to buy bread. Just before he could purchase the loaf he had promised his mother. He happened upon a charlatan who was determined to kill his own dog. Distraught? The youth begged. "Please, don't kill the dog." "It is my dog!" "And I will kill it if I want." The man replied. "What if I would buy it off you instead?" "Fine! Give me your money and read it from my side." The boy spent all the lira he had gained on the dog and some mason so that he could feed his new friend. Returning home, he told his mother he had spent all their money on a dog. "You fool!" She yelled. "What are we to do with a dog? I hope it bites off your ear. We already don't have enough to eat." "And now, burdened with a mouth of a dog to feed." Exhausted and annoyed, the poor mother returned to her spindle to spin mojian. "I will sell my own yarn in the market. While I'm away, make yourself useful and collect some firewood." The boy went out to do as his mother had told him. On his journey home from the forest, he came across a burning garden. Once fixed and hypnotized, he stood frozen, watching. As he looked on, he noticed a snake trapped in a burning fig tree. "Send him a man! Save me from this fire!" The snake began to bleed. "No, I don't trust you. You're a snake who cannot help but bite me." The boy replied. "If you save me from this fire, I promise to be of great service to you." The boy took a leap of faith and went into the garden to rescue the snake. Safely out of the fire, the snake turned to the boy and said, "Come with me to the cave with my mother and brother's slaves." The boy sheepishly agreed. They climbed far up into the mountains. So high up that the call to prayer from the Minerates faded into a whisper. And then to silence. As they climbed, the snake turned to the boy. "When you speak to my mother, except only the ring, she keeps under tongue." Having arrived at the cave, his mother immediately attacked, but the little snake quickly intervened. Surprised at what she had heard, the mother granted him safe passage to their home. The snake mother turned to the boy. "Well, what do you want for having saved my son's life?" "Nervous. The boy replied, 'All I want is the ring under your tongue.' The snake mother spashed out her ring. "Swing will grant your every wish, but to make sure to always keep it in sight." The young boy rushed home. At the sight of the cottage, he called out to his mother. It's time for supper. We have no food myself." son, there is nothing to eat. Why don't you come here to the table? I have something to show you. The mother, exhausted, dragged herself to the empty table. Her son lifted his hand and began whispering to his new ring. Ring, a ring conjured me ill fit for a gang. The food suddenly appeared in an abundant, so rich at glowed. Revenous, they began to eat. [Buzzer] Having finished their supper, the young boy turned to his mother. I want to marry the king's daughter. He had decided. Go and tell him I wish. Off she went to do her son's bidding. Upon entering the palace, she asked to meet with the king. When the king heard of her son's wish, he replied, "He can have my daughter's hand in marriage. If he builds a palace bigger than mine." The old woman returned home to tell her son what the king had said. Presented with the king's challenge, the boy lifted his hand and whispered again to his ring. Suddenly, a whole palace appeared. Far more magnificent than the kings. The mother again returned to the king. "My son has fulfilled his duty. He has built a palace grander in size. But the king had changed his mind." If he builds a road to his new palace, one plated in silver, then I shall fulfill my promise and give you my daughter's hand in marriage. The mother returned home and told her son what the king had said. The foolish youth again turned to his ring, asking for another wish. With the road to the palace now plated in silver, the mother returned to the king who once again made new demands. "If your son can furnish your palace with more lavish fissions than mine, I promise to give you my daughter." The boy asked another favour from his ring, and his mother again visited the king. Not believing his ears, the king made sure to visit the palace himself. Speechless at the sight of it, he finally conceded that the youth's palace was indeed grander and more lavish in size. He now fulfilled his promise, the king gave his daughter's hand in marriage. "But first, I must give you an aid. From this day on, you shall be known as Suleiman." A few days later, after the wedding in festivities, the young man's new wife stole her husband's ring. "Ring! Transport me to the other side of the black sea and take my husband in his dreadful mother back to their small little cottage. She and the ring immediately disappeared, while her husband and his mother were flung back to their cottage, stripped of his name and title. Frantic. He searched everywhere, but could not find his beloved ring. An interlude. As the tight grip of feudalism began to thaw, a new, burgeoning middle class would emerge, a class who would supersede the aristocracy through enterprise and industry. In urban centres, their new factories would require a reserve army of labour, of the workers necessary to animate industrial production. The peasants, who had hitherto been tethered to the land, who had worked in the fields and subsisted by way of the commons, were now obstacles to be overcome by capital. In the interest of the rising middle classes, the serfs had to be made landless, had to be ripped from their source of subsistence, from their communal ties and livelihoods. The bourgeoisie set about enclosing the commons. Partition land through formal decrees, acquired exclusive rights to dominions that had formerly been shared among the common people. The local forests and rivers came under individual ownership, restricted from common use. The peasants could no longer sustain their own sustenance. Despite protests and rebellion, their relationship to the land had been severed, while their ties of kinship unraveled, uprooted and adrift. These landless serfs were pulled and dragged towards the urban centres. Unable to produce their own food, they were forced to exchange their labour for the pittance of hourly wages. An endeavour so lucrative that the bourgeoisie would export it to the colonies the world over. The epivol of feudalism saw the waning of the crown and its religious clergy, rupturing the celestial skies, whose weight would collapse onto the earth. The once stringent hierarchy of feudal culture, between those who ruled and those who toyled, started to blur together in the public sphere of the new middle classes. In a carnival twist of fate, this new reigning elite would extract the culture of their subordinates. Popular genres began to make their way into the works of high literary value, and at this very moment, just as the peasants were being pulled off of their sustenance, middle class scholars began to document the folk culture of the commons. Stories which once were communally told suddenly became the provenance of single authors, in a new world where like the land, ideas and tales came under individual ownership. Only once recalled the hardships of peasant life and the iron fist of the monarch's reign. The stories of the serfs were now sanitised and revised for the appetites of bourgeois audiences. Meanwhile, the proverbial happily ever after, reconciled the unsavory plight of the underclasses. Landless, with only their labour to exchange, the peasants had been wrenched off of their land and dragged to the core of the cities, where capital now reigned. Unmored, the peasant-come-polotariat was now adrift and anonymous amongst the mass crowds of the metropolis. In these new urban spectacles, they would come across tales that had an uncanny resemblance. Stories that were once their own were now being sold back to them, as they took their place amongst a captive audience. Long forgotten, this folklore would now serve the hypnotic magic lantern of city life, where bright lights and entertainment lulled the masses into subservience. The maiden who was promised to the sun, sourced from Albanian oral tradition. There was once a queen who could bear no children of her own. Desperate, she begged and prayed to the sun. "Please, dear son, give me a child. I'd be happy even with a girl if you're kind enough to grant my wish. He can take the child once they've reached the age of 12." Not long after her prayers, she felt the warming of her belly. The sun had fulfilled her wish. Soon she gave birth to a baby girl. The daughter was the apple of her mother's eye. Years later, as the rays of the sun peeled open the dark and warning skies, the daughter of the queen visited a meadow nearby. The sun, observing the maiden from afar, approached and told the young girl, "Tell your mother to hand over what she, not long ago, promised me." Unaware of the sun's demands, the maiden returned home to tell her mother what the sun had whispered in her ear. The mother was petrified by the reminder of her pledge. She told the child, "If you cross paths with him again, tell the sun that the thing I promise is so far too small to give away to him." But one day, not long after her 12th birthday, the young maiden disappeared in the meadows. Her mother waited and waited. But her daughter did not return. As the sun set, she realized that he had taken what she promised him long ago. Grief is stricken and at a loss. She made demands of her servants. From this day on, we must only wear black. You must spend in dark of the palace with Sout and you must lock me in my room. None of us are to leave. Not a beep. Not a word. Complete silence must before the palace. Meanwhile, the young girl had taken up residence in the house of the sun. You are now my child. Young girl, you must forget your mother and the earthly realm from which you came from. Soon all your memories will fade. This is your new home. You will be well looked after. My sister will make sure of it. Many seasons had come and gone. Soon the young maiden forgot about home and the palace she was from. She even started to forget her own name. What was it again? One day in the kitchen, the young sister of the sun was baking bread. To wipe down the oven, she used her own breasts. To shovel coal, she used her bare hands. The young maiden took pity and searched the palace for something else the young sister of the sun could use. Don't smear such on your breasts and hands. Here, use this shovel and rag. Oh young child, you are so kind. Let me make you a meal to thank you. Go to the garden and bring back a vegetable. Choose your favorite. The young maiden ran off to retrieve a beautiful cabbage, bright, crisp and green. As she tore it from the ground, the sound of the cabbage reminded the maiden of a broken heart. The broken heart of her mother suddenly all her memories came back. The young maiden began to heave and cry, tears gushing out of her eyes. At the sight of such dismay, the sun came to hug the girl. Why are you weeping? I miss my mother so very much. The girl replied, I cannot bear to see you cry so much, my child. I will summon one of my stags to take you home. Placed on a stag's antlers, the girl was now on her way back to her mother. The earth opened up so they could leave the dominion of the sun. They passed forests, mountains, rivers and seas. After a long journey, the stag finally delivered the young maiden home. She knocked on the door of the palace, but there was no reply. So again, she knocked. Mother, it's me, your daughter, please open the door. The cries of the maiden awoke the queen from her grief. My daughter, my daughter, it cannot be. She rushed to the door of the palace to welcome the maiden home. Joy, laughter and colour returned to the kingdom once more. Hearing of her return, the children of the court came to visit their friend. Queen, queen, queen, queen, queen. Can the young maiden please come out to play? Of course she can. Make sure to have fun and celebrate. The maiden and her friends went off to play. As they explored the gardens of the palace, they came across a big gate. Let's try to push it open. Push, push, push, push. Give it all we have. They tried with all their might, but the big gate did not budge. The queen's daughter was determined to give it a go. "Oh, let me try," she replied. Stepping backwards, she ran up to the gate to build up her force. The moment her hands touched the bars, it quickly opened, letting her pass. But as soon as she got to the other side, the door slammed shut. Her friends tried as hard as they could to open the gate, but it did not budge. The young maiden was locked inside. The children of the palace ran back to the queen and told her what had happened. The mother began to weep and wail and could not be consoled. Behind the door, the maiden happened upon a garden full of people and animals that had been turned to stone. Among them was a marble king who held a scroll which read, "I will marry any girl who can spend three days, three nights, and three weeks without sleep. This deed will bring me back to life." The maiden was determined to stay awake, hoping to awaken the king. Days and nights passed, but she began to lose track of time. It felt as though three weeks had passed when one day, a merchant came by. "Servants for sale, servants for sale, great price, servants for sale." The maiden rushed to the gated windows and tossed a bunch of golden coins to his feet. She lowered a rope for one of the servants to take hold. She heaved her up over the gated walls, deranged with little to no sleep. She told the servant, "You mustn't sleep until the king has awoken. I must shut my eyes for I have not slept in a long time. When the marble king comes back to life, wake me up for I and to be his wife." She explained to the servant what was written on the king's scroll, and then closed her eyes to fall asleep. While she slept, the servant devised a cunning plan. She undressed the maiden and adorned all her finery, exchanging them with her own rags. When the king awakened, he asked, "Who are you?" "I'm the one who spent three days, three nights and three weeks without sleep." She replied, "And so he made her his wife." "Who is that maiden sleeping there?" "Oh, that is my servant. She accompanied me for as far as frightened." When the maiden woke up, the king asked his wife, "Well, what shall we do with your servant?" "Let me tend to the geese in the lake nearby." The young maiden replied, "So the king made her his goose-girl, and she built herself a hut in which to live." The maiden who was once promised to the sun, now sat in her hut, weeping, and recounting her tale of woe. One day, on his many hunts, the king passed by the young maiden's hut, hearing her cry, he asked, "What is the cause of your unrest?" The young maiden told him everything that had happened to her. Shocked, he immediately made her his wife. Meanwhile, the servant was executed, cut up into a thousand pieces, and fed to the geese. "What shall we do with your servant?" In the late 19th century, in what was then called the Ottoman Empire, Western scholars, amateur linguists, and anthropologists, looked for adventure amidst the Orient, searching for tales of a mythic past. Just as they sought to document the folk life of the Balkan peninsula, the imperialist west sought to undermine the empire of the Sultan, who they had diagnosed the sick man of Europe. In order to secure trading posts across the Eastern Mediterranean, so that capital could cross new frontiers on its circular journey of self-expansion, the patronage of European powers would help to construct new nations. With the new technologies of capital, with the advent of the newspaper and later of radio, whole communities would melt away to assume new shapes and characters. This new public sphere overturned the vertical bound cosmos of feudal life, introducing in its place the horizontal plane of history, or so they say. A dimension where time is no longer linked to the cyclical and repeating rhythm of the seasons. There instead, time moves forward and the continuous march towards progress. The fates and the messages they had hidden in the stars fade away from the bright glow of city lights, and, like a twist of magic, new commodities transform social relations as a new dream laden sleep, before the world. Voices by Lily Whirl, Nourhan Chahaya, and Ardith Horja, with music by Tetris. The foolish youth in the ring, sourced from Albanian oral tradition in contos albane regueillé traduit par Auguste 2, a author of the manual of the long-shocky Paris, Ernst Leroy 1881, reprint New York 1980, reprinted in Folklore Chyptar Ni, Prosa Papulora Tirana 1963, translated from Albanian by Robert Elsie, from which it has been adapted and revised, with fragments from the boy with no name. The maiden who was promised to the sun, sourced from Albanian oral tradition in. Thank you for tuning in to Pristine as everywhere by Radio Otherwise. You can see the link in the description below. You will listening to Ardith Horja's episode "Signals from another world". As its four days after the manifesto for Tim Pristine by Anjel has ended, it's been a pleasure to work on Pristine as everywhere. Pristine as everywhere by Radio Otherwise will remain and continue to grow through the centre for narrative practice. Make sure to visit our website and follow social media to see what's coming next. Pristine as everywhere, a podcast brought to you by Radio Otherwise. Manifesto 14, Pristine.