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Through the ages one just has to ask the question: Which family gave their lives protecting the religious freedom that Mirdita and most of the North of Albania enjoys today? How many men fought wars, generation after generation, protecting the freedom of their homeland, religion and customs? Only one name stands out, that of the “Dera e Gjomarkut” the “Gjomarkaj Porte”.

Through the centuries their bravery, nationalism, pride and belief in Catholicism is undeniable. The Dera e Gjomarkut led in every war; for freedom, religion and homeland.So why is it that historians, intellectuals, journalists, commentators, politicians et al are so afraid to speak about it? Why is it that the history of this very important family is denied in Albanian history books? Not taught in Albanian schools? What are they so afraid of? Why so much organized hostility against this Porte and family?

The Kanun of Lek Dukagjini has been at the forefront of Albanian history and when the need arose it was applied judiciously by the Kapidan of Mirdita. We exhalt and rightly so, other nationalists in the media and history books, the likes of Sami Frasheri, Pashko Vaso, Isa Buletini, but when it comes to the Gjomarkaj Porte there is nothing. A void. Blank pages. What are we teaching our children, our youth about the North? About the heroism shown through the centuries by members of this Porte? Why was the North mostly Catholic and why has it remained so after 500 years?

Through the centuries and up until the present the Gjomarkj Porte was decimated, they fought and lost, but their spirit never died. They were resurrected over and over again and maintained their dignity, their nobility, their faith and deep patriotism. For centuries the Kanun of Leke Dukagjini was at the forefront of the northern provinces and when it was needed it was administered by this Porte with fairness and justly.This Porte, to whom so many brave men belong: Gjon Marku, Llesh i Zi, Bibe Dode, Preng Bibe Dode, Prenge Lleshi, Lesh Gjoni, Ndue Gjoni, Dode Lleshi, Marka Gjoni, Gjon Marka Gjoni, Ndue Gjon Marku, Llesh Gjon Marku, Dede Gjon Marku, Nikoll Gjon Marku and last but not least the flag bearer of Mirdita, the hero who led Mirdita in its fight against communism with all his might and ultimate sacrifice, his life: Kapidan Mark Gjon Marku.

They and others belonging to this Porte may not be written about by Albanian contemporary writers or discussed by analysts, but they are not forgotten by the people of Mirdita. This Porte, who gave so much and yet asked so little in return but to be free, to practice their religion and to let Mirdita grow and prosper in a democratic society, has been systematically denied their rightful and just place in Albanian history.

Shame on the so called historians and education administrators who keep denying Mirdita and the Dera e Gjomarkut their just history, thereby denying their children, the future of Albania, an undeniable truth; that the Dera e Gjomarkut has played a role in our history as no other family ever has or will again. And it is thanks to this Porte, this Dera, that the North has remained a Catholic heaven and that its customs and traditions have been left untouched.

Bianca Gjomarkaj


by Kapidan Ndue Gjon Marku

From the beginning of June 1944 until the end of October I found myself in Mirdita fighting against the communist guerrillas who were attacking us from all sides, in the area of Mat and Lure e Lume. During these months of fighting many of my men were left for dead or wounded, but the casualties inflicted on the enemy were also many. Ultimately, we were forced to retreat to a more suitable area as the guerrillas received more ammunition and reinforcements, thereby outnumbering us.

Finally, on October 20, we were recalled to Shpal. For three days and three nights we resisted the attacks of the communist brigades there. It had been a tough fight but our determination and struggles were memorable and exceptional. Although we suffered defeat, we also inflicted many losses against the communists. When it was evident that we could not resist any longer we headed in the direction of the Simoni hills. We had to cross the river Fandi i Madh, which was overflowing due to the heavy rains. If it were not for the fishermen who took us across the river we would have been stranded by the river bank.

Once across we headed to Geziq and crossed the river Fandi e Vogel in order to reach Thkell and from there headed into the mountains, where we gathered and continued on the road to Shkodra.

My thought was to go back to Mirdita and continue the fight with those forces that had remained loyal to us and miraculously stand victorious. But Mark1 had other plans, hence I stayed in Shkodra. Mark had decided that my father and I would leave Albania and relocate somewhere west until things calmed down. I was not told ahead, probably out of fear that I would not listen to him.

On November 26, 1944 we left Shkodra for Kastrati. I then continued to Tuz where I joined my father. Our Odyssey started from Tuzi.

For a long time we crossed Jugoslavia on foot and under the constant bombardment of the allies and stopped in different places to rest. After a week we arrived in Jablan where we stayed for a few days. There, where we welcomed the New Year 1945, we lost our driver Llazia Kolashi. From there, always on foot and during the day, we continued the journey to Visegrad. At one point, we hid on the mountain tops to protect ourselves from the Allies’ bombardment and as soon as the incursion was over, we would continue on our way.

We came across many dead soldiers and burnt German vehicles but we kept walking without stopping and without food. We spent the night in an abandoned hut. The winter was hard with snow everywhere. My fear was for my father’s health, but for the greatness of God Almighty he did not get sick, not even once; he was a hundred times stronger than me.

Towards the end of winter we arrived in Visegrad where we were informed about the train to Sarajevo. The train, of course, was in the hands of the German Army, which did not easily carry civilians. There was no other way that the mountains of Bosnia could be crossed and survive. We turned to the German Command for help. At first the German General did not welcome us but after we conversed and I explained the situation calmly, he acquiesced and called an officer who was in charge of the train station and gave the order to let us in. The officer said that the station was closed and that if we were to stay inside, in case of bombing, we would most probably not survive. I explained the matter to my father and he, after thinking for a moment, said to me: “So far we are lucky, even this time He will take us out of danger; we enter”. And so we did. Once again God watched over us and on that day no Allied planes appeared and we boarded a train to Sarajevo.

The train was loaded with people and we squeezed into each other like eggs in a basket. As the train started climbing up the mountain it stopped and started going back downhill. I, who was the tallest in the wagon, moved 200 meters to the front. At that moment I thought I would die, but German soldiers boarded the train and attached another locomotive and with the help of the first one brought it to the top of the Sarajevo mountains. It constantly rained and snowed on the mountains of Sarajevo and the train cars were open. The snow and rain would cover us as we headed up the mountain. For one week we were subjected to falling rain and snow until we arrived in Sarajevo. We stayed in Sarajevo for ten days where we recovered by resting and eating well, from there we left by train to Zagreb, where we also stayed for ten days.

While in Zagreb I decided we should head to Vienna but even in Zagreb the train station was in the hands of the Germans who had closed it and would not let anyone in, only with permission. I had to go to the German Command and ask them to give me permission to take the train. Here, too, fate worked for me. Once the German Command called the guard at the station and gave the order to let us pass we were on our way.

After we left Zagreb it took us three days to arrive in Vienna where we settled in a hotel near the train station, in the southern part of the city. The bombing continued every day and when I would go out to buy food, often while bombing was occurring, I was away from father, the thought of which worried me constantly. One day the neighborhood where we were was bombed. We were shaken to the core as we went down to the basement of the hotel. Father, from time to time, would go out into the hallway to smoke. Suddenly there was a loud boom and a bomb fell, collapsing part of the hotel. Fortunately for us the elevator shaft was left intact otherwise it would have collapsed and most likely killed us all, rather it fell straight into the hallway where our rooms were. Our cement corridor was about a meter thick. The bomb destroyed the roof, the first, second and third floors and the elevator did not work anymore. Our room was in disarray, we hurried and took the few necessities we had left away with us. Fate was on our side once again as the train station had survived. We realized that staying in Vienna any longer was life threatening so we left for Innsbruck.

Our thought was to move to Italy where we could find shelter. To get to Italy, the main train route was Brenero, but there were constant bombings on that side. Many Albanians who had taken that path were left for dead. We took another route called Passo di Resia, which is about a thousand meters high and seven kilometers away from the Swiss border. In order to take that road and pass through Italy, we needed an automobile, which we did not have. We had to wait until a military vehicle headed to Italy passed by and picked us up. After many hours of waiting a military vehicle approached. I stepped forward and begged him to give us a ride. We boarded silently. The night felt heavy. We arrived at the top of the mountain on the border with Italy. I stopped to check with the border guard who refused to speak with me. From there we could see the light on our Swiss side and darkness on the Italian side.

The next morning we arrived in Merano, it was towards the end of March 1945. Merano was declared an open city because it was considered a hospital city. We stayed in Merano until mid-June. With the capitulation of Germany, the Americans arrived in Merano and with their arrival we feared the handing over of father to the communist government of Albania. At the end of June 1945, from Merano, we headed for Rome. Even in Rome the fear of surrender was great because the situation in Italy had not yet stabilized.

We lived in a bleak atmosphere. In the Italian police station I found a high ranking official who had been in Albania and who knew father and Mark. “I assure you” he told me “that our allies can never catch you, so rest assured that in such a case I will notify you at once and provide you with a safe place”. This was a guarantee for us. This situation continued until the first government was formed with De Gasperi as Prime Minister and from that time we lived freely. Surviving was very difficult as we started to lack the few financial means that my father had with him.

Since many thousands of Albanians had gathered in Italy, the Allies, with the help of Italy, formed an assistance camp for Albanian refugees in Reggio Emilia. Thousands of Albanians took refuge in those camps. My father and I did not as I did not want to involve him in the chaos of the camps. We informed our Italian friends at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, who had known my father since the 1930’s when he went to Rome to accompany Mark to the Colleggio Mondragone, of our arrival, which prompted the Italian government to give us a monthly stipend. Although it was not enough to sustain us it did help us somewhat.

Towards the end of 1945, we got in touch with our Albanian friends. From this time on our political activity began ie. Blloku Kombetar Independent.

Father had always been in good health. He never got sick until 1964 when he was diagnosed with throat cancer. He spent the first year of his illness in the hospital and at home. Everything was looking promising and I hoped the disease would be cured, but the cancer began to spread even more so that he could not breathe. I was forced to admit him to one of the specialized hospitals in Rome. The specialist, the primary surgeon who visited him, told me that he needed an operation in the throat so that they could insert a tube which would allow him to breathe. Once the tube was inserted father was breathing freely. He seemed to be resurrected.

The cancer started to spread to his stomach and he stopped chewing food. The head surgeon who visited him daily, told me that he needed another operation to insert a feeding tube to the stomach so that he could be fed. From then on, for 18 months he was hospitalized under the care of the specialized nurses, due to the daily medication and care. Every day I went to the hospital and spent the day with him. He kept on smoking and never stopped. Finally, the disease took over and on April 28, 1966 he died. Even though this was a very painful occasion for me I was blessed to be near him and was able to close his eyes with my hand and kiss him for the last time.

Prof. Ernest Koliqi, wrote wonderful speeches and poems; biographies and news of the death were written in numerous newspapers and magazines. He was buried in the Cimitero Verano in Rome and his gravestone is marked with a photograph of him. With the death of my father it seemed that the world had collapsed. My wife, Maria Teresa, whom he loved so much, did everything for him that a daughter such as Marta or Bardha could have and would have done.

As a foreigner and political immigrant it was very difficult for me to find employment in Italy. Maria Teresa was an only daughter, she had no brothers or sisters, but as long as her father and mother were alive, she had a very full life. With the death of her parents, both with cancer, and most of her funds spent on medical expenses after their deaths in the hospital, her economic situation began to narrow as we multiplied and became six in the family.

Those events prompted our decision to come to New York, USA where my younger brother Nikoll lived with his wife and three children.

And so we started living somehow.

From the private diary of Kapidan Ndue Gjon Marku

1Kapidan Mark Gjon Marku, older brother of Ndue Gjon Marku.


Nga Kapidan Ndue Gjon Marku

Une gysh ne fillim te qershorit 1944 e deri ne fund te tetorit pata qindrue ne Mirdite tue lufte kundra brigata komuniste qi po na mesyjshin prej te kater anevet (Mat, Lure e Lume). N’ata mueje, jemi perjeke me brigatat komuniste tue i vra e tue i sakatue, por edhe na tue lane te dekun e te plagosun. Ma ne fund, shumica e tyne numerike dhe e armatosun mire na shtemgoi me u terhjeke ne zona ma te pershtatshme.

Ne fund, me 20 tetor, na vethuen ne Shpal. Per tre dite e tre nete qindruem sulmeve te brigatavet komuniste. Ka qene nji lufte e ashper por vendosmenija e luftaret tone ka qene mrekullisht e shkelgyeshme. Aty jemi dermue por, komunistat kane pase humbje te medha.

Tue pa se nuk mund qindrojshim ma, jemi terbjeke ne drejtim te kodravet te Simonit por u dote me kallzue lumin “Fandi i Madh” qi ishte shtue teper prej shinavet.

Po mos te kishin qene pshqeshasit qi na nexoren pertej, na qi s’dyshim notin, e un me ta, do te mbeteshin ne breg te lumit e me kerkue ndonji shtek per te dale Kah Gziqi e me kalue “Fandin e Vogel” per te kape Thkellen e atje me qindue ne malt. Pertej lumi “Fandi i Madh” jemi mbledhe dhe kemi vazhdue rugen per Shkoder. Mendimi em ishte me dale prap ne Mirdite e me vazhdue luften me ato forca qi na kishin mbete besnike dhe do te qindrojshim per mrekulli. Mirepo, Marku kishte pase caktue plane tjera e une mbeta ne Shkoder.

Marku kishte pase vendose qi baba dhe un t’a lejshim Shqypnin e te delshin ne prendim. Mue s’me kishte kallue, ndoshta prej friget se un nuk to t’i ndigjojshem.

Ne rame te 26 nandorit 1944 kemi lane Shkoder per ne Kastrati. Kam shkue ne Tuz e atje jam bashkue me baben. Prej Tuzi ka fillue Odiseja e jone.

Per te gjate Jugoslavise ne kambe e nen bombardime te vazhdue te aleatvet tue un ndale here ne nji vend here ne nji tjeter per te pushue. Mbas nji jave kemi mbrrijte Jabllan ku kim qendrue pak dite. Aty na asht ra shoferi Llazia Kolashin ku kemi kremtue Kshmellat e Vjetin e Ri 1945. Prej aty, gjithnji ne kambe, kemi vazhdue udhetimin per ne Visegrad. Diten ecshim, por ne nji shej kohe, u strukshim neper kepat e malit me u mbrojte prej bombardimavet t’aleatve. Persa mbarote inkursjoni vazhdojshin rrugen. Ne dy anet e rruges shifshim makina te djeguna e ushtare gjermane te vrane. Me buke e pa buke ecshim pa u ndale. Naten e kolojshim ne ndonji ksolle t’abandonueme. Dimni ishte i madh e bora gjithkah. Friga eme ishte shendeti i babes, por per madhmine e te Madhi Zot, nuk u semue as nji here bile, qindrote ma teper se un.

Kah fillimi i frorit kemi mbrryte ne Visegrad. Ne Visegrad u formote treni per Sarajeve. Treni, natyrisht, ishte ne dore te komandes gjermane ecilla nuk prandote fort kollaj civila. Tue mos pase shtek tjeter pse, malet e Bosnjes nuk mund t’i kalojshin gjalle, i u drejtuem komandes gjermane per ndime e me na lejne te merrshim trenin qi shkote direkt per Sarajeve.

Ne fillim gjenerali gjerman na priti me turi por mbas inzistineve te mija me argomenta te drejta u zbut. Thirri nji oficer qi kishte nen kontroll stacionin e trenit dhe i dha urdhen t’u futshim mbrende. Oficeri tha se stacjoni asht i mbyllun e ne qoftese na vendoseshim me hi mbrende, edhe ne rase bombardimi, s’mbujshim me dale. Un i a spiegova baba cashtjen e ai, mbasi mendoi per nji cast, me tha: “Deri me tash na ka pri fati, edhe ket here do te na nxjerri prej rrezikut; futemi”, me tha. E ashtu bame. Per fat e tone at dite nuk u duk asnji aeroplan i aleatve dhe ne ndisem me tren per Sarajeve.

Treni ishte te zbluem e na te ngjeshun me njani tjetrin si fysheket ne vezme. Treni, tue i u ngjite perpjetjes se malit u ndal dhe filloi me shkue mbrapshte teposhte. Un qi ishem me te mashte te vagonit shkova te poshte nji prrue kund 200 metra poshte. N’at moment mendova se marrem, por gjermante me nji here i ngjiten trenit nji lokomotive tjeter ecilla, me ndimen e se pares e cuen ne maje te maleve te Sarajevse.

Ne mal te Sarajeves na xuni shiu e bora. Natyrisht, si thashe ma malt, vagonat ishin te zbluem e pravedej taue “ai shi e aio bore” binte mbi ne. Te lagun e te bame ye prej shiut e bores dhe te ftofit kishte fillue me na hi per palembas nji jave kemi mbrrjte ne Sarajeve. Ne Sarajeve kemi qindrue dhete dite. Aty e kemi marre vetem pse u ushqyem mire. Prej Sarajeve jemi ndise me tren per Zagreb. Edhe ne Zagreb kemi qindrue nja dhete dite. Aty vendosem me un ndisen per Vjene, mire po edhe ne Zagreb stacjoni i trenit ishte ne dore te gjermanvet te cillet e kishin mbylle e s’lejshin kend me hi mbrende vetem me leje. N’u desht me shkue ne komanden gjermane me e lute te ma epte lejen me marre trenin. Edhe ketu me punoj fati, pse, me nji here komanda gjermane telefonoi rojes se stacjonit tue i dhane urdhen te na lete me kalue, dhe ashtu u ba. Prej Zagrebit, mbas tri ditesh kemi mbrrijte ne Vjene.

Ne Vjene u vendosem ne nji hotel afer stacjonit te trenit ne jug te qytetit. Bombardimet vazhdojshin cdo dite. Mue m’u dote me dale e me shkue me ble ushqim e shpesh here me xete bombardimi larg baba e per te ishem teper i preokupuem. Fille mbas bombardimevet kethejshem e shkojshem te baba. Nji dite bombardohet zona ku ishim na. U shterngueme me ra poshte e me u fute ne podrum te hotelit. Baba, here mbas here, delte ne korridor me pi duhan. Kuer qe, nji bume e madhe ra mbi hotel, por per fat tonin nuk ra ne boshllekun e ashensorit se do te kishte mbrrijte deri te na e ndoshta do te ma kishte mbyte te gjithve, por ka ra drejt ne korridor qi dane odat. Korridori tane cemento, kund gadi nji meter i trash. Bumja ka shperthye pullazin, te parin kat te dytin e te tretin. Natyrisht, ashensori s’punote ma. Oda jone ishte zhgatrrrue e ato pak placka qi kishin per t’u ndrrue, maruene. Por fati na ndimoj pse stacjoni i trenit kishte peshtue. E pamie se ne qindrue ma teper ne Vjen ishte rrezik jete prandej u ndisem per Insbruck.

Mendimi yne ishte me kalue n’Itali ku mund gjeshim strehim. Per ne kalue n’itali, rruga kryesore e trenavet asht Brenero, por ajo ane kishte bombardime i vazhdueshme. Shum shqiptare qi kane marre at rruge kane lane kryete. Un mora nji rruge tjeter qi quhet Passo di Resia e qi asht kund nje mije e metra nalt e shtate kilometra larg kufimi te svicers. Per me marre at rruge e ne kalue n’Itiali u dote makine qi na s’e kishim. Na u desht me priti derisa te vijte ndonji makine ushtarake qi shkote per Itali e te na merrte. Mbas shum oresh qi po pritshim i a mbrrini nji makina ushtarake. I dola perpara dhe i u luta te na merr. Na moren pa fjale. Un ndisem naten. Mbrrijtem ne maje te malit ne kufi me Itali. U ndalem per kontroll te rojes kufimit ecilla s’ma bani fjale. Prej aty shifshim anene e Sviceres tane drite kurse n’anen e Itali ishte terr. Te nesermen ne mengjes kemi mbrrijte ne Merano kah fundi i marsit 1945.

Merano ishte deklarue qytet i hapet pse konsiderue qytet spitalesh. Ne Merano kemi qindrue deri kah mjedisi i sherqor. Ne kapitulimin e Gjermanis, ne Merano i a mbrrijten amerikanet. Me ardhjen e tyne mue me hini friga e dorezimit te baba qeveris komouniste te Shqipnis. Natyrisht na e kishin vendose mos me u dorezue gjalle. Kam fundit qershor 1945 prej Merano jemi per Rome. Edhe ne Rome, friga e dorezimit ishte e madhe pse ende s’ishte stabilizue gjendja n’itali. Ne kete atmosphere te zymte jetojshim.

Un, me policine italnjave gjeta nji nenpunes te nalt qi kishte qene ne Shqipni icilli kishte njofte baben dhe Markun. Aj me siguroj tue me thane se: “Rrini te qete se ne nji rase te tille ju lajmoj me nji here dhe ju siguroj nji vend te sigurte.” Kjo ishte nji garanci per ne, por si thote nji proverb i vjeter: ulu ne bythe se nuk te han qeni, e na rrijshin nder grepa. Kjo gjendje ka vazhdue dersa u formue qeverija e pare me De Gasperi kryeminister. Prej ksaj kohe jetueme lirisht por jetesa ishte teper e veshtire pse kishin fillue me na mungue ato pak mjete financiare qi kishte baba me vete.

Ne Itali ishte grumbullue shumica e shqiptarevet mija vetesh. Aleatet edhe me ndimen e italis, formuene kampin e asistences per profuget shqiptare ne Reggio Emilia. N’at kamp kane strehue mija shqiptaresh. Une dhe baba s’kemi shkue atje edhepse nik dojshem me e per perzije baba n’at kallabllek eterogjen.

Ne njoftuninat t’ona miq italiane te Ministrise se Jashtme qi njifshin baben qyshe prej vjetit 1930 kuer pat shkue ne Rome me cue Markun ne shkolle Collegio Mondragone, qeverija italnjane na dhe nji ndime muejore. Nuk ishte e mjafte per jetese, por na peshtoj.

Kah fundi i vjetit 1945, rame ne kontake me miqt tone shqiptare. Prej ksaj kohe fillon veprimtarija jone politike (Bloku Kombetar Independent).

Baba gjithmone ka qene mire me shndet. Asnji here nuk asht semure vetem ne 1964 kur e kapi kanceri ne fyt. Vjetin e pare te semundjes e ka kalue ne spitalit e ne shpi. U duket mjaft mire dhe m’epte shprese se do t’i qindrote asaj semundje. Por kanceri filloi me i u perhape kah fyti aq sa s’e lete me marre fryme. U shterngova me e shtrue ne nji nder spitale te specializueme te Rome. Profesori kirurg primari stiplit kuer e vizitoi, me tha se duhet me e ba me nji here operacjon ne fyt dhe me tha me i shpue fytin e me i aplikue nji tub qi te lidhet me gabzherrin e fyt. Me at tub ne fyt, baba merrte fryme lirisht. U duk se u negjalle.

Mire po, kanceri filloi me i u perhape kah stomaku dhe i a mbylli pertypjen e ushqimit. Profesori kirurg, qi e vizitote per dite, me tha se duhet me i ba nji operacjon ne stomak e aty me i aplikue nji tub per t’a ushqye prej se jashtmi dhe me tha me nji pompe plot ushqim. S’pata si me i a ba ndryshei vecse me ndjeke keshillin e mjekut e ate me e auktorizue per operacjon. Prej kendej, per 18 muje ka qene i shtrueme ne spital pse u lypshin mjekimet e perditeshme me infermjerate specializueme. Une, per cdo dite, shkojshem ne spital e rryshem te tane diten me te. Duhanim vec e pite e un s’ia pata ndalue aspak. Ma ne fund, semundja e bani te veten dhe me 28 prill 1966 dha shpirt. Por, edhe pse, nji rase aq te dhimbesheme per mue, pata fatin me i u gjete prane e me doren t’eme me i a mbylle syte dhe me e puthe per te mbramen here. Ne vorret e Rome, Cimitero Verano, i kam godie vorrin me fotografie. Me deken e babes m’u duk se m’u shem bota. Grueja eme, Maria Teresa, te cillen e dote aq fort, i ka ba aq hyzmet sa qi besoj as Marta e Bardhja s’do t’i kishin ba aq sherbim.

Un si i huej, emigrant politik, nuk gjejshem pune ne Itali. Maria Teresa ishte vajze e vetme, i kishte vlla as moter, po sa kishte baben e nanen gjalle, kishte nji jetese mjaft te mire. Me vdekjen e babes e te nanes se saj te dy me kancer e tue shpenzue teper me doktora mbas vdeke se tyen e spitale, gjendja e saj ekonomike filloj me u ngushtue edhe pse na u shumuem e u bane gjashte vete.

E kjo ka qene arsyeja qi vendosem me ardhe n’Amerike, ku vellai im i vogel Nikoll jetonte me gruan dhe tre femijet e tij.

Keshtu filluem me jetue disi.

Nga ditari privat i Kapidan Ndue Gjon Marku.


29 shtator 1914!

Aso vjetesh mbahej mend fitorja e gjuhes shqipe per fat te heroizmit te mirditasve ne Kryengritjen e Durresit, leterkembimet e Mustafa Krujes e Preng Pashes, ishin te fresketa heroizmat e ushtrise Mirditase veshur me kostum kombetar e me ne krye kapidan Marka Gjonin. Dera e Gjomarkajve i ruante gjithmone fisheket e pushkes se gezimit edhe sepse Mirdita kishte nevoje me shume se kurre per djepin plot e djem te rrall.

Me 29 shtator 1914 lindi nji nga kapidanat me fisnik te shekullit te vone.

Ndue Gjon Markagjoni.

U rrit e hodhi shtat ne flladin e Oroshit duke pare si ustallaret gdhendnin qosharet e dyerve te Sarajeve, aty ku varej pushka e dyerve te Sarajeve, aty ku varej pushka e ndizej zjarri per miqt e mirdites, aty ku thuhej fjala e mbahej fjala, aty ku veç Mirdite kishte e per Mirditen flitej, aty ku su vajtua as vete Kapidan Gjoni, as Marku, as Lleshi, as Deda, as Nikolla e as vete Kapidan Noi sepse Mirdites i kishte ndodhur xhama e djemt e Kapidanit u vrane e vdiqen larg trojeve prej ksaj mizorie komuniste.

Ndue Gjon Gjomarkajn si nji pinioll nder me te zgjuarit e kohes por edhe shkolluar e mori me vete i ati, Kapidan Gjoni ne Mergim. Fillesat e jeteses se tij jasht atdheut dhe larg Mirdites, nen plaget e vrasjes te pabese te vllazenve Mark e Llesh, internimit te nanes se tij me vajzat dhe djemte te vegjel, Deden dhe Nikoll, ishin fillesa te veshtira por plot fryme e patriotizem.

Ndue Gjon Gjomarkaj u be shpejt i degjuar e shpejt i doli zani nder patriote sepse bashke me te atin, Kapidan Gjon Marka Gjoni, me 1946, ne nji tryez plot me patriote e atdhetare nder te cillet ishte edhe Ernest Koliqi, formuan Bllokun Kombetar Indipendent.

Blloku Kombetar Indipendent u be shpejt zeri i mbare shqiptareve antikomuniste ne Mergim.

Kapidani e nxori zanin e Oroshit per se dyti here ne mbare boten.

Kapidan Ndue Gjomarkaj ka punuar gjith jeten e tij ne te mir te Mirdites e po e them se Kapidan Ndue Gjon Gjomarkaj ka qene zemreku i Mirdites, vazhdimesia e Lleshit te Zi, vazhdimesia e Bib Dodes e e Preng Pashes, vazhdimesia e Kapidan Marka Gjonit, vazhdimesia e Kapidan Mark Gjomarkajt, vazhdimesia e Kapidanit Gjon Marka Gjoni dhe pershkruesi te te gjitha koherave.

Esht e vertet qe vetem pak dihet per Kapidan Ndue Gjon Gjomarkajn sepse ardhja e Demokracise nuk solli ne krye te situatave politike njerez te paimplementuar me komunizmin e te paret mergimtar qe renden ne dheun e djegur nuk ishin aq te sinqerte me historine. Nje nder ta ka qene edhe i vetequajturi Ndue Pjeter Gjomarkaj i cili ne fakt quhej Ndue Pjeter Preng Kola, i cili ne te parat vite te demokracis hapi nje fushate te gjere lobimi pa dijeni te Kapidanit duke promovuar nje shoqate fantazme te quajtur “Heroizma Shqiptare” kekoi ti futej ne gjak politikes si pinioll i rreme nen ombrellen e Gjomarkajve ashtu sikur edhe ndodhi.

Prova per keto ngjarje te cilat kishin ndodhur edhe me pare ne mergim eshte gjetur dhe vete Kapidan Ndue Gjon Gjomarkaj i paska shkruar Ndue Pjeter Preng Koles qysh ne vitin 1973 se nuk duhet tjetersuar Historia e Mirdites e se nuk duhej hedhur balte mbi historine duke nxjerre herojn fallco e trashegues fallco te deres se Gjomarkajve.

Ja ku e kemi proven. Po e botojme.

Por Mirdites i humbem 30 vjet nga vjetet e saja pa e kuptuar se Mirditen e paskan genjyer per se dyt.

Le ta besojme tash mbas 80 vitesh tundim, lufte e heroizem antikomunist se Mirdites, Dera e Gjomarkut nuk i ka dhene vetem trupat e luftetareve ne front por i ka dhene nji Kapidan te rralle e patriot, te drejte e historian, te urte e dinjitoz dhe ai quhej, quhet e do te quhet Kapidan Ndue Gjon Marka Gjoni, themelues i Bllokut Kombetar Indipendent bashk me Ajken e ne krye te Ajkes Shqiptare ne Amerike.

Jezu-Krishti te paste ne Preher, kapidani i rralle.

Yti kusheri i njate
Artan Lleshi Gjomarkaj

MIRDITE nga ajo Mirdite per te cillen vuajte !

klikoni mbi imazhin më poshtë ose këtu

Bianca M. Gjomarkaj

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