“Unless a life is lived for others, it is not worthwhile.”
– Mother Theresa

Day two in Tirana and everybody wakes up early. There’s work to do. Find some paint, rollers, buckets and extensions, borrow or buy ladders (and in my case clean socks). Print some photographs to show people more or less what you’d like to paint on their wall and start hustling. Within a couple of hours all of the guys are out hunting walls and many people are looking at us like we’re nuts. They are understandably skeptical about why somebody would be volunteering to work for free. I guess you can be a Tom Sawyer hucked into doing it or you can be a sort of Mother Theresa and make a bold stance. As always, there is a third way and that’s the one we’re on. Nobody is being conned and nobody is being holy. Give to get and the more we give the more we get. I didn’t even realize that Mother Theresa was in fact Albanian and grew up a few blocks from our hotel, until a search for a wall took us into a small and predominantly Muslim neighborhood. I am constantly reminded by how little I know. Often it is kids who call this to my attention.

Once a wall is finished, children start gathering, people begin taking photos and suddenly we’re being offered more walls than we’d have time to hit; offered beers and bread and thanked with enthusiastic embraces, smiles and requests. It’s a snowball effect. With pens and paint the guys are spinning music and the neighborhood is dancing. Of course, not everybody likes the sound of what we’re doing. At one point Chaz is told he’s got to quit a wall and do it quickly. At another point a woman explodes on Morcky and Pavel in the sort of way that prevents anybody from opening their mouth. Real reactions. Real communication. Real joy, both in the work itself and the exchanges it provokes. This isn’t about ‘us’ or ‘them.’ It is about a wide open and humble ‘we.’ There is no opposition party, even when there is opposition. This is the sort of stuff that made me fall in love with that thing called “street art.” It is the stuff that spends time communicating on the streets. It exists outside the market and away from any sort of election or elitism.

One wall to the next, everybody wants to work and work more. As the painting continues, kids kept coming in packs (groups of three to groups of thirteen). They wanted to know where we were from and what we were doing. Many spoke English well enough to have a good chat, thanked us for painting their ‘hood’ and hung around for hours. We talked about music and sport. They were divided between football and ‘ball’ (as in Basketball), but all knew the two worst teams in English football (Chelsea and Manchester Untied obviously). They were also fans of Arsenal, Barcelona, Lebron James, Kobe Bryant and 50 Cent, into Hip Hop and for my tastes, far too many of them idolized gangster culture. One little boy didn’t understand why Pavel refused to give him a marker tattoo of a gun, others told us about their crews, which meant different things to different kids. For some it was like a music or breakdance crew. For some it referred to their friends. For others, as young as 6, this was about the gang they gave their allegiance too. The kids have been one of the highlights of the trip. A few of them have told me that what they are most proud of in Albania is the folk music, the beaches and that within Albania’s borders people of all religions live well together. These kids provide a lot of smiles, laughter and a chance to learn about Tirana without talking about the hunger strikes or political protests that have been in effect for the last 10 days.

While our politics is playing in the streets or feeding homeless dogs, more than 200 ‘real’ politicians are sleeping in the streets, making their beds in plain view of the Prime Minister’s office as the Socialists demand a recount. ‘The government stole the elections,’ says Tirana’s mayor Edi Rama.’

He may be right, and he may be crazy, but either way all I can think about is Florida 2000, hanging Chads and a whole lot of misery. I prefer to play football with the kids and while the hunger strike continues (Socialist MP Arben Ahmetaj told the Deutsche Well: “We will continue until we collapse, and if I had the choice I’d go even further.” Does anybody know what he’s talking about? What does that mean? Does he want to martyr himself?), another thing I am loving here is the quality of the red tomatoes. Isolated for so long under communism, fruit and vegetables have remained local produce. You do taste the difference and for all that Albania doesn’t have, it does have some delicious red tomatoes and clued up, capable children.

• Photos by: Alexander Malecki
• Modart Website
• Arty Farty Gallery