Detours: A Manifesto on Sudden Adventure

Upon exiting bus number 19 I come across a gathering of people, circled around zurla and drum players. Sounds are buzzing, faces sweating, and in the center of it all- a scared or even confused little boy, dressed up in sparkling clothes, like some prince from an Arabian tale. The humid air overwhelms me as I step out this monument of Yugoslavian endurance, comradeship and equality, and my nostrils struggle to recover from the intricate mix of odors.

“He is getting a sunet today,” says the pastry man on whose window pane I happen to be leaning, while he makes a hand gesture to show me that the boy is going to get circumcised. I am in “Cheap Capital” many a time recommended for its cheap flea market and good burek.

This is the famous Shutka. Utopia for Roma people. Mostly known for not having a country, the Roma tribe was scattered all over Europe. Their settlements seem to have been provoking disdain wherever they chose to rise upon, but not here. Shutka is a moral victory over the arrogance of Europe. Even though extremely poor, Shutka residents are content with their lifestyles. Being ghettoized only made them appreciate more and embrace their old Roma ways.

The sign trapped between the iron net, which is supposed to serve as a fence, and the window says “Cheaper than Cheap.” Inside, besides the unmistakable moldy smell with a twist of cigarette smoke were bad lighting, stacks of jeans, purses, coats and a very loud but joyful Roma lady. Yes, Macy’s in this poor excuse for a store. “Louis Vuitton purse for 300 denars,” says the lady in broken Macedonian, “and completely real,” she adds. Her flamboyance, in both clothing and behavior, is her bait. She notices you find it amusing and tempting so she doesn’t drop the act. This hooked, it is upon exiting when I realize I have bought three Prada purses.

On the other side of the grandiose sunet affair: sun scorching, dust going into every pore of my body tickling my nostrils; sweet sounds of the drums and vibratos of ‘Caje Sukarije’ tickling my soul. I had heard Shutka was the diametrical opposite of urban Skopje, even though just few miles away, but nothing could prepare me for –THIS. Barefoot children running and fidgeting, young ladies trying to get a hold of them, men dripping in sweat washing their feet from hoses whose stream of water is directed towards the unasphalted road, creating a scenic pile of water. And everybody perfectly at peace.
The meat burek from Mujo’s tastes heavenly, as recommended, but attracts tons of flies on this sweltering day. I fail to register their annoying chants, because the chants from the mosque over-power it.
And so I found this place, unlike any place I have seen before, just two hours away from where I grew up. And I look at it, perfectly at peace.