Nonfiction
Teuta
One apparent characteristic of Albanian writers is the confidence that Illyrian is the base of every other culture in the Balkans. It might be to some degree, but there is a vast bias in the Balkan countries about ownership of ancient history and heroes. Thus, I wanted to read books from authors of different nationalities to have a neutral point of view — Albanian writers from Kosova, Albanian writers from Albania, A Macedonian writer, and a British Anthropologist.
Following the death of her spouse Agron in 231 BC, Teuta was the queen regent of the Ardiaei tribe in Illyria. She reigned for approximately three years, from 231 BC to 228/227 BC. The heart of her kingdom was the city of Rizon.
She continued Agron's expansion policy in the Adriatic Sea in the context of an ongoing conflict with the Roman Republic. The city of Rome declared war against Teuta in 229 BC because one of their ambassadors presumably died at the hands of Illyrian pirates.
Teuta disappeared together with her crown before the Romans took over Rizon. Several councils (Lucie Albini, Klaud Rufi, Pompei, Logini, and Turini) were defeated by the numerous legends about her disappearance and actual hiding place.
Lucie Albini had a spy group called “the unseen” whom he sent to look for information about Teuta’s whereabouts. The unseen would report back with stories from the Illyrians they had overheard.
“She is in the flowers and rocks” would the majority say. “She will come back to unite us.”
”But how is she inside a rock?” would the unseen ask.
“The rock is a living being too.” the reply would be.
Each rock of the land lives in its way and has its own story with which it is dressed. This means that the rock lives similarly to the roads, the trees, and the mountains. This land in itself gave birth to the people and gave them personalities. Therefore, this land hides Teuta in her embrace.
It was hard for Romans to win against the invisible, against stories. They might have taken them over with force and an army but could not take over their soul and imagination. Every new legend was a recent fire. From all the people they had conquered, Illyrians used their imagination as a deadly weapon.
Every war is a lost one, especially the one against the imagination of one people.
Groups of people would gather around midnight to observe the depth of the sea with the pretense of seeing the eyes of Teuta. The sea had the same color as her eyes. They would see her everywhere in nature; that's why the Romans could never take her.
The Romans could not see her; Illyrians have other eyes.
“We have doubt everywhere, whereas they believe in everything,” would the Romans say.
Gaj Lucie Fili, a botanist from Rome, took a trip to Illyria to document the flowers and plants. In his transcripts, he writes that Illyrians treat plants as living beings and talk to them. Each one of them has a legend.
Iris Illyrica.
A flower as blue as the sea, and abundant as the stories roaming the land.
The flower-pickers held grand ceremonies before picking the flowers. Women, dressed in wide-cuffed blouses strapped into embroidered aprons and topped with their xhamadans, would ask the mythological creatures inside the flowers to let them take the healing power of the plant. Golden coins glistened around their necks.
If one wants to enslave a people that knit legends into their living cells, they have to unravel their myths. In the example of Illyrians and Romans, this was impossible because the Illyrian tales were too detailed and complicated to be deciphered. You had to believe them first, and Roma was too proud to do that.
British anthropologist Rebbeca Evans claims that most mythological stories revolve around the hero trope, who most often is “male, powerful and desirable”. The first mistake she makes is in calling mythology a story. Mythology is a way of living created by the urge to explain the world and to pass on history and moral lessons. Since mythology encompasses the way of life of a culture, it also includes day-to-day chores such as picking flowers. In the mythology explained in the paper and the way the masses see mythological stories, a hero is always the central figure that sets up the narrative, showcasing a specific journey of growth. This journey usually ends, whereas mythology lives while people die - even after they do so.
There might be stories such as Harry Potter and games such as Zelda that are mythology-inspired, but the real mythology is still alive in people’s languages and way of living. It is in how we put our laundry up and the decision to step barefoot on sun-kissed rocks.
I had just read Teuta by Miras Martinovic. It is a well-researched book, with oral stories and archeological findings. These included transcripts by Roman botanists who traveled to recently conquered Illyria after Teuta’s disappearance. The healing flower they mentioned most – also the one that haunted the dreams of Roman generals – was Iris Illyrica. Blue like the eyes of the queen, they said. The dilemma was if the queen’s eyes were locked into the flower or if the flower gifted them to her. They were linked together in their stories nonetheless.
Then there I was walking to the bus station, going to babysit my aunt’s kids in the smallest city in Kosova. And I saw it, the flower. I called her by her native name. Iris Ilir.
Iris.
Ilir.
I had gotten a concussion before, but what happened next was nothing close to that experience. After my concussion, I had been seeing mixed colors and forgot my roommate's name a ton.
I had not traveled in time.
I was teleported to Illyria in the year 231 BC.
There might have been something in calling the flower her name. The value of recognition, the power of communication.
Since the last time it was called her name, the flower slept and wept in her dreams. Now that I’ve woken her up, I was thrown into her life.
I was not a person. I was the flower.
Not the physical entity. I was the stories about her.
I was called anywhere Illyrians talked about iris illyrica. This young lady has been talking about the flower so much that I keep returning by her side. She’s one of the flower pickers. She was the best at recognizing the healing abilities of each plant. It was as if the land is gifting her knowledge personally to
use it as an invisible cloak.
With time, I understand she’s THE missing queen. She’s giving life to armies of stories and sending them against the Romans. She sent me to haunt the dreams of Albin. I got creative with that one.
It is not that weird to be made out of sounds and words instead of flesh and bones.
How can oral stories have a soul?
They evolve, as any living being. They live independently from their creator, like a child going off to college. They leave different impressions on people, and teach different morals. They change based on the mind they stumble upon, and are forgotten just as easily as an unvisited grave.
Just like that, I finished the book and came back to my time. My reality. 2022. Although, not by myself. I took Teuta with me, forever meeting her in every blue sky and Iris I see.
Following the death of her spouse Agron in 231 BC, Teuta was the queen regent of the Ardiaei tribe in Illyria. She reigned for approximately three years, from 231 BC to 228/227 BC. The heart of her kingdom was the city of Rizon.
She continued Agron's expansion policy in the Adriatic Sea in the context of an ongoing conflict with the Roman Republic. The city of Rome declared war against Teuta in 229 BC because one of their ambassadors presumably died at the hands of Illyrian pirates.
Teuta disappeared together with her crown before the Romans took over Rizon. Several councils (Lucie Albini, Klaud Rufi, Pompei, Logini, and Turini) were defeated by the numerous legends about her disappearance and actual hiding place.
Lucie Albini had a spy group called “the unseen” whom he sent to look for information about Teuta’s whereabouts. The unseen would report back with stories from the Illyrians they had overheard.
“She is in the flowers and rocks” would the majority say. “She will come back to unite us.”
”But how is she inside a rock?” would the unseen ask.
“The rock is a living being too.” the reply would be.
Each rock of the land lives in its way and has its own story with which it is dressed. This means that the rock lives similarly to the roads, the trees, and the mountains. This land in itself gave birth to the people and gave them personalities. Therefore, this land hides Teuta in her embrace.
It was hard for Romans to win against the invisible, against stories. They might have taken them over with force and an army but could not take over their soul and imagination. Every new legend was a recent fire. From all the people they had conquered, Illyrians used their imagination as a deadly weapon.
Every war is a lost one, especially the one against the imagination of one people.
Groups of people would gather around midnight to observe the depth of the sea with the pretense of seeing the eyes of Teuta. The sea had the same color as her eyes. They would see her everywhere in nature; that's why the Romans could never take her.
The Romans could not see her; Illyrians have other eyes.
“We have doubt everywhere, whereas they believe in everything,” would the Romans say.
Gaj Lucie Fili, a botanist from Rome, took a trip to Illyria to document the flowers and plants. In his transcripts, he writes that Illyrians treat plants as living beings and talk to them. Each one of them has a legend.
Iris Illyrica.
A flower as blue as the sea, and abundant as the stories roaming the land.
The flower-pickers held grand ceremonies before picking the flowers. Women, dressed in wide-cuffed blouses strapped into embroidered aprons and topped with their xhamadans, would ask the mythological creatures inside the flowers to let them take the healing power of the plant. Golden coins glistened around their necks.
If one wants to enslave a people that knit legends into their living cells, they have to unravel their myths. In the example of Illyrians and Romans, this was impossible because the Illyrian tales were too detailed and complicated to be deciphered. You had to believe them first, and Roma was too proud to do that.
British anthropologist Rebbeca Evans claims that most mythological stories revolve around the hero trope, who most often is “male, powerful and desirable”. The first mistake she makes is in calling mythology a story. Mythology is a way of living created by the urge to explain the world and to pass on history and moral lessons. Since mythology encompasses the way of life of a culture, it also includes day-to-day chores such as picking flowers. In the mythology explained in the paper and the way the masses see mythological stories, a hero is always the central figure that sets up the narrative, showcasing a specific journey of growth. This journey usually ends, whereas mythology lives while people die - even after they do so.
There might be stories such as Harry Potter and games such as Zelda that are mythology-inspired, but the real mythology is still alive in people’s languages and way of living. It is in how we put our laundry up and the decision to step barefoot on sun-kissed rocks.
I had just read Teuta by Miras Martinovic. It is a well-researched book, with oral stories and archeological findings. These included transcripts by Roman botanists who traveled to recently conquered Illyria after Teuta’s disappearance. The healing flower they mentioned most – also the one that haunted the dreams of Roman generals – was Iris Illyrica. Blue like the eyes of the queen, they said. The dilemma was if the queen’s eyes were locked into the flower or if the flower gifted them to her. They were linked together in their stories nonetheless.
Then there I was walking to the bus station, going to babysit my aunt’s kids in the smallest city in Kosova. And I saw it, the flower. I called her by her native name. Iris Ilir.
Iris.
Ilir.
I had gotten a concussion before, but what happened next was nothing close to that experience. After my concussion, I had been seeing mixed colors and forgot my roommate's name a ton.
I had not traveled in time.
I was teleported to Illyria in the year 231 BC.
There might have been something in calling the flower her name. The value of recognition, the power of communication.
Since the last time it was called her name, the flower slept and wept in her dreams. Now that I’ve woken her up, I was thrown into her life.
I was not a person. I was the flower.
Not the physical entity. I was the stories about her.
I was called anywhere Illyrians talked about iris illyrica. This young lady has been talking about the flower so much that I keep returning by her side. She’s one of the flower pickers. She was the best at recognizing the healing abilities of each plant. It was as if the land is gifting her knowledge personally to
use it as an invisible cloak.
With time, I understand she’s THE missing queen. She’s giving life to armies of stories and sending them against the Romans. She sent me to haunt the dreams of Albin. I got creative with that one.
It is not that weird to be made out of sounds and words instead of flesh and bones.
How can oral stories have a soul?
They evolve, as any living being. They live independently from their creator, like a child going off to college. They leave different impressions on people, and teach different morals. They change based on the mind they stumble upon, and are forgotten just as easily as an unvisited grave.
Just like that, I finished the book and came back to my time. My reality. 2022. Although, not by myself. I took Teuta with me, forever meeting her in every blue sky and Iris I see.