We had Albani as a friend.

You couldn't have Albani just as a colleague. His nature didn't allow that. We had him as a friend and the burden of even a conversation with him will forever weigh on us.

We have never had a day like Friday in the newsroom. I never thought we would. Albani managed to make us feel his departure like a death in the house. He was not there. We looked at each other with tearful eyes and gloomy faces. We did not speak but we felt the pain we shared and that torturous burden that weighs you down every time you lose someone: Why didn't we have a chat?

He managed to make everyone feel his departure. Something more difficult to achieve than the work we do every day, which he did. Almost unattainable in the great mountain of media where everything is harsher. Where relationships are often not only exacerbated, but shattered. Albani was but also not there. On Friday, he gathered everyone in one place. He received everyone's emotion, true respect and sincere farewell. He received what he gave.

We all appreciated him today for the work he did. For the weight of his photography in documenting history and building the narrative for Kosovo. But, beyond that, we didn't say what was the weight he carried? How much were we there for him? How much were he and those who fought the war in their own way appreciated? Albani was in Likoshane 27 years ago, he did his job. We are indebted to him and the victims. Albani lived as he worked. His photograph was seen, but he did not speak.

Like this text, my thoughts come to me in disjointed ways. It's been a long time since we worked in one place, in different periods and challenges... as if they were different lives. Some of us remained "old school". That's what they call today, not those who haven't embraced technology, but those who don't give up on putting the fact first and who don't tell you what to think, but rather put the picture first. A contradictory situation is created when you talk about this and the weight of your experiences as a war reporter. Over time, the weight has become heavier and the importance of the fact lighter. An absurd reality has been created where those who risked their lives for facts compete in an environment where the principles of reporting have become an unbreakable rubber band. Albani was a professional photographer but did not commercialize it. He remained a photojournalist.

He was a photographer. If he wrote, we would read extraordinary stories. Regardless of what the object in the photograph was, the story in conversation with him was not only interesting, but full of humor. A beautiful snail that shone in the photo from the morning dew would have its own story from the yard of his house in Velani to the plate of a restaurant somewhere on the Sunshine Coast. Or, the photo of smoke on the first night of NATO bombing would have the story of camouflage and adrenaline in the open balcony door of an apartment on a high floor on “Bill Clinton” Boulevard. Albani enjoyed the details, built with them and experienced the simple situations that most people don’t even know how to see. You had to have him as a friend and enjoy his gifts.

You couldn't have Albani just as a colleague. His nature didn't allow that. We had him as a friend and the burden of even a conversation with him will forever weigh on us.

We will keep the memories alive as long as we are ourselves!