In 1996 I was in Albania, the week of the elections. The day before the election I was visiting a leading politician, Gramoz Pashko, and I and some friends had tea with him in his house. We talked about Swedish and Albanian politics. He was a pleasant man, but he had a lot on his mind. The next day we were supposed to travel around the countryside, visiting polling stations, but no one came to pick us up. I rang Gramoz, who had overslept, and I woke him up. He was not pleased, but eventually two cars came along and picked us up.
That was 10 years ago, but I still remember everything vividly, and today when I read that he had been killed in a helicopter crash, I was surprisingly touched by it. I remember him standing outside his garden, making a funny face because I made a joke about his vanity.
Rest in peace Gramoz.
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Here is an obituary from The Guardian.
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