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In memoriam: The mountain of pain and the weight of longing for Aleks Selmani

2025-08-26 20:24:00, Aktualitet Luan Rama

My friend, and not only him, Mr. Astrit Fani, always finds his own path to where only he knows how to come and conquer with his elegant kindness.

A while ago, he left me speechless.
He sent me a photo taken almost 36 years ago.

I opened WhatsApp out of curiosity, as soon as I got the signal that a message had arrived from him, because every time Astrit writes, something valuable always comes. It's exciting, yes.
But what do I see!
In the photo with me and Mois Preka, there is also Aleks Selmani.
It took so long that my eyes lost their clarity, to surrender to tears of pain and longing together, even though good Aleksi, the best among us, has been resting in heaven for many years.
The distant time since that fatal moment when a "blind" bullet fired by the killer I don't know where, but which found our Leks right in the middle of the Square, could neither dissolve the pain nor dry the longing. With Leksi, Mr. Nardi, Nard Bushati of the "Heronjtë e Vigut" Youth Club in Shkodra, had brought us together. That great nursery of kindness and talent opened the doors of art to us, like the first great door to a world where the magic of the stage engulfed us, to devote ourselves spiritually, according to our inclination and talent, to our own field of dreams.

There I met Leksi, Mois Preka, the son of the great artist Paulin Preka, Mond Halili, Sandër Ruçi, talented actors; I met Tonin Tarnak, Shpëtim Saraçi and Markelian Kapidani, Ilir Zogaj, musicians and composers worthy of being heirs to the great names that Shkodra gave to national music and art; I met the painter and scenographer Adnan Kastrati and many, many others (sorry that I am not writing down all the names because it is a very long list), all young artists, but with obvious talent to imagine from that time the heights they would very soon reach.

There I also met Astrit Fani himself.

With the photo in my mind, I was reminded of the endless afternoons and evenings of that time of great dreams and passions, when we would run to the Youth Club to Mr. Nardi and to “Kimena Punëtori” where we would find Bedri Islam, and then after him in the position of director Bashkim Alibali, to the House of Culture or to the “Migjeni” Theater.
Rehearsals, debates, work, but also a lot of joy, endless jokes and performances almost all night, and above all, a friendship of hearts of wonderful people.

Alex had innate talent.

Cold, spontaneous and with the logic of a true actor, his humorous phrase or joke added color to the text and gave the right weight to the philosophy carried by the part being interpreted.
Without fake artifice, natural and with the freedom and professional correctness that the stage requires, Aleks Selmani made a place for himself in the elite troupe of Shkodra's professional stage.
I have had the fortune to present him dozens of times on different stages in Shkodra, but also everywhere else where we went to give performances. His name was always guaranteed applause.

He mostly played with Mois Preka and Mond Halili.
When they were together on stage, they became one and the beauty of their performance was equally impressive and compelling.

At such a moment, we are also in the photo with Aleks and Moisin that Astrit Fani sent me, to whom, as he told me, Gjyli, Leks's wife, had sent that photo, one more motive to write these lines with gratitude and respect for her and Aleks Selmani's family.

Looking at the photo, (as can be guessed from the decor) it comes to mind that it was taken at a screening in the “Punëtori” cinema hall, which was probably dedicated to the 45th anniversary of the liberation.
It was the third autumn of 1989. I think the photo must have been taken by a photographer with extraordinary passion and tireless in following and recording every event, the unforgettable Angjelin Nenshati.

I hope I'm not wrong and have taken revenge on someone else.

But, even if I unintentionally made a mistake, the author will surely forgive me for my gratitude to the unforgettable artist, whose dream lives on stage, inherited from his son, the talented Fritz, who, every time he appears on stage, has to carry the weight and glory of the name Aleks Selmani on his shoulders. Along with the mountain of pain and the weight of longing.