Kosovo Mourners Come In Peace

Thousands of mourners gathered at a wind-swept hilltop cemetery Sunday for the funerals of two ethnic Albanian boys whose drowning sparked Kosovo's deadliest violence in five years.

NATO helicopters patrolled overhead and Italian Carabinieri encircled this northern village to ensure calm in a critical test of alliance efforts to bring stability to the province. Fearing more violence, troops set up checkpoints every 10 miles along the main road leading here — and warned people they would be turned away.

But up to 7,000 people came anyway, many walking the dusty roads leading to Cabra, 25 miles north of the capital, Pristina. As many as 25,000 people had been expected to attend the funerals for Egzon Deliu, 12, and Avni Veseli, 11, but the unprecedented security and an appeal from the family for a quiet ceremony kept people at home.

The Tuesday deaths of the boys triggered days of rioting, looting and arson by ethnic Albanian mobs against Serbs. The unrest left 28 dead, 600 injured and 4,000 people homeless.

"Their deaths brought more deaths to Kosovo and this has made our pain greater," said Sali Deliu, Egzon's uncle. "Let's hope these are the last ones."

The violence illustrated the depth of hatred between Kosovo's mostly Muslim ethnic Albanians, who want independence, and Orthodox Christian Serbs, a minority in Kosovo, who want the U.N.-run province to remain part of Serbia-Montenegro. NATO has tried to keep the peace here since the end of the war in 1999.

With the restoration of law and order, authorities on Sunday investigated claims by a 13-year-old survivor, Fitim Veseli, that a group of Serbs with a dog chased the children into the Ibar River, but shed no light on the results so far.

The teen was among the mourners Sunday, crying so hard he could barely lift his head. Just down the hill, along the banks of the river, divers kept looking for his little brother, Florent, 9, who has been missing since Tuesday.

The tight-knit families in this community of 1,400 appeared both united and shattered by their grief. Women wearing white scarves of mourning wept and fainted after pausing by the open coffins, gazing into the faces of the boys for the last time.

The grief overwhelmed the mourners as Sevdije Deliu leaned over to kiss her son's forehead before the coffin closed. As she turned, Egzon's seven sisters shrieked hysterically and held on to each other.

Playmates of the two boys pushed to the front of the crowd gathered for the burial, holding wreaths and carrying small signs, reading, "Stop the Violence" and "We want peace."

But the emotions failed to trigger the same outbursts of violence seen earlier in the week. The village is just outside Kosovska Mitrovica, the tense and ethnically divided city where the riots started.

After Kosovska Mitrovica, rioting spread. Serbs fled the attacks and took shelter on bases used by NATO-led peacekeepers.

A small group of Serbs left Kosovo on Sunday, including several injured in the rioting.

As he crossed the province's boundary line and into Serbia proper, Trifun Stojilovic, his head and hands in bandages, said that a group of ethnic Albanians had grabbed him outside his home and stabbed him four times. The elderly man was rescued by NATO peacekeepers in the town of Kosovo Polje, just outside the capital.

Flags across Serbia-Montenegro were lowered to half staff and Serbian Orthodox priests led liturgies and prayer services Sunday as the country marked a day of mourning for the victims of ethnic violence. Kosovo declared Monday to be a day of mourning.

The attacks were the worst outbreak of violence since 1999, when a NATO air war ended a Serb crackdown on ethnic Albanians seeking independence. The war killed 10,000 ethnic people.

Kosovo has been an international protectorate since then, whose final status is to be decided by the United Nations. For now, it officially remains a part of Serbia-Montenegro, the successor state of Yugoslavia.

The United Nations had worked hard in the years since to persuade people to accept multiethnicity instead of war — plans that were all but snuffed out in the days of violence.

Zaim Deliu, the father of 12-year-old Egzon, recalled the war as he discussed the death of his son. Deliu stared down at the carpet in his home and said that he and his family had suffered greatly during the conflict.

"Even after what they (the Serbs) have done to us, if I saw a Serb child drowning, I would have jumped in to help," he said. "They drowned our children on purpose."

Despite their bitterness, the families appealed for an end to the violence.

"Though I lost my son, I wouldn't want more problems here," said Abide Veseli, 35, Avni's mother. "I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy."