By PAT NEWMAN
Staff Writer

The Hotis are ordinary people who have survived extraordinary conditions.

Two weeks ago, the 11-member family from Gilan, a town outside, Pristina, Yugoslavia, traveled more than 14 hours to reach Atlanta, and finally Peachtree City, where they were met by members of Holy Trinity Catholic Church, their sponsors. The family is now settled into a modest house in a Peachtree City subdivison, a significant improvement over the cramped tent they shared for two months in a Macedonian refugee camp.

At first glance, the younger men of the family, dressed in Nike shirts and athletic shorts and shoes, could pass for American suburbanites. Only their halting English gives them away. The young Hoti women smile shyly. Their story of escape and survival in a country torn apart by war is being repeated around the world by other families like themselves who have been taken in by sponsoring churches and organizations.

The Kosovars have become global nomads.

Visiting with Tahir Hoti and his wife, Hazbije, and their children and grandchildren is like viewing CNN news in person. The faces flashed across the TV screen now have names, and the impact of their experience is palpable. About two months ago, the Serb police broke into the Hoti home and held a gun to 24-year-old Milaim's head.

“Money, money, money,” Milaim said the Serbs demanded. He demonstrated how the police ripped necklaces off his sisters' necks and tore up their papers. Then the Serbs burned their house. The Hotis joined the convoy of suddenly homeless, and traveled by tractor and car to the border and into the neutral zone where they remained for approximately 48 hours.

Once in Macedonia, the Hotis were assigned to a tent about the size of the small living room of the home they now occupy. For illustration purposes Lulzim, 28, runs upstairs and grabs a blanket. “My home; sleep,” he says, clutching the covering.

Gerry Carolan-Tolbert, a member of Holy Trinity who has been instrumental in working with lic Social Services to sponsor the Hotis, is described by Lulzim and Milain as “very good.” She and her husband and children hosted the Hotis until the house could be secured and made ready for them. So far, the Hotis' experience has been “good,” according to the elder sons.

They have blended into the neighborhood, and been made to feel welcome by surrounding families who have offered meals and use of the backyard play equipment for Lulzim's and Emine's daughter Dununtina, age 2 and a half. Their younger daughter, Djallza, seven months, is starting to toddle and takes easily to visitors.

A small patch of peppers and tomatoes flourishes beside the front porch of their temporary home, a replacement garden for the one Serb soldiers destroyed, Carolan-Tolbert noted.

Inside the house, the downstairs is furnished simply with donated furniture. The mantel holds a family portrait flanked by two stuffed animals, gifts for the babies. Small glasses of Coke are sipped by the adults, while Djallza grasps a plastic bottle.

But Southern hospitality and home-cooked meals cannot erase thoughts of Kosovo, the Hotis' real home. With some gesturing and interpretation from Carolan-Tolbert, Milaim estimated it will take $50,000 for them to return to Kosovo and rebuild. “I think they had a lot of land,” Carolan-Tolbert noted, “and maybe did some farming.”

Before the war forced them from Kosovo, Tahir and Lulzim made their living as builders. Milaim drove a taxi cab. His sisters are Zylfia, 20, Ganimeta, 19, Hikmata, 17, and Mavlude, 12.

For now, seven members of the family are going to work in a factory in Fairburn sorting clothes for distribution to third-world countries. Transportation is being provided by Holy Trinity volunteers but there is the possibility they may be get a donated van. Milaim has a Georgia driver's license book to review, just in case.

The Hotis also are worried about their married daughter, Sanijc, who remains in Kosovo. They have logged on to an Internet site that carries information on Kosovars since their arrival, but have been unable to find out anything.

“Sometimes, Hazbije (the mother), gets teary eyed,” Carolan-Tolbert said, when she thinks about her daughter.

The Hotis are the first Kosovar family to seek refuge in Fayette County. Another family, sponsored by Providence United Methodist Church, is expected to arrive this week. Some of the Hotis are going to meet them at Hartsfield Airport to help as interpreters and assure them that their latest destination “is good."