Nexhmije Pagarusha

Once upon a time, in the village of Mališevo, nestled between the hills of what is now Kosovo, a baby girl was born. Her name was Nexhmije, and from the very beginning, her voice carried something magical.

When she was still very small, she would sing around the house. Her voice would float through the air like a songbird in spring. Her neighbors would stop and listen. Even the wind seemed to slow down, just to hear her better. Her parents noticed it too. They knew she had been given a gift.

Nexhmije loved music more than anything else. She wanted to learn, to grow, and to let her voice tell stories that words alone could not. So when she grew older, she went to study music in Belgrade. She trained in opera, learning how to reach the high notes with strength and the soft ones with feeling. But even in the big city, far from home, she never forgot who she was or where she came from.

She returned to Kosovo with her voice stronger than ever and her heart full of love for her people. She began performing Albanian folk songs, mixing them with classical music and her own unique style. No one had ever heard anything like it before. She wore traditional dresses with pride. On stage, she sang of love, of longing, of courage, and of the beauty of Albanian culture.

Her voice became known across Yugoslavia, and later across Europe and beyond. People called her the “Nightingale of Kosovo,” because when she sang, it felt as though the night had been touched by something divine. She performed in concerts around the world: from Sarajevo to Paris, from Skopje to Zurich, and she sang in many languages, but she always returned to her roots.

Nexhmije didn’t just sing songs. She told stories. She brought people together. In times of silence, her voice was comforting. In times of celebration, it was joy. And in times of pain, it reminded people of who they were. She made people feel proud to be Albanian. Proud to be Kosovar.

But Nexhmije’s story was not always easy. She was a woman in a world where men often held the microphone. She faced criticism, pressure, and moments of doubt. But she never let the world quiet her spirit. She stood tall, with dignity and strength. She once said, “A voice is a gift, but it is nothing without the soul behind it.” And her soul was pure, deep, and unshakably proud.

Even after she stepped back from the stage, people remembered her songs. Generations of girls grew up listening to her voice, dancing to her music, and learning her lyrics by heart.

She passed away in 2020, but her music still lives on. When you walk through the streets of

Kosovo today, sometimes you’ll hear her voice playing on the radio, echoing from a window, or shared in a family gathering. And when you listen closely, you might feel something stir in your heart, the same pride and beauty that Nexhmije carried her whole life.

She showed the world that a girl from a small village could become a symbol of a people. That tradition could be powerful. That art could be a form of resistance. That music could heal.

By Neve Clements