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.

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

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."

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