Albanians at the Edge of the World: Six Decades of Albanian Life in Melbourne
Article by Bleron Zajmi
To be a member of the Albanian diaspora is to live somewhere between two worlds – present in both, yet never entirely rooted in either. For many, this sentiment intensifies the further and less physically connected you are from the Albanian homeland. Although the extent of the experience varies depending on which community you belong to, there are certain features that appear almost universal, such as an inherited attachment to a land in which you have spent perhaps only a fraction of your life, or endless debates over historical events and political developments in one’s land of origin. Another notable shared trait is the tendency of many diasporic groups – Albanians especially – to remain closely bound to their own ethnic community. These smaller, homogenous social circles have often developed into broader associations with the explicit aim of keeping the cultural identity of a community alive.
Amongst the lesser-known branches of the Albanian diaspora is the community in Australia, totalling just under 20,000 in the latest Australian census in 2021. Their relative obscurity is largely due to their smaller numbers and geographic isolation from both the Albanian lands and the wider diaspora, which is primarily concentrated throughout Europe and North America. To shine a much-needed light on their story, we published an article on the history and contemporary reality of Albanians in Australia earlier this year. Its reception by the community was remarkably warm and broadly engaged, reflecting the limited coverage they have hitherto received outside of their adopted home in the Lucky Country. Shortly after its publication, we were contacted by the Albanian Australian Islamic Society (AAIS), who invited us to view their permanent history exhibition at the Albanian Mosque of Carlton North in Melbourne, Victoria.
Following up on the invitation, as the only member of the Arbanon editorial team living in Australia, I visited the Albanian Mosque in early August on the kind of gloomy and gray winter’s day characteristic of Melbourne. There, I was greeted by the AAIS’ resident honorary historian, a dedicated community member named Ali Ymer, his daughter Selima – who works and volunteers for the AAIS – and her young son, Yusuf. Ali’s father, Ramadan, migrated to Australia in 1937 from the village of Voskop in the Korça region of southeastern Albania and married Ali’s mother, an East Prussian woman who converted to Islam. In Ali’s youth, his parents were more associated with the mosque in Preston, which, though not predominantly Albanian in its foundation, was strongly supported by members of the Albanian-Australian community.
In Ali’s adolescence, his family developed a closer association with the Albanian Mosque in Carlton, where Ali attended Islamic classes along with his siblings and cousins. Long passionate about history, Ali would eventually become a committee member whilst working for the Public Record Office of Victoria. This prompted him to look through the filing cabinet situated upstairs in the committee members’ office. Remarkably, the founding members of the AAIS managed to preserve all of the files and documents related to the mosque. Ali humorously remarked that this feat of archival discipline and literary preservation was a virtue for which the Albanians are not exactly renowned for. The AAIS archive consists of around 2,500 files dating from 1963 onwards. Over the last 18 years, Ali has dutifully collated, scanned and digitized almost every file with the aim of preserving and making them accessible to younger generations of Albanian-Australians.
The Albanian Mosque of Carlton North – or the Carlton Xhami, as Ali affectionately calls it – sits on the site of a former double-story Victorian residence named "Carlton House." It was built by Thomas O'Callaghan, the fifth Commissioner of Victoria Police, in 1880. O'Callaghan's three surviving daughters sold the property to the Albanian Australian Islamic Society on September 11, 1963 for 11,200 Australian pounds, which was almost 2,000 pounds above the median Melbourne house price at the time. The Mosque’s construction commenced in April 1969 and was substantially completed by October of that year, with the exception of the front landing and steps. It is the oldest Albanian mosque in Melbourne, with two newer ones founded in Dandenong in 1985 and Reservoir in 1996. It is not, however, the oldest Albanian mosque in Australia;that title belongs to the institution established in the rural Victorian town of Shepparton in 1960.
My arrival was met with the warm hospitality so characteristic of Albanians; tea and biscuits over a friendly conversation, tied together by a sense of respect and dignity that made me feel more like a member of the community than a visitor. I suppose that such a feeling should not come as a surprise. For the Albanian diaspora, any institution belonging to the community seems to resonate almost instinctively as something of our own. This instinct may be especially pronounced as an Albanian in Australia, as visible reminders of our presence are rare, with our communities scattered across an enormous continent.
To see Albanian emblazoned prominently across the exterior of a mosque, church or community center therefore carries a significance that can be difficult to explain to non-Albanians. Such places function as physical manifestations of an Albanian presence in every country you find them, built and maintained by the generations that preceded and raised us. As such, regardless of one’s religious confession, they are part of our shared cultural inheritance as a community. Although mosques and churches serve their respective religious groups, when either is founded or maintained by Albanians, it becomes something more. In this case, it is a place of gathering for the Albanian-Australians of Melbourne and, as represented by Ali’s carefully preserved trove of documents, it is an archive in its own right; a physical repository of an entire community’s collective memory.
This is precisely why Ali’s work is so invaluable. With evident, justified pride at what he has built though years of work, Ali cheerfully showed me around his magnum opus. For the AAIS’ 50-year anniversary, a number of panels were raised inside the Mosque’s multi-purpose room, capturing the institution's development along with that of the community which erected it. Ali guided me through each of the panels, which can also be viewed online and the other documents and images on display.
His favorite episode was a rather peculiar one from the Mosque’s early history, which Ali recounted with obvious amusement as an example of Albanian improvisation. For reasons that remain unclear, the application to the local council for the Mosque’s front landing and steps was submitted only after the building was completed. As such, for about six months between October 1969 and April 1970, worshippers entering the mosque, including for the major celebrations of Bajrami i Madh (Eid al-Fitr) in December 1969 and Bajrami i Vogël (Eid al-Adha) in February 1970, were faced with two less-than-grand options: either climbing a five-foot ladder up to the front doors or a single rear door approached by a steep, unpaved driveway.
The mosque has undergone several changes and renovations since that time, all of them meticulously documented in Ali’s archive; building certificates, applications, contracts and other records tell the story. Ali has summarized this extensive material into clear, presentable timelines in the aforementioned panels, openly available both online and in the Mosque’smulti-purpose room.
The story, however, extends beyond the building. As Ali explained, many early Albanian-Australians were non-practicing Muslims and the original intention behind the institution went beyond establishing a place of worship. The property was also envisioned as a meeting place for the wider Albanian community and as a home for an Albanian-language school. In fact, the school was established in 1965 – several years before the Mosque’s completion.
Albanian-language classes were originally held in the multi-purpose room. As featured in our first article on Albanian-Australians, the classes were led by Mithat Jusufi from Manastir in present-day North Macedonia, who passed away earlier this year. One of the panels contains class mementos, most notably the notes of a former student named Albert Kalaja as well as a report card belonging to Genc Kalaja, Albert’s brother. Genc, clearly a capable student, received 10s – the highest mark – in every subject but one, in which he received a 9. Still amused, Ali recalled that “he must have cried when he got the 9,” before adding, almost as reassurance, that “he’s still alive.” Since a marking scale of 1-10 has never been the standard in Australia, these report cards are reminiscent of the Albanian educational system, making them a cultural holdover from Albania.
The classes continued until 1989, after which attendance significantly dropped for both Islamic and Albanian classes. This also coincided with the development of the Saturday School of Modern Languages (SSML), which would eventually become the Victorian School of Languages (VSL). Albanian was first introduced into the SSML in 1982; by 1985, it was being taught as part of the VSL in four locations: Dandenong, Shepparton, Altona North and North Geelong. It is still offered through the VSL and operates, with varying attendance, across four locations – Altona North, Epping, Caroline Springs and Shepparton. The AAIS also recommenced their Albanian classes after the institution acquired the AAIS Youth Centre in Truganina on December 28, 2013, which is roughly a half-hour away from the Mosque.
Language courses have been held at the youth center ever since, alongside Islamic classes and lectures. Selima estimated that around 50 children attend Albanian classes every Saturday, with around 120 children enrolled in total. The language courses are divided into three levels, according to students’ age groups: pre-school, primary school and high school. Most students belong to families hailing from the ethnic Albanian territories in North Macedonia and Montenegro.These families likewise make up the majority of the AAIS’ membership. There are smaller numbers of Albanians from Kosova and fewer from the state of Albania. Interestingly enough, the share of each group broadly reflects the successive waves of Albanian migration to the Lucky Country, providing a useful snapshot of Albanian-Australian demographics, which are detailed in our first article on the topic.
By offering Albanian-language classes, the AAIS distinguishes itself from other Albanian mosques in Australia, where such cultural and linguistic functions are either less prominent or often absent. As a result, some of these institutions are today only faintly recognizable as Albanian. By contrast, the Carlton Mosque has retained a much more explicit connection to the language and identity of its founding community. This is perhaps facilitated by the presence of an Albanian religious leader, Imam Përparim Shaban Sulaj, who arrived in Australia from Mat, Albania in 2019. Imam Përparim teaches both the Islamic and Albanian-language classes. Importantly, he delivers the Friday congregational prayer sermon known as the khutbah in Albanian. This too differentiates the AAIS from its fellow Albanian-Australian mosques. Take the Smithfield Mosque in Sydney, which neither holds the khutbah in Albanian nor runs Albanian-language instruction or community initiatives.
This broader cultural role is also reflected in the AAIS’ membership. Selima explained that the organization boasts over a thousand financial contributors, with membership generally representing a household rather than a single individual. She estimated that around 80% of paying members do not regularly attend the Mosque outside of major holidays. Some, she noted, do not even consider themselves Muslim. Their continued membership demonstrates that an emphasis on broader cultural belonging was not only a mainstay at the institution’s founding, but remains an important part of its present identity and function. This service is all the more important given Australia’s distance to the Albanian hearth.
Selima and her father explained that attendance peaks during the Bajram prayers, when the overwhelmingly Albanian-majority congregation fills well beyond its usual turnout. Worshippers spill from the multi-purpose room into the main prayer room, then out into the driveway and even onto the footpath. It can even become difficult to get through the doors at all. These are accompanied by celebrations related to the holiday, such as the Bajram Carnival, which are held at the AAIS Youth Centre.
The Youth Centre consists of a café, sports courts and classrooms facilitating the AAIS’ events and services. These programs are principally made possible by community volunteers, organized through bodies such as the AAIS Women’s Committee and the Youth Group. The Women’s Committee was formed in 2005 with the aim of supporting women and children of both the Albanian and broader community. The Youth Group was established in 2016 to provide social and sporting activities for Albanian teenagers and young adults.
The AAIS Youth Centre also serves as a venue for patriotic celebrations and cultural gatherings. Twice a year, the AAIS holds events marking Kosova’s Independence Day on February 17 as well as its Liberation Day on June 12. Selima described these occasions as especially important in ensuring that younger generations remain aware of the struggles that have defined the Albanian experience. Recently, the AAIS hosted a documentary night on the systemic persecution, massacres and expulsions of the Albanians of Çamëria at the hands of Greek chauvinist forces. This unresolved wound represents a chapter of history that many in the wider Albanian community may know little about despite its undeniable importance.
Selima noted that the AAIS works to maintain a balance between Islamic education on the one hand and Albanian history and culture on the other. The aim is to provide young Albanian-Australians an understanding of not only their faith, but also of the struggles and history that shaped their ancestors – and therefore their own lives. This historical debt has required only a simple payment: preserving and passing down this unique language, culture and identity.
Of course, these services are not exclusively provided to Muslim Albanians; Christian or irreligious Albanians are equally welcome to participate in events. Such religious tolerance and unity is an integral aspect of Albanian history and culture, since a shared national identity despite our religious differences has helped preserve the Albanian presence through periods of political division, foreign rule and social upheaval.
Selima stressed that the AAIS has always worked to also remain open to the wider Australian community, including through interfaith initiatives and public events. This includes their participation in the Open House Melbourne initiative, during which the Albanian Mosque opened its doors to visitors from outside the community. This year, however, the AAIS’ social media promotion of the event attracted a considerable number of Islamophobic comments, which Selima sees as representative of a broader change in the atmosphere surrounding Muslims in Australia. Her reflection was striking: "We're trying to build bridges but people keep trying to destroy them,” she explained.
That perception does not exist in a vacuum. Islamophobia and perhaps more broadly xenophobia in Australia has become sufficiently widespread to prompt both dedicated research by the Australian Human Rights Commission, an independent government-funded entity, and a national response commissioned by the federal government. It also comes at a time when the far-right One Nation party led by Senator Pauline Hanson has experienced a marked rise in electoral support, with recent polling placing the party at historical heights. One Nation has increasingly voiced opposition to multiculturalism, with Hanson arguing that Australia should maintain an “Australian monoculture.”. Whether such political developments can be directly attributed as the cause for the hostility directed at the AAIS is difficult to establish. Nonetheless, they are part of the wider climate in which an Albanian Muslim institution attempting to open doors to its neighbors now finds itself.
Regardless of wider political shifts, the AAIS appears well placed to continue its work through the strength of its organization, stable membership base and – above all – the commitment of the volunteers and families who continue to sustain it. Such institutions do not survive, and let alone flourish, by accident. Rather, such success is made possible by successive generations of investment in both time and energy. A striking representation of this generational legacy can be found in the AAIS’ current President, Adrian Mallelari, who is the great nephew of the society’s first President, Mehmet Zyka.
My warm and memorable visit was soon to wrap up. I said my goodbyes to xhaxhi Ali, Selima and Yusuf. Before I left, they gifted me a commemorative book published for the Mosque’s 50th anniversary; another carefully preserved record of the community’s history. They did not fail to invite me to return for one of the AAIS’ community events. It was a fitting end to a visit that had begun as a tour, but ultimately offered something much broader: a glimpse into how an Albanian-Australian community has worked across generations to preserve the constituent elements of its identity..
From the mosque, I made my way to Zeneli Flowers, an establishment that, remarkably, operates as both a florist and a coffee shop. The store’s name left little doubt about the origin of its owners. Curious, I asked the man behind the counter where he was from. Immediately, he replied: “we are Albanians.” The conversation instantly warmed and opened up, turning to our native tongue. He introduced himself as Fikri, originally from the village of Këshavë in the Manastir region. Before long, he ordered me an espresso.
This was not destined to be a brief stop; the conversation stretched for almost an hour. We spoke about the systemic difficulties the Albanians of his native Manastir face under North Macedonian governance, his own life in Australia and enduring wish to return. He even told me of his friend, the pre-eminent Kosova Albanian patriotic singer, Ilir Shaqiri. They had done their compulsory military service together in Split, Croatia during the Yugoslav period.
Encounters like these are not common in Australia – perhaps even less so in my hometown of Sydney, where Albanians are few and far between. For that reason, moments when one can speak their mother tongue, hear familiar stories and spend time in institutions built by fellow Albanians carry a weight that is difficult to appreciate without having experienced the distance of diaspora life firsthand, especially in as far a corner of the world as Australia.
The closer I reflected on the experience, the more the AAIS’ work struck me as remarkable. Very few Albanian institutions in Australia have preserved such a strong combination of culture, religion and community life under one roof. Their archives, language classes and wider community engagement demonstrate what can be achieved when cultural preservation is seen not as something to be taken lightly, but as a solemn and ongoing responsibility.
There is much here that Albanians elsewhere in Australia, and indeed throughout the diaspora, can learn from. Of course, there is no such thing as automatic communal preservation: language and identity can be lost within a generation or two, and institutions can gradually lose their founding character. The AAIS has shown that this is not an inevitable outcome. With stable institutions and a conscious effort to involve younger generations, some semblance of an Albanian identity can remain alive even on the opposite side of the world.
Perhaps this is what stayed with me most after leaving Melbourne. As we know, the Albanian presence in Australia may be small and geographically distant, but this does not make it insignificant. In places like the Carlton Mosque, in Ali’s archive, in the Saturday language classes and even in an unexpected conversation over an espresso at a florist, fragments of that identity continue to breathe and flourish. It is a requirement of our community to recognize their value, and to ensure that what our parents and grandparents carried across oceans does not disappear with us.
A special thank you to Ali Ymer and Selima, as well as the broader AAIS team, for their invitation and hospitality. This article was made possible by their openness and cooperation. To learn more about the AAIS, head to their website or watch their documentary, “60 Years of the AAIS 1963-2023.”
Arbanon Magazine proudly functions independently and received no payment or financial support from the AAIS in connection with this article. The only symbolic gift was the aforementioned commemorative book published for the Mosque’s 50th anniversary.
Bleron Zajmi was born and raised in Sydney, Australia to Albanian parents from Malësia e Gjakovës/Rrafshi i Dukagjinit and Struga. He is a first-year PhD student in Biomedical Sciences at the University of New South Wales. His interests extend beyond the lab, centering on Albanian history and identity, as well as the dialogue between heritage and modernity.
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