Destination Lakewood

In Lakewood, the celebration of Albanian Independence Day is almost as big as it is in the homeland. Two years ago, instead of celebrating with his countrymen, former Albanian President Rexhep Meidani came to Lakewood to raise his toast.

Their migration began in the 1990s after the end of communist rule. Finally free to leave, people fled in droves -- mostly to France, Greece, and Italy. The plane ride to the United States took two days, and what little they knew about America wasn't tempting.

"For years, all that was shown on TV by the dictator was how terrible the United States was," says Anila Nicklos.

But in 1992, Hasan Bakia, Albania's director of the Institute of Oil, was sent to the U.S. on business. While he was gone, his political party fell from power. Bakia was scared about his country's instability, so he applied for a temporary visa.

He moved to Lakewood, where he worked a variety of odd jobs, from newspaper deliveryman to taxicab driver. He kept in touch with family and friends in his hometown of Fier, writing to them about the beauty of Lakewood. But back home, freedom had created new difficulties.

After the fall of communism, Albanians were responsible for investing their own money for the first time. Corrupt companies managed to convince thousands of them to purchase stakes in pyramid schemes, with promises of 1,000 percent returns. In early 1997, several pyramids collapsed, leaving investors bankrupt, disillusioned, and angry. Albanians stormed the streets. Armed revolts broke out across the country, leading to the near-total collapse of government. Many wanted out.

That's how much of Fier village ended up in Lakewood.

"People tend to go to where there are other people like themselves," says immigration expert Kaufman. "They don't look so much into job opportunities . . . It's all about going where there are other immigrants like them."

One of those was Anila Nicklos, who arrived in 1997. In her crumbling red brick apartment building on Madison Avenue, she was shocked to see that everyone was Albanian. "It was like everyone left Albania and moved to this one building," she says. Nicklos didn't even know Lakewood was its own city. In the beginning, she addressed her envelopes "Lakewood, Cleveland, Ohio."

Sako Satka, a real estate investor, also arrived in Lakewood in 1997. His family of six stayed with his brother-in-law in a small home while he got settled. But he was ready to make his move.

"In Albania, all you can do is dream," he says. "Here, you can work those dreams."

Satka began by leasing parking lots in Cleveland. Then he bought two downtown buildings, as well as the now-closed Titanic restaurant and the Ohio Bell building in Lakewood.

Nearly a decade later, he knew he'd arrived when he bought what's perhaps the suburb's most stately home, a historic mansion on Lake Avenue that had fallen into disrepair. The house reminded him of the grandiose, fairy-tale embassies back home.

When Satka first moved to Lakewood, he and his son would walk by the house, trying to glimpse the yard between the bristling bushes. When he bought it for $610,000 at a sheriff's auction, the first thing he did was cut the brush, exposing the mansion for everyone to see.

Satka, a jubilant man with a Santa Claus belly, is also responsible for the growing Albanian population. He's sponsored 25 families in their move to Lakewood. He's given financial grants to start businesses and employed dozens in his shops. When he leased the parking lots downtown, he let every Albanian who worked nearby park for free.

Thanks to these small efforts, Albanian national TV now airs glowing features on the beauty of Lakewood. One student says there are even fliers in coffee shops, urging people to move to Lakewood. Around Ohio, Albanians come up to Lakewood Mayor Tom George and address him as "my mayor."

But not every dream ends so happily.

Bakia and his wife, Mirjana, now face deportation. In 2002, his application for political asylum was denied, and his visa had run out. His lawyer had one month to file an appeal, but missed the deadline. Bakia's son, who came here legally in 1997, has filed for a visa for his mother and father under the united family policy, but it may be too late.

The couple now sits in jail in Bedford Heights, awaiting deportation.

"It is very sad," says Satka.

Jeanette Sgambellone, an ESL teacher at Lincoln Elementary, was called to an emergency in the cafeteria. One of her foreign students was refusing to eat her hot dog. The student, Sgambellone soon realized, thought she was being forced to eat a pet. Sgambellone couldn't make her understand that it wasn't a real dog. They finally reached a compromise: "I said she could throw out the hot dog if she ate the bun."