Living Kosovo, Not Just Studying It: How My Internship in Kosovo Changed My Perspective

Global & Maternal Health Intern in Kosovo 

This blog was originally written by Adria Major for a university assignment, and is shared here with permission from the author.

My time in Kosova changed me in ways I did not expect. I only went because of the Isla program I heard of through Carleton that offered internships there. When I first accepted my internship, I knew it would be different from anything I had done before. I was excited about traveling, meeting new people, and gaining professional experience. However, I didn’t anticipate how deeply the experience would challenge my understanding of history, politics, work, and even my own identity as an American. 

Before arriving, I really could not have told you much about Kosova beyond a vague awareness of Yugoslavia. I had heard of it in passing, perhaps in a textbook during history class, but the culture was something I had not studied in depth. Like many Americans, my education focused heavily on United States history and major events in Western Europe. The Balkans and Eastern Europe especially felt distant and complicated, something I never engaged with. 

It was only when I began preparing for my internship that I started reading more seriously about Kosova’s past, its ongoing fight for independence, and the political challenges the nation faces. Even with all that preparation, nothing compares to learning about the country’s history while actually living there. 

In Prishtina, history is not something abstract. It is recent and extremely personal. Many of the people I met had lived through the war or were children of survivors of the war. Some were children during the war, others had clearer memories of displacement, fear, and rebuilding their lives and nation. These stories were not told in a dramatic or performative way; they came up naturally in conversations at work, over coffee, or during walks through the city. Listening to those experiences made me realize how unaware I had been of the depth of what this country endured. 

Being physically present in Kosova gave context to everything I had read. The pride in independence, the sensitivity around politics, and the strong sense of national identity as an Albanian all made more sense when I understood how hard fought that independence was. It severely humbled me. I realized that my lack of awareness was not malicious, but it was still a gap in my understanding of the world; it was simply ignorance. Living there pushed me to confront that gap and to take responsibility for learning more about this country that took a piece of my heart. 

One of the most surprising parts of my experience was being an American in a place where Americans are genuinely welcomed and appreciated. In downtown Prishtina, I would see American flags alongside Kosova’s own. Some streets and landmarks reflect the close relationship between the two countries, such as Bill Clinton Boulevard and the Newborn Monument. People often expressed gratitude when they learned I was from the United States. Taxi drivers, coworkers, and even strangers would thank America for its support during and after the war and be amazed that I spoke English. I mean, I wasn’t born when the war took place, yet I was treated with warmth simply because of my nationality. 

In the United States, being American can feel politically loaded and divisive. Abroad, in Kosova, being American felt different. America-ness was tied to a specific historical moment and a shared memory of support. That experience made me reflect on the complexity of national identity. I began to see how countries can represent hope or solidarity to others, not just power or controversy. 

Living in downtown Prishtina also meant being constantly surrounded by political conversation. Kosova is a young country, still working to strengthen its institutions and international recognition. Politics there feels immediate and personal. People talk openly about elections, corruption, economic development, and relations with neighboring countries. These are not distant debates. They affect daily life and the future of the country in very real ways. 

Coming from the United States, I realized that I had taken a certain level of stability for granted. Even when Americans argue about politics, there is an underlying assumption that the country will continue functioning. In Kosova, I sensed both pride and uncertainty. There was optimism about growth and progress, but also awareness of multiple ongoing challenges. Kosova is still not a member of the EU, and a lot of countries don’t recognize its independence from Serbia. Watching that balance up close gave me a deeper appreciation for what it means to build and protect democratic institutions. 

Lifestyle in Kosova centers heavily on relationships. Cafés are full at almost every hour of the day. People gather not because they have nothing to do, but because spending time together is seen as essential. Evenings are for walking, talking, and being present. Weekends are for meals or coffee that lasts hours. There is a strong culture of hospitality, and I was invited to events that felt both natural and deeply meaningful. Experiencing this made me reflect on how often I rush through moments in the United States. There is always a sense of the next task, the next deadline, the next achievement. In Prishtina, I learned to slow down. I learned to sit longer at the table. I learned that conversation does not need an agenda to be valuable. That shift did not make me less ambitious. Instead, it helped me see that ambition and connection do not have to compete. 

By the end of my internship, I felt different. I was a different person. I am a different person. I had arrived with limited knowledge of Kosova’s history and left with a much deeper understanding of its resilience and pride. I had experienced what it feels like to be welcomed as an American in a way I had never known before. I had observed a working culture that values relationships as much as results. Most importantly, I had learned that lifestyle and personal life are not secondary to success. They are central to it. Kosova taught me to pay attention to histories that are not my own, to listen before assuming, and to value community in a more intentional way. It reminded me that growth often happens when we step outside of what feels familiar and allow ourselves to be changed by a place and its people.