BBC in Kočani: The silence that never ends

At least 59 people died, most of them young, and more than 155 were injured in a fire that broke out at a nightclub on the night between Saturday and Sunday.

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Photo: Ognen Teofilovski/Reuters
Photo: Ognen Teofilovski/Reuters
Disclaimer: The translations are mostly done through AI translator and might not be 100% accurate.

An unbearable silence broken only by moans.

Sadness and pain can almost be physically felt in the air in every corner of Kočani, a small town in eastern North Macedonia.

Just one hour was enough for life to never be the same again.

At least 59 people died, most of them young, and more than 155 were injured in a fire that broke out in a nightclub on the night between Saturday and Sunday.

17-year-old Anđela was also at the concert of the popular hip-hop band DNK, but she left early and was saved, says her father Saša Đenić.

"He's fine, but he's in shock and taking tranquilizers all the time and just reading the news and waiting for information about his friends," he barely says as he wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his winter jacket.

"What can the others who have lost their loved ones say?" he says quietly.

The dead and injured were mostly young people, aged 14 to 25, officials said.

"If this goes unpunished, then this country does not deserve to be called a country," says a now furious Đenić.

Initial findings of the investigation indicate that the fire in the disco, which was attended by around 1.500 people, was caused by sparks from pyrotechnics used for lighting effects at the concert, said Panče Toškovski, Minister of Interior of North Macedonia.

Ten people were immediately detained, including the club owner and concert organizer, as well as employees of the Ministry of Economy, Toškovski said.

The club operated with a fake license that was "issued illegally with the original seal of the Ministry of Economy and the signature of the then officials" in March 2024, announced Hristijan Mickoski, the country's prime minister.

"A difficult and very sad day for a country that has lost so many young lives," Mickoski said.

Seven days of mourning have been declared in North Macedonia.

'Tell me, no'

As I approach the General Hospital in Kočani, I pass by the distraught faces of crying people.

People don't drop their phones.

A scream breaks the silence.

"Tell me, no," I hear a female voice.

Wooden beds are constantly being brought into the hospital.

The police are being replaced, and the military police are just arriving.

I stopped counting the ambulances.

In front of one of the hospital entrances, I find a group of people, their eyes fixed on the old doors and wobbly windows.

I can see fear on their faces, but also a glimmer of hope that their loved ones are okay.

"You have to believe, you have to," I hear a male voice.

I don't hear an answer.

I walk along the now muddy path to the second entrance.

Two women are sitting on wooden chairs, hugging each other.

"They're fighting for his life," a female voice says from a distance, letting out a moan that echoes through the silence.

It seems to me as if every window pane trembled at these words.

I turn around, and two medical workers rush to help.

On the ground floor of the hospital, there are a handful of blankets, pillows and water.

The window of what appears to be a waiting room is all broken. And the police are here.

They avert their tear-filled eyes, trying to keep their composure.

Doctors just come and go like on a conveyor belt.

The air smells of iodine, infusion, and staleness.

"What has happened to us?" says the young man in the red ambulance vest.

A new contingent of military police is arriving.

Silence reigned over the surrounding streets, everyone crowded in front of the hospital.

Kočani has a population of 23.000. It seems like everyone knows each other.

The salesman in a nearby shop doesn't take his eyes off the street, shaking his head.

BBC/DEJANA VUKADINOVIC

'My mouth is dry'

In the illuminated central square in Kočani, even during the night, locals pay tribute to the victims.

Young and old take turns, heads bowed and eyes red from tears.

Only occasionally does someone let out an occasional sigh.

"Creepy, creepy," a middle-aged man tells me, not wanting to introduce himself.

He blames the government for the tragedy and compares it to the collapse of the concrete canopy of the twice-reconstructed railway station in Novi Sad, in which 15 people lost their lives, two seriously.

The Novi Sad tragedy triggered a wave of protests across Serbia, and one of the the most massive He was in Belgrade, the day before dozens of people lost their lives in Kočani.

"There was no permit there, and they were building, and here there was, but it was fake."

"The same thing happened to us - indescribable sadness," he waves his hand and disappears into the darkness.

A few steps away, a short woman lights cigarette after cigarette.

Among the injured are the children of her close relatives.

"Horror and horror," she says and holds out her arms for me to hug.

I feel her every heartbeat, every part of her body trembles, and the tears just keep coming.

People keep coming, but no one speaks.

"There's nothing more to say, my mouth is dry," the blue-eyed woman says.

Those gathered greet each other with glances.

BBC/DEJANA VUKADINOVIC

'What would the future be like without her'

I find Saša Đenić not far from the line of people waiting to light candles, staring into the distance.

His daughter, Angela, was with a friend at the club.

The night before the tragedy, daughter Anđela told her parents that she would go to a concert with a friend.

He and his wife rarely sleep when Anđela is out - they only have her.

Tired, because they had been renovating the apartment for days, he dozed off in the armchair.

He was woken up by his agitated wife Suzana, who said that their daughter was at the gas station.

"'What is she doing there,' I asked, half asleep.

In this case, Susan, a doctor in the emergency room, is called by a colleague.

There's a fire, there are many victims, and he needs to be on alert, he tells her.

From the terrace, Saša saw the eerie flames that were constantly spreading, and the sounds of the sirens did not stop.

"Our daughter tells us that she's already at her friend's place and I tell my wife to go get her right away," he tells me.

As soon as it was dawn, he went to the scene of the accident.

"People are crying, nervous, waiting for news," he says, not taking his eyes off the line of people that is just arriving.

Not far from the disco, he saw members of the special police, and the city "was in complete chaos."

"The hospital couldn't accommodate all the bodies of the victims, so they lined them up on a nearby lawn," he tells me, as his wife says.

Two of his colleagues and a childhood friend lost their children.

His face is soaked with tears.

"We feel like moving out of here, because what kind of future would we have if we lost our Angela," the 53-year-old English teacher says quietly.

BBC/DEJANA VUKADINOVIC

'There is no whole generation'

Mario Stojanovski also grew up in Kočani, a town once known for its rice production.

He has been living abroad for the last few years, and he is not the only one.

Young people are leaving Kočani in search of a better life, and the situation is similar in other cities in the east of the country.

The news of the tragedy awaited him first thing in the morning.

He also used to go to the Puls club, which he says was among the best-equipped.

He frantically called his loved ones, fearfully scrolled through social media.

That night, many of his friends were at the concert.

"I was so agitated, I frantically wrote, called, waiting for any kind of response."

"Some were on a smoke break and escaped, some have minor injuries - fortunately," 30-year-old Stojanovski tells me over the phone.

For some, it is still unknown whether they survived.

"My friend's brother had plastic surgery," he says.

Among the victims was a teenager with whom he played football.

"Nice, polite staff, and now he's gone, that really hit me."

"An entire generation is gone," he says sadly.

He hopes, like many, that this, as he says, unprecedented tragedy will change things for the better and that the people will wake up and become aware.

Candles burn continuously, and wax spills onto the pavement of the central square in Kočani.

The gathered crowd slowly disperses, just as they came - silently and with lost gazes.

The street lights are also turned off, and silence is spreading.

It's almost midnight.

Watch the moment a deadly fire broke out in North Macedonia: "Everyone started screaming"

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