The Matmujas are a poor family even by the standards of Europe's poorest country. Their home, a dilapidated four-roomed cottage, is on the side of a mountain close to the Kosovo-Albanian border. The nearest town is a 30-minute drive away. Their only source of water is a lake, 3 km away.
Aqif Matmuja has been out of work for two years. His wife, Hajrije, has had to sell most of their valuables to feed and clothe their five children.
The couple would seem to have little to offer anyone at a time of crisis. Rather, they themselves would appear to be in need of help. Yet, when the first flood of Kosovar refugees came across the border last March, they didn't think twice before rushing to Kukes to see what they could do.
"We went to the front of the mosque where many people had congregated and we asked would anyone like to come to stay with us," says Hajrije.
Within minutes, the Matmujas had agreed to take not one, not two, but five families - 41 people in total - which they continue to play host to 21/2 months later. "Of course it's difficult, especially at night when we have people sleeping everywhere, inside and outside the house, in trailers and under the stars, but our difficulties are nothing compared to theirs. They have suffered so much."
She says she was conscious she didn't want to separate the five families, which are closely related, as it would have added to their trauma. The result can be seen in the small, dusty farmyard in front of the house; a dozen young children playing with smiles on their faces. There is a semblance of normality to life here which cannot be found in the camps. "We are so grateful to them I can't put it in words," says Xhymred Piraj, a doctor from Plav, who is staying at the house with his wife and four children.
With most media tending to focus on the more dramatic setting of the refugee camps, generosity of the kind exemplified by the Matmujas has largely gone unnoticed. This is despite the fact that such families have absorbed roughly three-quarters of the 440,000 refugees in Albania.
"Without their help, we would be facing a much bigger humanitarian crisis," says Jessica Barry, of the International Committee of the Red Cross, which distributes monthly food rations to almost half of the 50,000 refugees staying with host families in Kukes. Concern and Goal are among the other agencies which provide such help.
Further financial assistance had been promised by the Albanian government, but few have received it, a fact which has caused resentment among many host families. Some Kosovars, meanwhile, believe Albania is exploiting the situation for its own ends and complain of locals openly profiting from their plight.
Many Albanians, furthermore, have seen their wages soar. Hotel receptionists once earning $80 a month are now being paid that a day working as translators.
Albania as a whole has also benefited from extensive road, water and sanitation projects which have been carried out to assist the humanitarian effort. "No one is allowed to say it, but we are doing very well out of this situation," one government official admitted. While such profiteering might not sit well with the image Albania likes to project to the world as the embodiment of its most famous daughter, Mother Teresa, it is, to most observers, no more than the country deserves. "If local Albanians are seeing the quality of their lives improve as a result of the crisis, it should be seen as a positive spin-off and not a problem," says Owen O'Sullivan, a Corkman and head of the Organisation for Security Co-operation in Europe field office in Kukes. "Part of the reason why some Kosovars complain is because they look down on Albanians. It's no wonder the good will of host families is running out."
Perhaps it is running out for many, but not for the Matmujas. "We know Kosovo is a much better place and they have good houses and good conditions. But we are happy to give them all we have," says Hajrije.