The U.N. has an immense task in Kosovo. It must help create all the structures, from the noble to the mundane, that define a country -- a government, a legal system, an economy, an infrastructure, law enforcement, postal and telephone service, garbage collection. But it must do that without furthering the Albanians' faith that Kosovo will become a separate country.

That's a fine line to walk, and despite the efforts of UNMIK's many smart and dedicated people, working seven days a week and living in hardship, it may be an impossible mission.

The logistical aspects alone are daunting enough. Consider the economy. For the past 20 years Kosovars survived on a wildly inefficient socialist economy and money sent from relatives working abroad. Kosovo doesn't have welfare mothers; it has welfare everyone.

"The attitude of many people here is that Yugoslavia circa 1985 was excellent," one U.N. official told me. Of the 300 companies that existed in Kosovo before the war, perhaps a couple of dozen are still viable, but they will need to make sizable layoffs. There is some farming and some timber, although reforestation is a foreign concept. If meaningful trade is even possible for a tiny region without any distinctive natural assets, it will be years, if not decades, away. So UNMIK has tried to implement the collection of revenue through things like an airport tax, the licensing of gas stations and auto registration.

But at the moment, Kosovo lives off international aid and the service economy generated by foreigners. Neither will last indefinitely. One of the 29 political parties campaigning in the upcoming municipal elections is actually promoting tourism as a source of income. I can't think of a single reason why a tourist would want to visit Kosovo.

Organized crime thrived in Kosovo before the bombing, and its grip has probably tightened since. It's said that, for 1,000 marks (UNMIK imposed the deutsche mark as Kosovo's currency), or about $430, you can buy a Mercedes, a BMW, any car you want, as long as you don't mind that it belongs to someone else.

Pristina is also full of illegal construction. Built without safety regulations or building codes on land that the builders usually don't even own, such structures are ubiquitous -- a seven-story building across the street from UNMIK headquarters, a hotel going up in a public park.

UNMIK tries to identify the illegal buildings and condemn them for destruction, but it isn't easy. A few weeks ago, the U.N. appointed an Albanian to head the process. He condemned three buildings before being gunned down, gangland style. For Kosovo's criminals, killing an Albanian is simpler than killing a foreigner, and UNMIK's decision to put a local in such a visible, vulnerable position was a stinging mistake.

UNMIK's challenge of rebuilding Kosovo is also complicated by the separation of public institutions that the hatred here renders necessary. Hospitals are segregated because a Serb in an Albanian hospital would not fare well. So are schools. "I do not think," one U.N. official said, "that a Serbian child in a mixed classroom could survive more than a couple of hours."

Kosovo, you might say, is making the U.N. schizophrenic. An organization devoted to bringing the peoples of the world together has conceded that, in Kosovo, peace requires separatism.

I asked one U.N. official how the Serbian enclaves could possibly become self-sustaining. They can't, he said. So KFOR will guard them indefinitely? I asked. Not indefinitely, he said. For 10, maybe 20 years. The solution lies in "generational attrition." Most young Serbs have left Kosovo; those remaining tend to be middle-aged and older. "I can't see that we can sustain these people in any real way," he admitted. "But in 20 years, the problem will probably be solved."

Such words are chilling, but they're also realistic. Because no matter how much some things change in Kosovo, others stay the same, just as they have for hundreds of years. The blackbirds still fly at dusk, tens of thousands of them swooping and whirling as they fill the sky with black clouds. And when night falls, wild dogs roam the streets.

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