Friends recall Zoran "Zoki Faci" Vasilevski: the last conversation and the memories that remain
Ferki Demirovski and his wife Elma remember the reporter’s quieter side, anecdotes from Mi Kasa and the small gestures that stayed with them.
Almost two years after the death of the well-known Macedonian showbusiness reporter Zoran Vasilevski — widely known as Zoki Faci — close friends recall private moments, the last conversation they shared and small stories that keep his presence alive. Businessman Ferki Demirovski and his wife Elma opened up about a friendship that, they say, felt more like family.
Intimate memories behind the public persona
Ferki describes their relationship as a shelter from the performative side of Zoki’s life: “Ferki is my Angel Guardian” was a phrase Zoki used about him, and the couple say those words still reverberate. They remember long talks about faith and the things beyond everyday life, and how Zoki trusted Ferki with doubts and fears he rarely showed to others.
One anecdote they return to often is a quiet road trip to Thessaloniki. Ferki says he rode in silence for four hours; at the border he simply handed Zoki the passport and Zoki later told everyone: “Imagine, from Skopje to Thessaloniki he didn’t say a word, and at the border he only told me, ‘Give the passport.’” That small image — of patience, respect and a private understanding — is what Ferki treasures most.
Elma, who worked with Zoki for years at the Mi Kasa restaurant, remembers how his role at work blurred into the life of the place. He was proud of his work as marketing manager and he treated the team like family: serving coffee, helping at the reception, calming colleagues, bringing friends to taste the food. “But together we build the story of this place, right, Elma,” she recalls him saying, underlining how central he felt to the restaurant’s identity.
Both Ferki and Elma emphasize that the public image of Zoki — loud, energetic, always on — hid a need for quiet and reassurance. “I like it here; don’t tell me to go,” he would say when he stayed late at the restaurant, and small phrases like that, their laughter and the private silences, are what the couple misses most.
They say grief has reshaped ordinary memories into something tender and enormous: a simple coffee, a routine chat, a familiar voice. Those ordinary things, when lost, become the most painful reminders of a life that filled many rooms — onstage and behind the scenes.
Photo: press material from the event
