Look inside the flour bag

During my two and a half years in Belgrade, I had a status of refugee there. One of the benefits of having that frowned upon status, was that I had received some humanitarian aid from red cross, mainly food and toiletry items. Almost 100% of those I had sent to my family in Sarajevo.

I must have sent close to 50 packages during that time. They received probably less than 10 complete boxes. The first food convoy from Belgrade was in November of 1992, organized by "Politika", a large news paper agency. I had been anticipating this opportunity, and had gathered all sort of delicious food and even clothing for my teenage brother who had been outgrowing his shoes every few months. Some of the items I remember that were in those two boxes were potatoes, cabbage, onions, oils, canned goods, pasta, sauces, chocolates, jacket, jeans and tennis shoes. My family never got those packages. The package delivery didn't go through a secure post office delivery, but the agencies organizing them had to go through several check points before reaching their destination. At each of those, the army or whoever was patrolling them would take whatever they wanted from the convoy. Even when the boxes arrived at the storage place, those working there would often first take something for themselves before letting the recipients know they have the package waiting for pick up.

Over time, I got more wise about packaging. First, I would send few smaller boxes, instead of one large one. There was a bigger chance they would get at least one box if I send more than one, even if it's smaller. Then through conversations with other people sending packages to their family members, and through few messages I was able to get from my family, I learned to hide the 'delicatessen" items. I would put chocolate, coffee, or jams inside the large bags of flour. Some packages appeared from the top as if they only have flour, rice and pasta in them, and were not of interest to those who did not dig deeper. My brother would later tell me how exciting those moments had been when he'd bury his hands into those flour bags to discover a hidden treasure.

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Lack of food

After water, the second hardest aspect of living in the war was the lack of food.

Since there were no grocery stores, and people didn't work to earn any money, the few farmers markets that existed operated mostly on a trading system. The value of local currency deteriorated very quickly, so some companies paid some sort of a social aid (there were no real salaries) to their employees in cigarettes, which were very valuable in trading since we have had a large population of smokers. People were trading cigarettes and bags of flour for meat, vegetables, eggs, or cooking oil. People were also trading their clothing, books, or jewelry on the markets for food.

The monetary unit was Deutsche Mark (DM), a money used in Germany before the euro, because it was a stable currency. The prices for items on the markets were in DM, but since very few people actually had this money, the trading was done with other merchandise based on their estimated value in DM. For example, 1 pack of cigarettes or 1 kilo (2 pounds) of flour had a value of 1 DM for trading purposes. So, to purchase a can of pate, which was 25 DM, one would need to bring 25 packs of cigarettes or 25 kilos of flour to the market. During the worst times 2 eggs were 30 DM, 3 onions were 50 DM, and 1 liter of cooking oil was 70 DM. As the war progressed, and there was less food and resources available, the prices started to rise. The flour prices went down because people accumulated it through humanitarian aid. During the first two years of war, people lived mostly on bread. For comparisons, average European annually consumes 55 kilos of bread; people in Sarajevo were eating 180 kilos of bread a year.

Some prices I pulled out from other sources:
January 1993: meat 1 kilo - 50 DM, government monthly salary - 20 DM, 1 monthly pension - 2 eggs
July 1993: Oil 1 liter - 30 DM, flour 1 kilo - 10 DM or two packs of cigarettes
March 7th 1994: coffee 1 kilo - 120 DM
March 21st 1994 ("blue roads" opened): coffee 1 kilo - 40 DM
May 1994: 1 encyclopedia is worth 5 eggs (used to be 1 egg)
September 1994 ("blue roads" closed): all prices went up 100%, bananas 1 kilo - 6 DM
November 1994: average salary - 2 DM, cost of living 350 DM.

While I was in Belgrade, I had been sending the packages to my family that had both items to keep and to trade, such as canned goods or 'delicatessen" items, or flour for trading. But, by the time I returned, flour was no longer trading, and there were no more packages coming in to exchange them for nutritious food.

The worst, however, (which I avoided), was the first year of war, until the first humanitarian aid convoys made it into the city. It was particularly hard on my family because they were refugees in a different part of town than where we lived before and were no longer in our home where my mom has somewhat gathered non perishable groceries that could have lasted them through. Also, the apartments they were assigned to stay in after the exile was already emptied of all and any food, so they didn't even have a grain of salt to start with. Plus, it was a new neighbourhood, where they didn't know anyone, and unfamiliar people in bad situation themselves were reluctant to offer any help.

By the time they arrived there, all the green areas between the buildings had already been claimed by residents as their mini vegetable garden areas. All the trees in the parks have been cut down for fuel, and all the lawns converted in 10x10 gardens. Our family didn't have one, so we lived off of measly humanitarian aid or we had to find other ways of obtaining food. The humanitarian aid was neither regular, sufficient, nor nutritious enough to survive solely on it.

Two and a half years into the war, the aid was arriving into the city by NATO planes, but the air traffic had to be halted whenever there was an elevated level of danger, which in the war happens often. During the times where the aid was considered "regular", each household would have received it every 10 days or so. Since it was too dangerous for people to leave their homes, the aid was distributed at the entrances of every building.

The town's main bakery, which used to supply almost 100% of all the grocery stores with bread before, never stopped operating throughout the war. However, since it was located on the opposite side of town, it was too dangerous for regular bread delivery into our subdivision until the second part of the war. Once we started receiving bread as part of the distributed aid, it happened once a week and each person would get about half a loaf, per week.
December 1994: 1 kilo of rice, 200 grams of beans, 0.15 liters of oil, 1 can of spam 340 grams, 2 kilos of flour.
July 9th 1995 (last round of humanitarian aid): 400 grams of beans, 300 grams of peas, 300 grams of rice, 0.2 liters of oil, 1 kilo of flour.

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You only need the phase

Streets in Sarajevo were shadowed by myriad of cables spread above them. These were referred to as "wild power". Most apartments didn't have electricity, but there were "priority" locations that were almost always powered. These included hospitals, police, and military offices which were located, at least in our neighborhood, on the ground floor of many buildings. There were also some privileged army people, who for whatever reason, were allowed to connect cable on the exterior of the building from the office downstairs to their apartment. Most of them didn't even try to be discrete about it, and would have no shame that in the entire building was in the dark and their windows were the only ones beaming with light.

We happened to have one of those privileged individuals living right above us. He was some officer for moral in his unit - a title that real didn't' fit his behavior among civilians. A cable going into his apartment was right in front of my bedroom window. I didn't understand at first how just one cable can be used to have power, when all outlets have two holes. My brother enlightened me that all that is needed is the phase cable, which, when connected to the outlet, will form the circuit with the ground cable that is already there.

So, we finally decided to give it a try one evening. We got some long insulated wire and I connected one end to one wired in an outlet. On the second end I removed an inch of insulation and shaped the wire into a hook. That evening, around 10 PM, I reached for the wire in front of my window, made an incision on the insulation, connected the hook on my wire, and wrapped it with the electrical tape. Then we put the shades down, so that no one can see that we have a light in the house, and we plugged in a lamp into that outlet. And voila - there was light!

Since we knew there is only so much power we can draw from this cable while our neighbor uses it as well, we only had one light and portable burner and/or TV plugged in. Before going to bed, we’d disconnect the cable and protect the cut outside table with the tape.

Our innovation didn't happen until close to the end of the war, so we didn't get to enjoy our little secret for too long. Having the power on all the time afterwards, however, was way better than stealing it every evening.

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Life without power

Majority of time, we didn't have electricity, and would have to mange without it.

It was great when we at least had natural gas, which was during about half of the war. We used it for cooking and baking, since we had a gas stove. Gas stove also heats up much quicker huge pots of hot water for showers, and the oven was a good supplemental heat source during winter.

We used gas even for "lighting". We used an IV tube connected to gas line on hour stove and with a metal straw at the other tip. It was connected to a doorpost, and controlled with a slider clip on the IV rubber tube. A small amount of gas lit would give enough light to move freely around the room. If we wanted to do any reading, we had to have another light source. We often used a glass filled with water on the bottom and oil on the top (because we often didn't have enough oil for the full glass) with a woven string threaded through a tiny metal plate to hold it in place. We called this "kandilo", like those vigil lamps lit before icons. It is a very low light, which probably contributed to both me and my brother needing glasses after the war. Some of you may think "Why didn't we use batteries or candles?" There were none. There were no stores to buy anything, including light sources.

When we didn't have natural gas, nights were so long, especially during winters when we also had to sit fully clothed under blankets until it was time for bed (we couldn't sleep 12 hours). The cooking was challenging, too. Most households obtained a hand-made aluminum box-stove during the first couple of years in the war. There were handyman who could make those from scrapped metal, for example from gutters or aluminum roofs. It was about 2 feet tall, with an oven and a compartment bellow for fuel material, and a little flue pipe at the top. Since the chimney in our apartments was busted, we kept this stove on the balcony until it became too dangerous. When one day mom and my brother were being shot at while on that same balcony, we decided to move the stove inside, and make a hole in the wall for the flue pipe.

After the first couple of years of war, there were no more trees in our neighbourhood to cut down for burning. The kids were even hammering down doors and windows frames on an old construction site nearby. But, in the second part of the war we had to improvise. We burned everything from encyclopedias to rubber to clothing. One tennis shoe would last enough for the bread to bake. We sometimes had those fuel cubes people use for camping, but they were rare. One cube would be enough to boil water for coffee and make scramble eggs (those with sour cream were the best breakfast ever!). But many days we didn't have a hot meal.

Without power, there was no TV of course, which made boring days even longer. We figured out we can listen to a radio for a short time by plugging it into the phone outlet. Also, old batteries when boiled, would run a small radio few a few minutes. Radios were the only way to find out important information about the fighting and danger threatening a particular area. My brother and his friends hooked up a boom box to an exercise bicycle, and made someone paddle so they can all enjoy the music.

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4 hours of electricity

The electric power was mostly unavailable to us mere mortals during most of the war. At best, the electricity was rationed for 4 hours every 4-5 days. At worst, it would be weeks or even months until we would have power again. So, when the power is on, we made sure we made use of it to the fullest.

When we were on 4 hour/4 day schedule, there would be times when the 4 hours would fall during the night, for example 2-6 am. We always had to be very organized during those 4 hours to make use of the electricity to the fullest, and it had to be the same way even if it was in the middle of the night. We'd turn almost all the lights on, plug in all sorts of devices and be busy with chores because we knew after those 4 hours it's all going to be dark and silent again.

Mom would have several meals prepared to be cooked when the hour strikes. My task was to vacuum and/or iron and monitor the washing machine and add water when it needs (majority of time we didn't have water at the same time as electricity, and the machine needs a running water to operate). My teenage brother would sometimes take over vacuuming but most of the time would just use the power to watch TV and play electric guitar. And even though we'd be groggy at first, because it's hard to get going at 2 am after sitting in dark since sundown, we knew it had to get done, and we'd do it.

The best hours to get power were in the early evening, when we can get everything done, get ready for bed at normal time with lights on, and just then it will all go black.

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1 gallon showers

Of course, we had to be extra cautious how we use the precious water.

For teeth brushing we used just a glass of water, and same for washing the face. There were times when we collected that water to use in the toilets later. Showering had to be done with one gallon of water. Since the bathtub was used to store the water, we were showering on the bathroom floors. (Sometimes we'd use a baby's tub to stand in, so that we can collect that water - again for the toilets) Fortunately, those buildings are made of concrete, and entire bathrooms are tiled, and have a drainage on the floor, which made this kind of showering more doable. Another interesting detail of this process is that the bathroom didn't have windows, so there was no natural light coming in. The electricity was also restricted, and the candles were usually a commodity during those days, so we had to shower in very low light.
I realized I was using the term "shower" very loosely here. Since there was no running water, our "shower" was a cup with which we would pour the water. Also, we had to first heat smaller amount of water to mix with the cold water to make it somewhat bearable temperature.

On the days when we would get the electricity, we wouldn't necessarily have running water at the same time. To operate a washing machine, we had to manually add water when the machine expects it. By the way, the whites cycle on our machines took about 3 hours. We had to constantly monitor it and when the cycle expects the water coming into the drum, we would pour it from the top with a cup.

I must say, we were never lacking drinking water. We rationed elsewhere, so there was always just enough of the clean water for drinking and cooking.

It took me years to not think about hording water. Every now and then I would remember those days, for example when brushing teeth and resisting temptation to not close the water for those two minutes, just because I can....or just be thankful for the (almost) endless running hot water in the shower...or the store bought water bottles that I don't have to keep as containers, because I can just go an buy the water.

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Gathering water

Most of the days during the war, we didn't have running water regularly. There were times when we didn't have it for months, and then other times when we would have it on a set schedule, i.e. every 5th day.

We had canisters, bottles, and different containers filled with water all over our apartment, a habit that was hard to break for years after the war was officially over. On a day when we had water, we would try to store as much of it as we possibly could, by filling everything from the bathtub to small jars. But that can only last so long, and we had to go gather the water when we run out.

In the first couple of years, people have constructed several manual water pumps in our neighbourhood. We would take all the empty canisters to the pump, and wait in line , sometimes for hours, to collect the water. The challenge was bringing those gallons and gallons back home. We used skate boards, hand-made carts, and those who were lucky had a bicycle.

There were few, very rare, occasions when a cistern would come into our neighbourhood, but it would take only a handful of people with huge barrels to empty the cistern before most of us would get any of the water.

We were fortunate that there was a little creek in our neighbourhood. The water there was clean barely enough to use for the toilets. We had special buckets that were used only to gather that water, and we collected it every couple of days or so. The bacteria in the water would quickly develop a terrible smell, and that multiplied by 8 stories of apartments, made it at times unbearable to stay anywhere near the bathrooms. Some people have even done laundry or were washing rugs on the river banks, but I always doubted that the smell would air out after the clothes dry.

On rainy days, people would venture out with buckets and cups to collect water from large puddles formed on a parking lot with a bad drainage. Those who were super vigilant, or in desperate need of water, would run out in the rain first and position their buckets or barrels under the rain gutters. Water from rain gutters is cleaner and fills the canisters much faster than scooping it up from the ground. Rain water was much better than water from the creek, and it can be kept longer without developing an odor. Besides for toilets, we used it for washing clothes.

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Crossing to the 'other' side

Since my trip to Belgrade was never meant to be a long term exile, I was seeking the first opportunity to go back to Sarajevo. I actually had my bags still all packed for several months that first year. The first chance to enter the city came in the summer of 1994, when the "blue roads" were opened for the first time. These were roads located throughout the country between the two army forces that were patrolled by the UNPROFOR peace keepers during the peace agreements.

A friend of mine and I decided to take this trip together. None of my family and friends could understand why I'd want to go back, when the war was still not over. I remember an incident at the university when I went to get my transcript. The administration personnel, naturally, assumed that I was going back to the Serbian side of the city. So they told me they will just fax the papers to the other school. When I tried to explain that I am going to the Federation side of Sarajevo, and the fax communication doesn't work there, the lady yelled a cross the room to her colleagues "Hey, this girl is going to the other side!"

My friend and I took a bus that would bring us to the Serbian side of Sarajevo, Grbavica region. It was on the south side of the river, and one of the bridges was the only "blue road" for us to go back. The trip took double the time than what it was before the war, because the bus went only through regions controlled by the Serbs. It seemed we were not the only ones completely clueless of the real situation, because there was a couple who didn't want to get off the bus at its final stop because they thought they are going all the way to the other side of the city. We were staying with my friend's family friends, who actually were not very friendly to us. The lady worked for the local government and gave us some ill advises that led us to be stuck on that side for about a month.

To cross the bridge, one would have to fill out some paperwork with the local administration. We had to explain why we are going over, and for how long. Since we were told we have to tell the truth, we put down we are going back permanently. That automatically closed all doors for us. The Serbian government were not going to let us go over without asking an exchange from the government in Federation Sarajevo. They requested one famous doctor who was a Serb, and the mother of the Grbavica Serbian party's leader. Of course, the government in Sarajevo had no interest of doing this exchange for the two teenage girls.

During our time in Grbavica, and in an effort to get approved to cross the bridge, we went from civilian government, through secret service, to military leaders. The final approval had to come from the general Dragan Bulajic, the head of the Bosnian Serb commission for the return of prisoners of war and missing persons. We spent days in front of this headquarters, waiting for him to return from wherever he was and to let us talk to him. The phone lines between the two sides of the city were not operational, and the connection was possible from only a few government locations. So, all of the communication with my mom during this time actually happened from this building, when they would let us use the phone after days of waiting.

There we were met with all sorts of soldiers eager to talk to girls and sniperists who threatened to kill us from the distance once we go over. There were some who actually offered to arrange for us to "run across the front lines at night", which was not unusual during that time. We would not be able to take our bags with us, and they would, probably for a fee, arrange with their guys in the buildings on the first line of defence, who would somehow communicate this with the soldiers on the Federation side, to not shoot at us when we run across! This all sounds crazy to me right now, but we were actually considering it. On this picture, the first line, where we were contemplating crossing, was between the red bus and the burned building behind it. Later I found out that many got killed trying to cross this way, because the arrangement was not fully communicated to both sides, and their bodies would lie on the streets for days.

Since we were told the only way for us to cross the border is through an exchange, our parents had to talk to Bulajic's Bosnian government counterpart, Amor Masovic, to try to convince him to release the two Serbs. So, just as I was standing in front of Bulajic's office every day, my mom did the same at the Bosnian parliament. During one of our conversations, Dragan Bulajic requested that I call my mom right there and let him talk to her. When I told her "Mom, this general wants to talk to you," her first reaction was "What am I going to talk about with a general?" But she did, and it turned out that the two of them used to work for the same company before the war, and had met on few occasions. Bulajic promised my mother that he will arrange for me to go over, and ended that once this war was over "maybe they could meet and talk over coffee". He kept his promise and I was allowed to cross the border few days later. They actually did run into each other some 10 years after the war in Sarajevo and talked.

The arrangement was for me to go over the bridge during early afternoon hours, a time during which no crossing has ever been done before. The Bosnian soldiers on the bridge told my mom she can go back, because this was obviously some miscommunication and that there is no way I could be going over the bridge during that time. The bridge had huge barricades on either side, with UN soldiers between, and we could not see what is happening on the other side. My friend, our host family, and couple of other people we met during my 3.5 week stay in Grbavica, came to see me go over the bridge. I first had to go through the 'customs', which was in the old gas station and operated by few soldiers. They went through all of my six bags, took all of my mom's letters she sent me during those 2.5 years, and all of my pictures (when crossing the bridge one was able to take only 3 letters with them and very few, if any pictures). They also took my journal and when they saw things in it such as "Bosnia will live", they started a heated discussion with me about existence of our country. They told me that if I choose to stay in Grbavica they wouldn't go through any of my stuff. When they saw a bag full of books from the university in Belgrade, they told me one of them was a son from the dean of college in Grbavica, and would help me get in, and will give me one the many empty apartments there...My goal was to be with my family, and none of this was going to change my mind about crossing over.

Finally, after an hour of interrogation in that gas station, and my friends already getting worried about me, they saw me walk out. The French UN soldiers wheeled my bags away and I followed. It was an eerie feeling walking out onto that bridge (ironically, its name before the war was Brotherhood and Unity Bridge); I used to go over this bridge every day going to high-school that was just on the other side. Now, I could not see either end of the bridge from the huge barricade containers, there was a barb wire on each edge, and the street stripes were replaced with shrapnel holes on the pavement. When I reached the other side, my eyes were nervously watching between containers to see my family. I barely recognized them. They were standing with my friend's parents, who were so hoping their daughter would be there with me as well. She was stranded in Grbavica for another week.

I remember them run to embrace me, and I was in the arms of two people who looked nothing like my mom and brother. My mom has shrunken and wrinkled, her blond colored short hair was now dark with some gray and pulled up in a bun; she has aged 20 years. My 14 year old brother has grown in those 2.5 years, and was now a head taller than me, with butt-long hair and super skinny. My brother went to a concert downtown that evening (Yes, amazingly, the life still existed in Sarajevo), and mom and I had to make our way to the other side of the city where we lived.

It was around 4-5 PM, and the last few trams were about to go by. When I saw how full it was, with half-a-dozen people hanging off of each door, I realized there was no way for us to get in with all my bags. We left half of the stuff at my friend's family who lived near by, and the two of us continued on a 4 hour walk toward Dobrinja, with one bag between us and 2 bags in tow on a skateboard.

Along the way, I wasn't able to hide my complete shock of all the destruction in the city. (This was the front line near the bridge, the four apartment towers are on the other side of river Miljacka, in Grbavica.) All the letters and stories I've heard could not have prepared me for seeing this in person. Although all the buildings were made of concrete, they all had huge grenade holes, some were completely collapsed, there were barely any windows without plastic on them, some intersections had huge fabrics draped across to obscure the view from the snipers up the hill, there were drenches in every neighbourhood....

When we finally reached our neighbourhood, it was already dusk, and my mom pointed out the building where they now lived. "We got the power!" she exclaimed, after seeing most of the windows lit up. She realized she might have left the stove on from the last time they had electricity, and ran ahead of me to check up on it. I made the last few hundred yards by myself, entering into this new life that was going to be anything but ordinary.

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Introduction to the war

The war in Sarajevo officially started on April 6, 1992. We had few tribulations before that in the city, with demonstrations and barricades with armed people on the streets, but we refused to believe the war can happen in the city.

A little background:

Former Yugoslavia consisted of 6 republics, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro and Macedonia (from north-west to south-east). Because of the political reasons and the predominantly Serbian majority in the government, Slovenia decided in the early 1991 to separate from Yugoslavia. They met with some resistance from the federal government, who sent national troops (again majority Serbian) to the Slovenian borders. However, since Slovenia had very few citizens who identified themselves as Serbs, there was little opposition from the inside to their government decision, and the federal government soon withdrew the troops. There ware virtually no lives lost over this separation.

Croatia was next who declared Independence, and this is where the war officially started. Larger regions of Croatia had Serbian population, and these people didn't want to all of a sudden live in a different country than where Serbia is. So, they joined the national troops and the federal government sent the extra troops that used to be in Slovenia to prevent the separation. Once the political games started and the local governments started enticing the people to fight their neighbours because now they are their enemies, the war from the borders all of a sudden became very personal and civilians lost their lives.

That turmoil started spilling into Bosnia in early 1992, which was next wanting the Independence. We saw increased number of uniformed people on the streets in Sarajevo. There were two days in March when peaceful demonstrations were scheduled, but in some areas barricades were put up to prevent people from going downtown. There was one evening where a curfew was ordered in some neighbourhoods, including ours, and we saw uniformed people with guns running and doing some sort of search in few buildings. All of this still didn't make us believe the war is coming to Sarajevo.

On the evening of April 2nd, I got home from school and my mom had an urgent decision for me to make. One of her co-workers has been diagnosed with a rapid leukemia, and their company has arranged for his blood samples to be sent to a specialized clinic in Paris. They paid a ticket for someone to take the package that evening to Belgrade, from where there was an early morning flight to Paris. Since I have an uncle in Belgrade who worked at the airport, the company gave the ticket to my mom, and she was asking me if I wanted to go instead since I haven't seen my family there in a while. I was going to stay only 2-3 days over the weekend. I was convinced, and even though I had a comprehensive exam to study for next week, I packed a bag for 3 nights and left.

The war in Sarajevo started on April 5th, the day I was supposed to return (I actually originally had the ticket for the 4th, but my aunts convinced me to stay one extra day). All roads and airport in Sarajevo were closed from that day on, and instead of 2-3 days, I stayed in Belgrade for 2.5 years. A lot has happened during that time, which I may cover in another post. When I came back in 1994, it was during a few-months long peace agreement, and in the middle of the war. The war officially ended in February of 1996, after the NATO bombing of Serbian troops around Sarajevo.

So, my introduction to the war was not gradual. I came from a peaceful life in Belgrade into a war-torn Sarajevo, where my family were refuges since our old home was destroyed, there was no water, no electricity, no schools, no shops. The "peace" didn't last long, and grenades and snipers started killing people again. I had to learn how to adapt quickly.

More on the Siege of Sarajevo

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About this blog

During the years of war in my hometown Sarajevo, life was anything but ordinary. This blog is a collection of my experiences throughout those times.
Over the years, I have been sharing these stories with my friends in the US, and often times they would encourage me to write them down. So, even though everyday life in those days seemed dull to us, looking back, there were some good, interesting, and definitely unusual events worth sharing.
Enjoy the reading, but please, do whatever You can not to allow another war happen anywhere in the world!

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