Some time in the last few months of the war, when the shootings were more sporadic, we heard that few people, namely Serbs, from our neighbourhood were occasionally crossing the 'border', the avenue between two buildings with opposite armies on each side. They were going to the Serb side to get food, since they were better supplied or to use a phone, since phone lines on our side still only worked for local calls. I have family in Belgrade, so one day mom, her girl friend, and I decided to 'go over'.
These crossings were still not 'legal', and the avenue was patrolled by the Serb army. There were no Bosnian soldiers there, so only those who were Serbs had really the freedom to go back and forth.
I must add here that during that time, something like this was only possible for women to attempt. Since only men were soldiers, any man without an adequate documentation to prove they live there, would be arrested and their fate unsure.
The 'border' was five minutes walk from our building, and the post office another five. We were able to get there unnoticed and shock my relatives when they heard our voices. There were no phone booths, so the conversation was censured and cryptic.
On the way back we were stopped by an uniformed man on the Serb side of the avenue. He asked for our ID's, and I was the only one who had my refugee card from Belgrade with me. Since my name sounds Serbian, I was 'safe'. Both my mom and her friend have Muslim sounding names, and would have trouble if caught on the Serb side. The solider asked my mom for her name, and she was witty enough to answer with the name where she removed one letter from it and said a similar name that sounds Serbian. The third lady then did the same. After little more questioning, he then let us pass.
This time we were lucky that this armed man didn't insist we all show him the ID's and didn't take us in for any further investigation.
Monday, August 31, 2009
They will know you by your name
The level of destruction
Pictures speek for themselves.
This is a "Loris" building near the Zeljo soccer stadium, that was on the first line of defense. That was the first line that my friend and I were considering crossing while we were trapped on Grbavica trying to return into the city. The building was hit so many times, that the entire staircase on the corner has collapsed. It was made from the iron reinforced concrete.
All of these buildings, although some looked like they have been eaten up by termites, are patched up and still standing.
These two images are from the neighbourhood closest to the airport that we had to go through when embarking on the adventure to go through the tunnel under the runway.
Back with the storries
I haven't posted in a while...
See, I was visiting Bosnia couple of months ago, and all of these memories came back alive during my time there. I just wanted to take some times to process them.
One interesting fact that I learned about these memories is that they affect me very much differently than they do for my mom, and probably other people who have lived through the first two years of the war that I avoided. They are very reluctant to bring them up to the surface, because they stir up too much emotions for them. Even when a war time event creeps up into a conversation unintentionally, they are quick to drop the subject as neither party wants to think about that time period. I noticed this first hand with my mom when I would ask her some details that I missed or forgot, and she basically asked me not to ask so much.
I guess I am blessed to not have such deep scars on my soul, and can re-tell these important storries without getting too distrubed.