The tunnel

There were no stores in Sarajevo during the war. The food on the few street black markets came from outside of the city. Since we were under siege, there were no roads in and out of the city, except during short periods of peace agreements.

In the first couple of war years, volunteers working in eight-hour shifts dug out a tunnel underneath the airport runway, which led to a little town Hrasnica, on the "free" territory controlled by the Bosnian army. The tunnel was mainly for the soldiers, but every now and then they would allow civilians to pass through. Even when the civilians were allowed, if an army group or some politicians happen to come to the tunnel at that moment, all civilian traffic was halted, sometimes for hours. Some paid big money to go through the tunnel, either to evacuate from the city or to bring large quantities of food to sell on the markets. Others, like us, just wanted to buy for themselves some food that was 5 times more expensive on the black markets in Sarajevo. The tunnel was just about 5 ft high and had rails on the ground, for mine-like carts, that transported everything from weapons, people, to food.

The tunnel was built in my neighbourhood of forty thousand, Dobrinja. Since it was at the edge of city line next to the airport and surrounded on three sides by Serb army, it was also one of the most dangerous regions in the city. The area around the tunnel was long emptied of all residents, because in the first days of the war the national army took hold of the airport and positioned their tanks and artillery there. There were also massive slaughters of people in their homes close to the airport, which contributed to this area quickly becoming a military only zone. Between all the buildings were trenches, and that was the only way to get close to the tunnel. The entrance to the tunnel was through the basement of a house belonging to the Kolar family. Part of the house is now a museum. The basement holds army uniforms, shell casings, and empty sacks of humanitarian aid. Today, only 20 metres of the tunnel survive - the rest has collapsed.

The tunnel ran for approximately 870 yards in length. That distance from above the ground looks so short, but it could take hours to go through the tunnel.
This picture was taken at the entrance on the other side, and in the distance, on the other side of the runway, is where we used to live. One day, I think in late 1995, my mom, her friend and I decided to try to go through the tunnel and get some food in Hrasnica.

It was close to impossible to obtain a civilian permit to legally enter the tunnel; you either had to have strong connections with military/police who controlled the entrance, or pay hundreds of dollars equivalent money to get the papers. So, we talked to people who had done it before, and got directions through the neighbourhood and the tranches to the side entrance to the main trench leading into the Kolar house. It was just 20 min walk from where we lived, but quite dangerous once we went passed inhabited buildings. Being on the first line of defense, this area was often covered with land mines. We were told which buildings to go through; they all had holes in the concrete walls through the entire length of the building, so that people can run through the building instead of outside and be out of site from the snipers. Then we had to maneuver through a maze of certain trenches, jump out by the garbage mini-hill, jump into the trenches again, turn right when we see a cow (!)...and when we finally reached the final leg of the trench leading toward the house, we had to wait for a good moment when the guards were not looking so that we can jump into the line with other "legal" people. The official entrance where the guards check the papers was before this point in the line, so the guards were not so vigilant for anyone sneaking in through other trenches - only those crazy folks like us would attempt something like that. We were very lucky to have made it safe, and weren't ratted out for cutting in the line.

We quickly made it into the house,down the stairs into the basement and were in the dark tunnel. The guards controlling the traffic through the tunnel would only allow flow in one direction, because the tunnel was very narrow. People on the other side would have to wait until everyone from the opposite side would come out. There was very little light in the tunnel and we had to just move with the flow. It had steel support beams, and because the ceiling was so low, many people hit their heads, so many beams had blood on them. We tried to keep our heads low, and watch where we step. People coming back would had dropped their load, probably when bumping their head, so there were potatoes, smashed eggs and similar obstacles between the rails that we had to watch for. When we finally reached the other side, I remember a sigh of relief, not only to be outside of claustrophobic tunnel, but also a sense of freedom that this town had.

We made our purchases, our eyes wide open in awe of all the food available. The money we had was from my mom's quasi salary, that was sometimes made in cigarettes, which we traded on the black markets, as well as other non-perishable food collected from other sources. Our main items on the list were eggs, fresh produce and meat, all rarely seen in our diet those days, as well as other things such as cooking oil, spices, sweets, and coffee. We loaded probably 50 pounds each, huge backpacks so heavy that I was bent over the entire time - it helped not to hit the steel beams on the way back. :) When we lined up at the tunnel entrance in Hrasnica, we had to wait few hours because military battalion had arrived and they had the right of way. I remember degradation as all of us waiting there were treated as some lower class by police patrolling the entrance. All they would tell us is that tunnel was currently closed to civilians and we all had to just wait. It was getting dark, we were already tired, and we still had to make the hardest part of the trip and carry all that food through the tunnel. When we finally made it in, I felt like a mule under all that pressure, just following the person in front of me, trying to keep my head low and not to fall down. We made it home safely, and my brother was very happy to see us alive, safe, and to dig in into all that yummy food.

We never considered going through the tunnel again.

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The UN lunch packets

Since we lived very close to the first line of defense, there were many UN tanks positioned on the streets close to the border. The UN vehicle that was a bit further in between the buildings often had kids around it wanting to talk to the soldiers, practice their English and maybe get some handouts. At one point, it became known that the UN soldiers are trading the old Yugoslavian paper money for lunch packets. Since there was a huge inflation right before the war, we had many paper bills with 6 and 9 zeros and these were apparently interesting to those man. I decided to be more proactive and target those soldiers at the front lines. So, few times I went with a handful of old paper bills, money that were totally useless at that point, to the UN peace keepers stationed in the ground floor apartments in the building on the front line. That area was clear of any civilians, actually several buildings around it were totally empty, and some wired with step-grenades. There were also no Bosnian military or police allowed in the zone. So, mom went with me to the corner of the building, and then I made my way to this apartment, entering from the balcony with no fence. And, those few times I was nicely greeted by both man and woman in uniform there, who gave me few very delicious lunch packets that they received in their regular supply. My adventures didn't last too long. On one occasion, as mom and I were returning from the front line zone, a Bosnian policeman stopped us and threatened us that we will go to jail if we ever go there again. So we stopped going. But, the packages were so special. They had things like canned cheese and fuel cubes, both of which we couldn't find anywhere else. In hindsight, I am thankful for those treats but also that I was stopped before I got into some series trouble. That front line was no place for a twenty year old girl!

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Hunting for food

There were very few things that we had any control of during those times. And as unusual as it may seem, there were not many things we can occupy our minds with. The life was dulled down to bare existence. The goal of each day was to survive just that day, in the best way we could. The main concern on our minds every single morning was what we are going to eat that day.

Since we were not able to secure a garden in the park area for us, we decided to go steal the vegetables from other people. Of course it would be too visible to try to do it in front of our building, so mom and I ventured on a nearby hill that had several gardens. The top of the hill had the most vegetables, but was also the most dangerous, because being up high we were exposed to snipers who were always looking for victims. We would hid between the berry bushes, and duck for cover when hearing the gun shots. Few areas had trenches used by Bosnian army at some point, so we also used those for cover when we could. The gardens had all sorts of vegetables, and we had to gather them fast, laying close to the ground. I became very proficient at digging out the carrots and potatoes in one piece, and mom would gather cabbage and other above the ground veggies. The only tool we had were kitchen utensils. The last time we went up there we were forced to rush, either by guns or owners chasing us, so much so that we left our special knife up there, and that was the end of our theft adventures.

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Humanitarian aid

To people who have not experienced it, the term "humanitarian aid" probably brings thoughts of hope. For me, those years in war left a bad taste in my mouth when thinking of humanitarian aid.

The most common items we have received through the regular humanitarian aid were flour, beans, rice, pasta (often with no eggs), lentils or peas, "kabash" soap - huge yellow smelly brick. Even now thinking back on these, I get that sense again of being disgusted with rice and beans. They were so often in our diet, that for years after the war I couldn't think of eating them again. Mind you that we didn't have spices or sauces to go with these, so plain boiled food was very tasteless. Fortunately we found few other sources for more nutritious food.

The Caritas humanitarian aid was not regular. They mainly distributed donations to those registered in a Catholic parish, and since there were not many of those in the city, the convoys were often routed to other, less dangerous territories. But we really looked forward to those distributions. They had items that I get excited thinking about even now. Things like jams, chocolate, cookies, sauces, canned meat, vegetable shortening, vitamins, cocoa, soups, milk powder, egg powder, instant mashed potatoes... All of these were rare, and in very small quantities, but for us at that time those were so precious and something we talked about for days.
Through Caritas we received help in more than just food. One or two times they have even distributed chopped wood, a cubic meter per household!

We were called, maybe a dozen times, for clothing and shoes distribution in Caritas. Many times someone from the church would first call those registered members to pick through the available items before opening it up to everyone in the community. Those were mainly second-hand items, with or without holes, barely clean, stuffed in huge boxes. As much as we needed clothing, especially my brother who was growing fast those years, I didn't enjoy being part of the crowd who elbowed through the piles of clothes, grabbing more than they can carry. I actually still have a pair of boots and have just a few months ago given away the last clothing item I got through them.

Some ten years after the war, the church choir I was in was replacing their old choir robes. Since they didn't know where to get rid of them, I asked if we could send it back to my choir in Sarajevo. Everyone was supposed to wash and fold their two layered robes and put them in boxes we prepared. When after the rehearsal I saw those boxes just piled up with tossed fabric, some still covered with B.O., it reminded me of the boxes of cloths we went through in Caritas. I stayed and re-folded every single robe, in an effort to make the gift more presentable to those opening it.

Handful of times through Caritas, the "children", the term that was used loosely, have also gotten packages that were supposed to be from other children in other parts of the world. I think this might have been part of "Christmas boxes" operation. It was an exciting event because the boxes were all nicely wrapped, it was a present, and not just a rationed distribution. The packages were all the same size, so we would just pick one, having no idea what was in them. Most of the boxes had a message from the child that put it together, but these were the "real" children, sometimes pre-school age, so messages only had a few words. The items were also interesting. One time I got a box that had a card, couple of gloves of garlic and one slipper!

Merhamet (Muslim) and Dobrotvor (Serb) organizations were also distributing packages to those who had background eligibility to receive aid from them, which my family had both, but we only received help from these organizations a handful of times.

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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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