I remember seeing photos across newspapers and seeing the covered grandmothers. Their cheeks were hollowed out and they wore scarves around their heads and their hearts under layers of clothes. I remember noticing lines of people lining up for food and making a connection to the great depression. And there were nightly newscasts with sirens, and bomb blasts and cloudy skies, and yet, I had no idea what was happening in Bosnia Herzegovina in 1992 and why. I was 12 years old and well, I would like to say I was sensitive and alert to what was happening in the world and astute for a pre-teen, I was only so much, in my own little self-absorbed world. And yet, as an adolescent, it´s not an excuse but it does provide some background justice to my ignorance. Meanwhile, I don´t know what the adult (10 years my senior) world´s response would be to that statement, but I am not sure how anyone who actually knew what was happening and wasn´t directly involved could justify their turning of a cheek, as the world did, more or less, during the 90s war of the Balkans.
I have been lucky enough in my life to be able to dive into some history, that was taught to me, through landmarks and living histories of people who experienced war, injustice, poverty and the woes of the world. Across South Africa, Laos, Vietnam, Korea, Cambodia; Salvador, Brazil; Singapore and India, I was able to learn more from my visits to castles, forts, food tours, cooking classes, tunnel tours, theatre presentations, dance troupes, long chats and much more, I learned more about the history and cultures of these place then I ever did in history class or in a museum. And yet, in Bosnia Herzegovina, a museum was really all I had, because 20 years later, there are very few people who want to talk about it. Furthermore, a museum gives you half of what you should know or want to know, but it also melts your heart because you are formulating an idea about a history that is not yours without any true personal understanding or monumental understanding to help expand your knowledge.
As I travelled from Dubrovnik to Mostar, up the tree-lined coasts with turquoise waters, with light creating sparkling diamonds, into the rolling hills with water clear as glass and green lush, I was drawn to the simple, untouched landscape with a mere windy road and a few cities sporadically laid throughout the Bosnian countryside.
In Mostar, even though it took us two hours to find our charming guesthouse, everyone in the city was at our service with little or no English. When there was a will, there was a way. As we walked around Mostar, lined with old buildings labeled "Dangerous ruins" do not enter and cemeteries the size of small lakes, one couldn´t immediately fight the wave of sadness flooding your core. A city not rebuilt, bursting 100s of tourists during the day and turning into a ghost town at night, the whole idea of hope comes in like the wave and and lulls and rises of a tide.
"These cities have been killed by indifference, by our conviction that somebody else- the government, the party, those "above" are -- in charge of it. Not us.. How can we be in charge of it, if we are not in charge of our own lives?" Slavenka Drakulic
How right Slavenka was, our tour guide Admir, explained to us. "The Bosnian government has received billions of dollars of aide to rebuild this country and yet, there´s a 50% unemployment rate, little industry and no physical sign of where the money has gone. Corruption is rampant and no one knows what is next."
I did some research. Admir was right. 5.3 billion Euros have been invested into the country and yet, in Sarajevo, building corners lay shackled with bullet holes; new architecture is only represented in the reconstructions of old architecture or in the art deco buildings that barely survived the war. Where has the money gone and what can we do to make sure history doesn´t repeat itself as people want to eat, live, work, worship and more independently? Rights, most of us, rarely consider desires but fundamentals to our everyday existence.
I just finished a book, written by Croatian author, Slavenka Drakulic. It was titled, How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed. She, herself, said, in an epilogue that the title was not appropriate, given that her country and many other former Yugolsavian states entered a whole other war, shortly after it was finished. A war that was not worth laughing about. A war, that I know, as a 30 something, I need to understand better to understand the world better. It was a war that is being mirrored in Syria right now, and a war in which the world let hundreds of thousands people die.
After my trip to Bosnia, I am not laughing. I yearn to learn more and I want to better understand how the world continues to let these wars, civil or what have you, continue where people are continuously killing each other or fearing for their lives. I´ll end on a quote that inspired me to speak up and out and if nothing, try to encourage a re-education of the events of Bosnia.
"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Edmund Burke
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