March 30, 2012 at 6:02 pm · Filed under The Cities
Lying here on a hostel bed, laptop in front of me, I fear that if I begin writing about how I experienced Sarajevo I might never stop. And when the energy runs out, and all the ink and paper are all used up, I will still be writing with tears and music and colours.
You might find it pathetic, reading these words from behind your own computer but I feel nothing but pathos will do justice to this place.
Sarajevo is a city flowing between the Dinaric Alps and the area has been inhabited since the Neolithic Age. A lot of battles have been fought since then, but Sarajevo seems to carry bits and pieces of time along with it, in its misty flow.
Day 1
We arrived in Bosnia after a long journey and landed in another world from the one we left. Was it the tiredness or the quiet snow-covered mountainous land? Who knows…
After a failed attempt to take the tram into town, we found ourselves in a taxi whose driver cum tour guide enthusiastically pointed to buildings and places and explained their function. A. seemed proud of Sarajevo, our journey into which progressed through a road crowded with small improvised market stalls, sacks of goods and garages. Further on they give way to massive, intimidating concrete blocks of flats. Bullet holes seem to live peacefully together with brightly coloured billboards and skyscrapers and tall towers rise in between houses and block estates. The Miljacka river has been there forever. Across it, understated but elegant bridges. One of them changed the world forever and seeing it from the taxi, it’s hard to believe that such a small bridge can carry so much weight. Gavrilo Princip assassinated Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sofia on the Latin Bridge. But the taxi takes a turn to the right and there we are, in the middle of the old Austro-Hungarian part of the city in a narrow alley.
Our hostel building is 105 years old and it was the residence of the Swedish ambassador for a while. The massive doors, high ceilings and old furniture give out an air of welcoming bourgeoisie. But before we can step inside, we are invited to take our shoes off and leave them in a cabinet outside. Curious at first, we later find out it is customary in Sarajevo that, regardless of religion, people remove their shoes before entering someone else’s home. Our host, N. (who was born in the house), is a retired professor of Modern Arabic and French and speaks five languages. She is proud to have been part of the diplomatic protocol during the war and shakes her head in disapproval of France, UK and Russia’s policies. She has two sons who are academics, one a professor of History, and the other one, an expert in Sociology.
After we settle down we are offered tea and coffee and the common room gets animated by the stories of N’s son. He talks about the guests that they’ve had and the history of the house. The war becomes our main topic and we ask about Tito and socialism, about religion, education, about guns and deaths, love, marriage and children, about food and water and about the power to forgive. I ask the hosts if it wasn’t difficult to open the house to foreigners: after such a history of conflict it must have been. But the answer makes me stop and think: ‘we have no problems with strangers; it’s our own people we have a problem with, they are the foreigners’. They are talking about the Serbs, of course and they mention the poor education that is trying to twist facts about the war in order to fulfill their plan and make ‘Great Serbia’ come true. Hearing this I can’t help but tell myself to remain objective and not get emotionally involved. On the other hand, I can’t help but notice how, despite an obvious conflict they call the Serbs ‘our own people’.
They tell us how, during Tito’s regime, Sarajevo was the most multicultural city in the area, with Bosnians, Serbs, Croats, Jews and Gypsies living tgether peacefully. Everyone was free to practice their own religion, they say, and in the end religion wasn’t the central aspect of social life. The best example of multiculturalism before the war were mixed marriages – they tell us people of different religions formed couples, built lives, had children with no complications. Now, after the war, religion is probably the most important aspect in one’s identity and the children resulting from the mixed marriages seem to have become a little complicated. Under the Constitution, they are categorised under ‘Other’. However, even after the war, Sarajevo remains multicultural. There has been no census here since 1991 and the war has changed the demographics since. Nevertheless, it’s impossible not to notice the number of cemeteries this city has – and the mixed cemeteries are proof of its multiculturalism. Orthodox, Catholics, Muslims, Jews and Gypsies lie together in death as they did in life.
He shows us a video of a destroyed Sarajevo and its reconstruction. And then we carry on asking and talking about Sarajevo as a place. They say the city is still multicultural, there are a lot of people of different origins there still. The Serbs that fought alongside the Bosnians during the siege are still there. There are some Croats, Jews and Gypsies too – and there’s the foreigners: the peacekeepers and the tourists. But in other places, Bosnians are still having a hard life. There are still cities within the Bosnian state where they are clearly not welcome. While we talk, the computer’s screen saver comes on and it’s the BiH flag. They are proud of their country and they have shown they belong here.
The rest of the day we spend roaming around little shops and bazaars in the Ottoman part of the old town and then back in our room. It had been a long day with so much to take in.
Day 2
One day before Independence day, our hosts took us the International Conference on Political and Military Relevance of the Defence of Sarajevo between 1992-1995. A great opportunity to get information on the city’s history from those directly involved. Local and international academics, politicians, lawyers and judges were among the speakers and the information intake was almost overwhelming. I will not talk about all the speakers and their papers, but I feel I have to mention some of the main recurrent themes. First of all, there was an emphasis on the legal measures taken on an international level to ensure the legal status of the defence of Sarajevo. The speakers stressed the fact Bosnian institutions and governmental bodies carried on functioning in Sarajevo and fighting back legally. Another big theme was the fact that the siege of Sarajevo seems to have been premeditated. The third main theme is that Serbia is still trying to twist facts about the war, to victimise some of its troops, to take over territory that don’t belong to their state and people. These were, of course, presented in an argumented manner and from various perspectives. Although these are the themes on the Bosnian and international side and although the Serbian side was not present at this conference, it is interesting how not one single ‘truth’ was being invoked. Speakers admitted to multiple, fragmented perspectives hard to put together as one ultimate truth. What is more, they seemed not to be seeking revenge – the most they asked for at times was justice in international courts. But what struck me as incredible was that what they most want is the possibility to continue their lives as a multicultural entity.
The second part of the day was taken up by our first derive, to and from Sniper Alley. What I found interesting in this derive is something I could probably say about the whole Sarajevo: space is disorganised judging by Western principles of urbanisation. Although the old and the new town are separated, architectural styles vary within the neighbourhoods and leisure centres are mixed with functional and residential areas. This might be a reminiscence of the Turkish spirit or it might be one of the characteristics of post-war reconstruction. It is also interesting how leisure centres have been built in some of the areas that were most dangerous during the siege. Walking along Sniper Alley made my heart jump a little. I did get a rush of adrenalin and a tear in the corner of my eyes when I tired to put myself there 20 years ago. Walking back a different way we crossed one of the most dangerous crossroads in the city unknowingly. The cars made it dangerous but finding out it was under open fire for most of the siege put things in a different perspective. Looking back on this derive (put in context of the whole experience of the trip) I realize how during normal life, I tend to see a city space as two-dimensional. Width and length seem to be the most important but in Sarajevo height is what transformed space and categorised it as dangerous or relatively sheltered. Walking through town and Sniper Alley it is difficult to imagine where the bullet might have come from. The understanding of this only comes when we visit one of the main sniper quarters, in the Jewish Cemetery, high up in the hills, as part of the guided tour the next day.
The nightfall forced us to end the derive and return to the old town. Dinner had to take place in an Italian restaurant as at 23:00 it was quite difficult to find anything else open. The lasagna (served without chips) was delicious but the conversation revolved around the horrors of war and the stories of the city and the people we had met.
Day 3
Day 3 began with an activity quite contrary to the spirit of the derive, but I believe quite useful to the nature of our research at the same time. One of our hosts, Mr. S., gave us a tour of Sarajevo and the Tunnel of Life. In a city where space is transformed by war, it is difficult to find the hottest spots only from books and disparate peices of news. Mr. S. had taken part in the war, working at the time for the Presidency and he had numerous stories of places he was almost killed by snipers or grenades. Stories is the term I use, but it’s not fairytales I’m talking about. Those stories are as real as the holes bullets and shells left in buildings – and people.
The tour started with a slow drive around the town centre – past the indoor and outdoor market where around 100 people were killed in seconds. It’s not until later in the day that we get to see them closely, but even driving past it’s difficult to believe the story S. tells us when the market is bustling with people – buying and selling fresh fruit and vegetables, nuts, pickles, meats, breads and cheeses. The worlds clash in my imagination – life and death cannot exist in this intimate relationship. I refuse to believe it. Further on the pattern reoccurs – a monument dominates a busy, sunny park. People walk past, cheerful or absent, children play in the snow and puddles around the monument which commemorates the 1 500 children killed during the siege and their heartbroken mothers.
The Olympic City is the pride of Sarajevans. Some of the buildings and facilities completely destroyed in the war are now almost completely restored to their previous state, thanks to donations from the Olympic Committee during the war. S. tells us how he used to take his daughter skating but since the war he only went twice. It’s strange how war will change someone to the core – even down to leisure. We are stood by the stadium, sun shining brightly, reflected by the white snow and we listen to S. talk. We are surrounded by hills and cemeteries (Gavrilo Princip is buried in one of them). But Gavrilo Princip is the least interesting subject, as S. shows us a mass of graves explaining it used to be a football pitch. Quite close by, a football team is practicing. Death and life, together again, in a chilling combination that tells the tale of a city haunted, of lives lost and destroyed – but in the process of mending.
We drive away, through narrow streets where hospitals were destroyed in a war that was fought agains the rules, how ironic. S. tells us about the medical convoys he used to organise – to help the poorly escape the city of Sarajevo. And then, while the sun creeps between concrete buildings and into the car we reach one of the most dangerous places in Sarajevo during the siege. It seems so hard to believe that only 15 hours ago, on our way to Sniper Alley we had stopped in the big shopping mall to find batteries for the camera. S. tells us this spot is very visible from the Jewish Cemetery, the main Serb sniper station and that it was very difficult to cross. Sometimes UN trucks would stop on the corner to help locals get through but ‘it wasn’t hard for an experienced sniper to shoot behind the trucks’. This makes me shiver.
We carry on driving through to Sniper Alley and S points to a pedestrian crossing in the Grbavica area. Here, he says, the most difficult battle was fought. Serbs, having already occupied Grbavica wanted to seal off the siege by occupying New Sarajevo . In this way, they would have no problem taking over the rest of the city – and after that the whole country. A lot of people were killed there and Sarajevans suffered losses but gained their freedom and their city.
He points to buildings on the way – a lot of them completely destroyed by fires and reconstructed in the mean time. Most of them, S. is very proud of. Some of the buildings, though, have never been rebuilt and lie there as a reminder of harsher times. He tells us to imagine the whole city littered with such buildings – that was the cityscape back then. It seems so difficult to imagine life among bullets and rubble, but the Sarajevans are proof it did carry on.
We are heading towards the airport and S. tells us he used to live in Ilidza. He had a nice house, with stylish furniture and a collection of art and carpets. He had a good job by then and lived a nice life. But he had only a few minutes to abandon everything and seek shelter in the old town when the Serbs took over Ilidza. He points to the area and tells us how he came back to find nothing after the Dayton Agreement. We carry on into Butmir and we are told locals used to cultivate fruit and vegetables here and sell it, exchange it or give it away in the Sarajevo markets. Also, they organised a very strong defence agains the Serbs. Where there is a roundabout and roads in and out of the village, there used to be the front lines. Bullet marks on buildings seem to say all of this is true.
Driving through the village, we reach an old house full of holes, with an old laty sat outside on a step, watching. Her husband, a carpenter, pauses to greet S. and we step outside to see the tunnel. S. waits for us with the owners while we watch 20 minutes of barely edited footage of the war and the history of the Tunnel of life. The first ten minutes are shattering: images of grenades and bombs exploding, buildings collapsing, people hanging off balcony rails in hails of bullets. This is the sort of violence that no thrillers can prepare you for: no sugar windows, no cardboard houses, no pirotechnics, no safety nets. Ugly and non-cosmeticised, raw and harsh. The small room is chilly and we are sat on ammo boxes, surrounded by camouflage uniforms and I can’t stop the tears flowing down my cheeks while the video is playing. In the next room, the old man is sawing away at a plank of wood. I choke my sighs for fear of being seen and it dawns on me how relative our troubles are. The second video shows people digging the tunnel. There is music on the background and they all seem quite cheery working together. The old lady sat at the front of the house gives them water. Then we see soldiers carrying bottles of oil and packs of sugar into Sarajevo with the same care that they carry the guns. Then we see women and children go through the wet and cold tunnel and then the video is over. We get up without saying much, words are now redudant.
We are more or less shoved into the tunnel before we can shake off the silence and we go through the few metres that are still open. The rest is functional but because of lack of safety measures and funds it is not open to visitors. So is another tunnel that was dug for the army trucks but that one was being finalised as the Dayton Agreement was signed. The rooms on the ground floor are a museum – exhibiting uniforms, pictures, old boxes, exploded bombs. It’s very emotional in such a raw way.
We leave and head for the old Jewish Cemetery – our last stop. On a high hill to the right of Grbavica, the Jewish Cemetery has existed since the 16th Century. It was started by the Sefard Jews who were migrating from Spain and it has the oldest headstone in the city. The view is breathtaking – both up- and downwards. It’s such a peaceful place: snow is melting away while the birds are chirping. The trees are budding and the sun is so bright. But looking past the sun and chirping birds, we see bullet holes and cracks in marble gravestones – it’s a layered kind of death – where you can’t die once, where peace and rest are chased away with snipers and grenades. But life is curious, it manages to grow back through the cracks.
The cemetery hosted the main Serb sniper unit and it’s easy to see why – everything is visible from there. Parks, blocks of flats, houses, roads; targets are easy and easily chosen. I cannot comprehend the overwhelming amount of death this city holds within it – but as I follow S. up the cemetery hill through the brownish green mud, I feel the water triclking down under my feet and hear its vivid sound. It smells like fresh, wet earth and I cannot possibly help but feel how alive this city is. In spite of all the death and destruction, there’s so much life around here. It’s a live wound – but it’s the most alive place I’ve been. I want to shout that as I look at the hills and mosque towers. But I smile, instead, and listen to S. talk about the war.
S. drives us back to the hostel and at every corner of the street there seems to be a story, lingering from the war. There, he worked. Over there, he found himself looking for shelter when the Serbs took over his house. Right here in front, there used to be the border between Serb and Bosnian ground – that bridge was such a dangerous area. The mountain in front us us, S. says, used to be a very popular weekend destination for all Sarajevans. There was a cable car and the view was breathtaking. But now nobody likes to go there anymore – the mountain was occupied by Serbs and they used to throw grenades and bombs from there into the city. The memory remains.
After the tour, we decide to explore a little, take a little derive of our own, avoiding the old centre and heading for the narrower streets. We started with the markets. Both the indoor and outdoor market are situated on the same street. Across the street from each other, they are both now transformed into memorials dedicated to the fallen during the war. The indoor market was reconstructed and all that reminds of the destruction is a discreet plaque on the wall. However, across the street, behind the outdoor market stands a red glass wall with names printed on it in white. There are still a few stalls open and I am excited to find one that sells blood oranges. I move on past other stalls with everything from aubergines to pickled gherkins and it reminds me a lot of home. Right by the wall, at the back of the market, there is a glass casing with no written explanations. As you get closer it becomes clear what the casing exhibits… It’s an exploded mine, the very same mine that killed 67 civilians in one second and melted into the ground.
It’s difficult to describe such a sight and the hurricane of sensations and feelings that, for a second, took over me. I will limit the whole experience to one word, that’s slowly becoming the leitmotif of this account: chilling. It’s also difficult not to stare and looking at such an atrocious tool of gratuitious, futile death holds you captive for a few minutes. However, when you lift your head up right after and see the market with its movement, and colours, with its sellers and buyers, you can see life; a sort of life that hasn’t defeated or overcome death but instead it’s learned to accept it and survive.
Further on we found other mementoes of the siege, right in the middle of normal urban life. We visited a small Orthodox church, we admired buildings and got lost around narrow streets leading towards the hills. It had been another long day. A beautiful, sunny day, full of stories and information and emotions – the first day of spring and Independence Day for Bosnia and Herzegovina.
We ended it by experiencing Bosnian cuisine – or shall I say Eastern European – as it reminded me so much of home. The restaurant was quiet and empty and didn’t serve alcohol. The walls were decorated with quotes in Arabic and Oriental music was playing in the background. The food was served in beautiful silvery dishes decorated in Turkish style and that made for such a nice experience.
Day 4
We started day 4 by visiting the old Turkish town and its museum of Sarajevo. A small, cold but beautiul museum which helped put the city’s history into perspective. From Ancient cultures to exhibits from the Olympics, the museum explained the city’s cultural heritage very well. Some of the most impressive exhibits were the costumes from different eras and the Turkish artisan decorations.
We spent the rest of the day trying to experience the Sarajevan lifestyle as one of our hosts described it: lazy and self-indulgent. He made us smile telling us how, even if they only have 5 KM (the local currency, equivalent to approximately £2,5) in their pockets, Sarajevans like to spend it on coffee and sweets, to sit in cafes with their friends and enjoy the day. We tried the coffee, the tea and the really lush sweets at outdoor tables surrounded by dressy younger and older generations of Sarajevans doing the same things. It struck me as interesting that, given the city’s history, people can have such joie de vivre and enjoy little pleasures of life so much. Are they forgetting too soon? Or maybe it’s just this incredible power of life to survive despite violence and death and destruction.
Matters like that are hard to explain and in the end there is no single truth. But sitting there, at the little tables, sipping my fruity tea and eating my cake, I couldn’t help but feel, once again, how alive the city was. Swarming with people, all dressed up, with young families strolling around or sitting down for coffee, with children playing in the sun, with merchants and buyers – yes, this is one of the most alive places I’ve ever been to. It’s a city whose heartbeat you can feel at every corner, it’s a city of tears and smiles, a city whose movement you can sense.
I find myself in front of the keyboard, struggling to finish my written memory of Sarajevo but perhaps I shouldn’t. I have no conclusions, no ultimate truths to share. All I have taken from Sarajevo was an incredible experience of human endurance, of strength and weakness combined. In the end, of life and death – intertwined.
Sabina Pasaniuc, March 2012
