| ''I am not a Pessimist''
- March 2005
A 73-year-old man who lives down the street, Bratko, echoes her
words. ''I am not a pessimist,'' he tells me in his chilly living
room after describing a life that might leave most feeling defeated.
Driven from his home twice—once during World War II and once
during the most recent war—he has returned to Kupres to rebuild
for the final time. ''Next time,'' he says quietly, ''they'll have
to kill me here. I won't be leaving again.''
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'I was in a Camp'-January
2005
Haris is one of the few students in my class who does not know what
the inside of a concentration camp feels like. His mother, seated
beside him and just as hesitant to meet my eyes, knows far too well
the scenes of trauma that fill a concentration camp. Haris is a
product of these scenes of trauma. He is a child of rape who is
tangible evidence of Bosnia's most secretive trauma.
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A New Home - December
2004
Even as I long for home, I am contemplating the prospect of staying
far from home for another year. Why do I do this? Why do I choose
to live and even want a life in which I am constantly finding home
and leaving it, and never near my real home? more>>
‘Ours or theirs?’-
November 2004
‘I don’t have water,’ one woman said, grabbing
hold of my arms and shaking me slightly. ‘Before the war I
had three sources of water, and now I have none. And nobody cares.’
Another woman chimed in, ‘Niko, Niko.’ [No one, No one.]
This was to be the theme of the evening, as the words ‘Nobody
cares’ were repeated no fewer than ten times in an hour-long
discussion. more>>
Roots- October 2004
We handled everything with a laugh and enjoyed every moment together,
which is what we all expected to happen but was still a relief.
What I did not expect were the bursts of pride that I felt as I
watched my parents navigate their way around the country that I
now call home. more>>
Denial - September 2004
The background on his phone is a picture of Karadžic, one of
the two most wanted war criminals from Bosnia and Herzegovina who
remains at large (many think near Bratunac), wanted on counts of
genocide and other crimes against humanity. 'Do you know who this
is?' he asked. I nodded. I could not speak. 'He is my president,'
he said quietly but firmly. Then, to be certain that I understood,
he added, 'Like Bush to you.' more>>
Home - August 2004
Sometimes I am tempted to call the number that follows the words
Se Prodaje (For Sale), curious as to the going price for a home
on a former front line, on a now-deserted path, or in a once vibrant
community that was reduced to rubble during the war and never restored.
What is the going price for the last remnants of a family home,
a receptacle of memories long since carried away to another place,
maybe forever gone along with the lives of those who once lived
there? more>>
First Impressions -
July 2004
How odd it must be to return home to see the flag of a foreign country
in front of your own apartment, a constant reminder perhaps that
you are living there by the mercy of some faraway government’s
philanthropy. It might be that these flags are welcome and make
people think only of the generosity of foreigners and the foreign
intervention that ultimately freed their city. Maybe no one feels
this way, perhaps the foreign flags, like the bullet holes and mortar
shells, have faded into the landscape such that they are hardly
even noticed at this point.
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