c. 1996 Religion News Service
(Dale Hanson Bourke is publisher of Religion News Service and a member of the board of World Vision. She recently returned to the former Yugoslavia to see how life has changed since the Dayton Peace Accord.)
SARAJEVO (RNS)-Snow lies like a soft blanket over the ruins of this battle-scarred city.
The twisted remains of a car poke out of a snowdrift. A crumbling building wears a shiny white crown. The snow-covered mountains around the city form a breathtaking backdrop to decimated monuments and bullet-pocked cement.
And yet everywhere you turn there are signs that the winter of destruction is giving way to spring.
Lovers linger on a street corner in a passionate embrace. Shoppers stroll through the once-deadly market place, stepping over the crater from the killer shell while remarking on the dropping price of oranges.
There’s a traffic jam on sniper alley. The barely standing Holiday Inn charges $280 for a room-if you can get one.
The once-beautiful library is a tourist attraction again, with Americans and others climbing up piles of broken brick to get the best angle for a picture of the destruction.
At dinner in a popular-again restaurant, the owner asks if anyone wants to order salad. With a proud smile he announces,”Today we have lettuce.”After three years without it, Sarajevans consider the simple vegetable a rare delicacy.
I visit the remains of a school where children have already returned to lessons despite the lack of heat and electricity. Taped to a crumbling wall are children’s drawings and a map of Bosnia-Herzegovenia. I wish I could read the child’s report that accompanies the map of this troubled land.
An old woman offers me a place to stay in her apartment. There is no heat or water and U.N.-issued plastic covers her broken windowpanes. By Sarajevo standards, it is a comfortable accommodation.
Inge Radan, the young woman who serves as my translator shares an apartment with me. I shiver through the night, in several layers of clothes, and try to remember what a warm bed feels like. The next morning we wash in ice-cold water, trying to conserve what we can.
While Inge gets dressed, our elderly hostess serves breakfast. Without Inge, we are reduced to communicating in macabre charades. She shows how all of her windows were shot out by snipers and how she learned to hide in the interior hall. She pulls out pictures, shaking her head as she points to relatives who have died.
When Inge returns, I ask the old woman all of the questions I have not been able to explain through hand gestures.”Is life any better now than it was a few months ago?”I ask, thinking that her situation couldn’t have been much worse.”Of course,”she says with tears forming in her eyes.”There is peace now,”she adds as the tears spill down her cheeks.”We are not afraid all of the time. We walk down the street instead of running between doorways. I do not worry everyday that my children and grandchildren will be shot.” The telephone rings and she says,”Do you hear that? It is a beautiful sound.” When she returns from her phone call she has composed herself again.”Peace is a wonderful thing,”she says.”Do you think it will last?”I ask as gently as I can.
She shrugs her shoulders.”I do not know. The old people on both sides are still friends. The young people miss their playmates. They do not care if they are Bosnians or Serbs.”But the people in between are still very angry. Those who leave are burning their houses and trying to destroy everything they can.”She shakes her head in dismay and her voice trails off.
Then she starts again.”But still we have peace now. It is so wonderful to have peace.” As I leave, she shakes my hand and embraces me.”Thank the Americans for bringing us peace,”she says, and begins to cry again.
Leaving the cold, dark apartment I step out into the bright morning sun. People are already walking and riding bikes to work. I look up into the beautiful mountains where snipers once sat and see only the light reflecting on the snow.
Inge and I stand on a pockmarked street corner awaiting our ride, never worrying if we are being sighted by a marksman or are in the line of a mortar attack.
All around us the buildings show signs of recent destruction. But we wait calmly, remarking on the beauty of the mountains and reflecting that it seems a little warmer today.
Inge points to a green shoot poking through the snow. After a long, cold winter, spring is finally coming in Sarajevo. For the residents of this city, it is precious sign of hope.
MJP END BOURKE
