Goodbye Sarajevo... for now

I leave Sarajevo on Wednesday morning after 6 months in Bosnia. I am certainly sad to go, but thankful for everything I have experienced and learned here. Life goes on.

In the chaos of trying to wrap up my Bosnian life, I haven't had the time to sit down and provide some final thoughts. I will do that when I get back home next week, as well as put up some new pictures.

At the risk of sounding sentimental (which never stopped me before), I would like to quote from a classic Bosnian folk song that invariably induces groups of drunken Sarajevans to fling their arms around each other and belt out the words. It goes:

Sa Sa Sarajevo,
It has a magic power,
Anyone who comes here once,
Must come back again,
Oooh Sa Sa Sarajevo...

I have a feeling this will not be the last time I see Sarajevo.

Mostar, 6 months later

Bruce Lee statue in November 2005; what's left of it in April 2006.

Yesterday I returned to Mostar, Bosnia's UNESCO heritage town, for one last look before I leave the country. My heart broke when I saw that Bruce Lee had disappeared, ostensibly taken down for repairs. Apparently the kung fu hero's likeness had been so vandalized that someone concluded that the only thing more embarassing than a shiny gold Bruce Lee in your main park is a vandalized shiny gold Bruce Lee statue in your main park. Is this a sad sign of Bosnia's decay? Or just a casualty in an underground ninja war? Or does it mean anything at all? Who knows...

I do know that although Bruce is missing, and Mostar itself has much more visible war damage than Sarajevo, the drive there revealed that Bosnia is indeed very much a country on the move. I was with Selma and Armin, who hadn't driven to Mostar in over 6 months, and for the entire trip they marvelled at the new patches of road, new lights in the tunnels, new houses under construction, new tourist signs, new rest stops, and even a big new shopping mall. It was comforting to see concrete, indisputable signs that the country is indeed improving, and, more importantly, the rare excitement of my local friends at these positive changes.

I wonder what it will be like to visit Bosnia five years from now, and whether I will even recognize it. While I have immense affection for the way it is now, despite its warts (and maybe because of them), I hope that when I do come back it will be like entering a brand new country, and Bruce, in all his nunchuck-wielding glory, will have returned to his rightful place.

Selma 1

I was walking with Selma and suddenly she stopped.

“Here it is. Remember, I was telling you about it. This is where I got this.” She pulled back her sleeve and showed me the long scar she earned when she was a 9-year old girl living in a city under siege.

"My mother and sister were in front of me, and suddenly a sniper started shooting from over there.” She pointed to a distant high-rise. “They ran around the corner, and I don’t know what happened, but suddenly bullets were shooting up dust around me.” She started to re-enact the scene, but laughing the whole time as if it were on the same level as her telling some funny story about the time she got drunk and threw up on her friend’s face. “They were yelling at me to run and I sprinted, starting here.” She started jogging in slow-motion, exaggerating her movements, giggling. “I ran as fast as I could, but I slipped on some broken glass right here,” she pointed again, “and that’s how I got cut. The sniper was still firing, but somehow I got up and got away. I don’t know how. It was craaazzzy!” she exclaimed, laughing harder now. Then she sighed. “This kind of close call happened to me so many times. My family thinks I am their lucky charm,” she beamed proudly. I chose to laugh along with her, which seemed to be the right reaction, and we went on walking.

Selma 2

I was on a lunch break downtown with my colleague Selma (a different one), and she pointed to an apartment building. “That’s where my father died,” she said. “He was upstairs on the top floor and a bomb hit the roof. The explosion didn’t kill him directly, but his mouth was open and the blast of air exploded his lungs.” I didn't know what to say, but she didn't seem bothered, telling me as if it was just another story.

“Did people try and keep their mouths closed all the time?” I asked. Selma laughed at me: “Yeah right.” I should have known better by then – life went on in Sarajevo, as it always had, despite the bombs.

Bosnian Superstar

I was on TV! Here's the picture to prove it. My rise to Bosnian superstardom begins. Unfortunately I only have a week to cash in on the groupies and wild parties.

The interview was for a news special about youth in Bosnia. Almost 70% say they would leave the country if they could, and so they asked me and a few other foreign interns why on earth we would actually go out of our way to come here for work. I have been told by my honest friends that I did not say anything overly stupid, but was too serious. Jealous plebeians!

Too much history

I neglected to mention last Thursday that April 6 was commemorated in Sarajevo as the "Day of the City." April 6 is the day that:

* ... the Nazis first bombed the city in 1941;
* ... the city was liberated in 1945 ;
* ... the first bombs fell on Sarajevo, and the first victims were killed, in 1992;
* ... and the UN recognized Bosnia-Herzegovina as an independent country, in 1992.

Now you know why they say the Balkans has too much history for its own good.

Second sentence for war crimes at the Court of BiH: a small step forward

The Court of BiH; High Security Courtroom 6 (where the sentencing took place).

Today the Court of BiH handed down its second ever conviction for war crimes, and its first for direct responsibility for crimes against humanity. Nedjo Samardzic was sentenced to 12 years imprisonment for 4 counts of crimes against humanity perpetrated in the town of Foca (which I visited a few weeks ago). Among them were 2 counts for forcible imprisonment and physical abuse of civilians, and 2 counts of rape. Within the latter charges, Samardzic was found guilty of taking a 15-year girl into sexual slavery, and repeatedly raping her over a period of several months. Because of insufficient evidence, he was also acquitted on 6 counts, amongst them several rapes and one of participating in the mass murder of 30 civilians.

I just came back from the courtroom, where the entire procedure lasted about 15 minutes. The presiding judge, a diminutive Bosnian woman, seemed nervous. It is the second ever war crimes trial concluded at this Court, based on laws that were drafted only a few years ago, so I suppose I can't blame her. But her concluding statements, where she offered that "I think we have done the best job we could," and "Both sides are entitled to appeal, and they probably will do so," were, I think, probably gratuitous.

In front of me sat three creepy-looking goons, who I was told by a colleague were friends of Samardzic. They betrayed no emotion and left the building as soon as it was over. But not everyone was emotionless. Outside on the Court steps, the prosecutor was accosted by the head of a society called Women War Victims. In front of the TV cameras, presumably enraged by the charges Samardzic had been acquitted for, and the 12-year sentence, she told him in no uncertain terms that he should be ashamed for the job he had done. "You were more concerned with your salary than on paying for witnesses to come here to testify," she said. Another woman quietly cried, as she laid a wreath of flowers by the Court entrance.

The one question that is on my mind right now is: why was Nedjo Samardzic smiling? Indeed, as he was led away in handcuffs, a small grin crept across his face. Was he happy that, as a middle-aged man, he would again see the light of day and be able to hold his wife and children? Or was it simply a last, desperate grasp for a shred of dignity, after it had just been announced to the country that he was a monster who, among other egregious crimes, had repeatedly raped a 15-year old girl?

It is hard for me to say right now what I think of all this. On the one hand, Samardzic got off on many counts -- perhaps justifiably, although there are also mumblings that the prosecutor botched the case. Above all, Samardzic will only be in prison for 12 years. This, unfortunately, is the paradox of many war crimes cases. For complicated and sometimes mystifying reasons, often mass crimes during war result in lesser sentences than a single, similar crime in peacetime.

But on the other hand, the Court, and Bosnia, took a small, historic step forward. It has shown that it is capable of putting justice back in the hands of the people of Bosnia, by trying local war criminals fairly and efficiently. The people who work here feel that, despite the often inevitable shortcomings of justice, something tangible has been accomplished.

The case is not closed, as there will most likely be appeals from both sides. Nevertheless, Bosnia has today opened a new chapter in reckoning with the decade-old atrocities that clearly still haunt its people.

The Great Bosnian Pyramid

I took this picture from the plane just after taking off from Sarajevo. Coincidentally, I somehow captured the great Bosnian pyramid. Pyramid? In Bosnia? If "What the hell?" was your reaction, then you are no different than most Bosnians, who reacted the same when it was recently reported that what was once assumed to be just another hill near the town of Visoko was in fact an ancient pyramid, situated only 30km outside Sarajevo. If you answered, "I knew it! The aliens are coming!" then it's time to drink the kool aid.

Some say that it may be the oldest pyramid in the world. This would make Bosnia home to the first-ever pyramid, first-ever Bruce Lee statue, and first-ever use of the word "ethnic cleansing." If you ask me, this is an unbeatable 1-2-3 tourism punch.

Some more info on the pyramid here and here.

Another picture: Bosnia from the sky.

Brussels: the outside world

There's me, pretending to be importantFor the past two weeks I have been submerged in a torrent of work, which explains the recent dearth of posts. I had been helping to prepare an enormous presentation for the Court's donors' conference at the European Commission in Brussels. The downside was, well, the work, but the upside was that I got to travel to Brussels last week with the Court's management and most of the bigwigs in the Bosnian government.

The trip was enlightening in a several ways. It was my first "business trip" and thus first taste of the bountiful glory of all-expenses-paid. It also gave me a behind the scenes glimpse at diplomacy, revealing how much of it really involves trying to find a dignified way to beg for money. Incidentally, in the end, we received only about 30% of the funds we asked for. There was some initial disappointment, and I got the feeling that the international community is often willing to invest in a project in order to get it off the ground (and on CNN), but unwilling to follow through with the long-term commitment the country needs. But, I think, in the end, the money will come. There will just have to be a good deal more begging (probably less dignified).

In general, the trip was also my very first time outside of the ex-Yugoslavia in almost 6 months. I hadn't realized that in that relatively short time span, already I had become accustomed to the absence of things that are routine in Western Europe. Tall buildings, and with no bullet holes! Traffic! Brand name clothing! Oh my! Another surprise was ethnic diversity. Somehow it had slipped my mind that I had been living in a city that is almost 99% white.

The traveling itself revealed more of my naivete. For the average Bosnian, venturing outside the Balkans is a huge ordeal. One must first obtain a visa, a very difficult process in and of itself, and, along the way, continually assure border officials that you are not trying to illegally immigrate, nor are you a Muslim terrorist. I had completely taken for granted the freedom of travel that I enjoy as a Canadian, when for most Bosnians taking a simple trip to western Europe is nearly impossible. I overheard more than one nostalgic comment about the old days of the widely-respected Yugoslav passport. As one official at the conference put it, "Many Bosnians today feel as if they're living in a glorified minimum-security prison."

Finally, the most noteable part of the trip was the fact that little old me, a 23-year old Canadian in Sarajevo for only 6 months, somehow ended up wearing a nametag identifying myself as a representative of Bosnia at the European Commission! I also spent a lot of time with the higher-ups in the Bosnian government -- the Prime Minister, the Minister of Justice, the Minister of Finance were all there, to name a few. To be more accurate, I spent a lot of time in close proximity to them, since none of them spoke much English and my Bosnian still barely extends beyond ordering another beer. But they seemed a jolly lot. I noticed that they had basically none of the trappings that we expect of Western governmental officals -- almost no security personnel, no enormous entourage, no diplomatic passports, no first-class tickets.


Minister of Finance & Prime Minister of Bosnia

The oddest moment of the entire trip has to have been the post-conference dinner, where I found myself at a table with the Minister of Finance, the Chief Prosecutor, the Bosnian Ambassador to the Europe Union and some others -- and not a single native English speaker amongst them. I learned a lot of new words that night by osmosis, such as "More booze!" I also got the impression that the Minister of Finance, a gregarious old lady who was constantly telling the Prime Minister to shut up, was winking at me. I admit to being mildly terrified.

All in all, a great and fascinating trip. Now I'm back in Sarajevo for a few more weeks, with my final departure scheduled for April 19. I am already sad to leave after such an amazing and diverse experience, but at the same time looking forward to new horizons. There's still a couple weeks left though, so it's too early to get sentimental.

You can see some more pics from the trip here.