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.