Local elections

Elections are a time of frustration for most Bosnians, who see a political landscape dominated by nationalist parties and littered with unkept promises of change. However, in spite of everything, they never lose their sense of humor.

These are campaign posters of the two main nationalist parties, complete with graffitied commentary. The first says, "Let's finish what we started", but it's been altered to say, "Let's finish the ethnic cleansing!" (This poster is for the main Croat party, HDZ, connected to the attempted ethnic cleansing of Bosniaks from east Mostar in 1993-4.)

The second poster is for the Bosniak party, SDA, with a photo of Mostar's old bridge and the words, "Transparents and effective administration"; the graffiti says, "You're a disgrace/embarrassment to us!" (Presumably a reference to SDA's alleged "selling out" of east Mostar to the Croats.)

Public Transportation

When taking the night train (to catch a flight to Berlin) proved to be more eventful than I expected. Especially around Zenica. And provided food for thought about Bosnian society.

The train was packed, first of all. My first mistake was moving into a smoking compartment because it had fewer people, rather than forcing myself into a compartment with other European backpackers. There were always at least two people chainsmoking in said compartment from then on, but I was too lazy to move, mistake #2.

One man in the compartment was deaf and had only one eye. He was selling keychains and squeaky toys out of a duffel. When the conductor came to look at our tickets, he offered him 5 marks in lieu of a ticket (which would cost much more). The conductor pretended to be a bit miffed, but a father with two kids in the compartment chimed in support of the bribe-offerer and that was that. "hey, better for you,better for him," the father commented afterwards. "Don't forget you got support from me!" The first man responded by giving him a free key chain. The father bought squeaky toys for the kids.

The father and kids left and another man sat in the compartment and chatted with us. After he left, the deaf man said, "hey, he lives in Zenica. He's probably Mafia. But what is really important is a person's soul and heart, not how powerful they are."The conversation continued: "My family is so poor, we don't have food or clothes...Are you a student? ah, you went to college, you must be rich. hey, can I see your sunglasses? Here, you can have this keychain! No no, it's a gift!" etc.

Finally I told him I want to sleep. He helpfully suggested my putting my purse at my feet, but I decided to keep it by my side. I fell asleep... Whereupon he closed the curtains of the compartment and picked my purse, which I slept through and didn't notice until he had left. The bribe-taking conductor was sympathetic, but said this happens a lot, "especially around Zenica," and there was nothing the police could do.

Someone was obviously watching over me-- the one-eyed deaf man took only my cash, which wasn't a huge amount, and left my passport, cell phone and debit cards. (Also, he left me the key chain which he had "given" me.) Many thanks also to my BVS coordinator, who gave me some cash she had in marks and kuna, when I got to Berlin. (On the return train ride I had a friend with me--I have learned something about traveling on trains in the Balkans!!) How I miss living in a police state. I rode night trains often in China and nothing was ever stolen-- uniformed officers stroll the corridors constantly. The system there is set up in such a way that it would be impossible to bribe someone rather than paying for your seat, although I'm sure that the trains always selling out every seat (yay, population density!) is another factor.

A quote by an ethnographer I'm reading now -- "People do one thing, say another, and think a third." Clearly, this man had been planning to pick my purse the whole time (evaluating my possessions, trying to get me to put my purse closer to him) but, sleepy and lazy, I didn't bother to consider what he might be thinking or what he might do as a result.

While in Berlin I had another experience of Bosnian (?) poverty. A young Roma boy came up askingfor money, with a little sign in English that said, "I am from Bosnia-Hercegovina. I have 4children and need money for food.." etc. Obviously, this little kid didn't have 4 kids of his own! But we thought he might be from Bosnia and tried talking to him in Bosnian, which it turned out that he didn't speak at all. I assumed that meant that everything in the note was thus untrue, until talking to a friend here, who told me some of the Bosnian Roma who went to Germany as refugees only speak Roma and not Bosnian. So the little boy's parents could have been from Bosnia even though he couldn't speak any Bosnian...

I really want to go to social work school, to have an academic/professional framework by which to consider all of these issues...

Which country am I in?

Yesterday I went to watch a soccer game between Croatia and Germany. I live on the east Bosniak) side of the city, where everything was completely quiet and normal, and crossed over the former front line to the west (Croat) side of the city, which had gone wild. People dressed in red and white checkered shirts (from pattern on the Croatian herald) were packing the cafes to watch the game together. Whenever Croatia scored a point, everyone chanted,"Auf Wiedersehen, Auf Wiedersehen, Deutschland, Deutschland, Auf Wiedersehen!" ("Goodbye, Germany"). It's kind of a poignant thing-- people from the Balkans went to Germany as refugees during the war and before and after the war as "Gasterbeiters" (guest workers), and now these Bosnian Croats are enjoying having a kind of superiority (in sports if nothing else) over a powerful country like Germany. Although, in fact, Germany has also been a huge source of aid to this region-- the reconstruction of the room next to me now as I type, in the cultural center where I work, was financed by the German government.

At the same time-- we are not living in Croatia! We are living in Bosnia-Hercegovina. People in the cafe-bars were also singing songs about "Herceg-Bosna", the Croat para-state that was formed during the war. So many people died to keep Mostar as a part of Bosnia-Hercegovina so that it wouldn't become an ethnically clean Croatian para-state, and here are people celebrating that (basically genocidal) concept.

My friends were cheering "Hrvatska" (Croatia) and then I cheered "Bosnia-Hercegovina" and they also cheered at that, but then another girl immediately chimed in, "Herceg-Bosna!" A discussion followed about a mutual (Croat) friend, how a Bosniak in the old city asked him,"Don't you feel afraid to be here as a Croat?" (because the Croats destroyed the old city during the war) and how unfair it was for him to say that. When we walked back through the old city on our way home, my friends put on jackets to hide their Croatian soccer jerseys. It reminded me of my time working with kids in Belfast, when we went to a swimming pool in a Protestant part of town, the kids had to hide their Celtics jersey (the Celtics are a Catholic team in Glasgow, Scotland.)

Even the very name of the sport is politicized here-- in Bosnian, they use the word "fudbal" but in Croatian, it's "nogomet". Athletic competition has a beautiful simplicity to it, but it's not pure.(Cf. also: Protests in China over the upcoming Olympic Games and human rights abuses.)

If only they had been chanting, "Nationalism, Genocide, Hatred, Auf Wiedersehen"!

When in (a) Roma (community)...

In addition to meeting Bosniak, Serbs and Croats in my daily life in Mostar, I've also had the opportunity to meet some people from a local Roma community. The Roma/Romany people are a distinct ethnic group (with their own language, which I've heard is related to Hindi) that can be found in most countries in Europe. They are also known in popular imagination as "gypsies", and in Ireland were once called "tinkers" and are now called "travelers". Their culture emphasizes family ties and traditional culture-- most marry as teenagers and their traditional music, played at weddings and other functions, is very popular here in the Balkans, in spite of the discrimination and prejudice that Roma people face. Because of difficulties in relating to those outside their culture, few attend school and thus most people from these communities turn either to "secondary materials processing" (ie, collecting re-usable trash like aluminum cans and selling it) or begging. Some of my friends from church have been visiting this particular Roma community for several years and this past fall they also started a "mobile school" to teach basic math and literacy skills to this group of kids. They are also starting a sponsorship program for sending selected youngsters to regular school. (You can read about their work with the kids at http://www.novimost.org/page19.html) I go on Sundays with them to plays games and do crafts with the kids. This is a photo of me with two of the girls (plus a baby brother) squinting into the sun during a birthday party.

Thirteen Years Later...

Once a popular cafe. Chess games still occur here on a regular basis.
































































Sarajevska Bank
























Hotel Neretva, formerly the classiest hotel in Mostar.






















Formerly the elegant building of the third elementary school in Mostar.

A Poetic Coincidence

The cultural center where I work is on a street named after a poet, Aleksa Santica Street.

The building where I attend church, I discovered recently, is the birth house of this same poet.

Thus the two places where I spend the most time in Mostar are connected by this same thread...

Plaque (note war damage) indicating that this building is the poet's birthplace...

Old photos of the poet (inside the building) on either side of a painting of the Old Bridge in Mostar.

Aleksa Santica (1868-1924) is a much-beloved poet from Mostar, whose most famous love poem, "Emina",became the lyrics of a popular song in the sevdalinka style, which is still sung wherever and whenever homemade brandy is consumed. The poem describes his love for the beautiful Emina, as he watched her watering the flowers in her garden. They were from different religious traditions-- she was Muslim and he Serbian Orthodox--and the love affair never blossomed.

Sretan Uskrs! (Happy Easter)

The traditional way to color eggs for Easter here is to press celery leaves to them with a nylon stocking and then boil the eggs in red onion skins, resulting in a deep red color, interspersed with lacy leaf patterns. An eggcellent idea.