Letters from Sarajevo

Since April last year when the war broke out in Bosnia-Herzegovina, the citizens of the besieged city were left with nothing else but to write letters to their relatives, friends and acquaintances throughout former Yugoslavia. Some of the letters traveled for months; many were smuggled and a few were brought by foreign journalists visiting Sarajevo, most of them reached their destination through ADRA humanitarian organization. Each of the letters is a unique testimony of the war horrors which locked Sarajevo in its deadly embrace. The letters were collected and prepared for publishing by: Lula Mikijelj, Faida Buric, Tanja Lalovic and Hatidza Krnjevic. VREME News Digest Agency presents you a selection out of about 40 letters.

Late October 1992

Dear Cousins and Friends,

... Well: ``Is Sarajevo still where it used to be?'' Yes, but not like it used to be. All that was of any value has been hit or has burnt down. There is no glass, just empty holes. The streets are full of broken glass, bricks, rubbish, hungry dogs, and the inhabitants of Sarajevo running like mad to find something, see somebody. Once the streets used to be full of people. We are deceived by that war neologism on the news:... It is relatively calm in Sarajevo today... That has cost many their life, because shooting takes place here at all times, unexpectedly, everywhere from all sorts of weapons. Sarajevo is a long city, 13 kilometers. When you thing that all is quiet, somewhere down there it's hell. If it's closer, them you hear something. But, you get used to it. To walk in the streets is to play Sarajevo's version of Russian roulette: bullets all over the place, and only one empty space. We do however, walk... We take some roundabout ways, you think they are safer, but you never know if you're heading for trouble. You run across intersections, bump into acquaintances, wave, kiss and run again. When you reach your doorway, you tell everybody: I made it again. There are nice things here too. Vladimir got a daughter, Jana, a month ago, easily and without complications. And, now, may the Lord help them. Rain is also good new fro the inhabitants of Sarajevo. There's no electricity, but we won't die of the cold. Until the next time I write...

Love from your...

November 11th, 1992

Only last month, specifically from mid September to October 22 I couldn't wash my hair because there wasn't anything, no water, no electricity, I looked awful. Neven, too. We were dirty and hungry. There is electricity and water occasionally now. If you could see us then! We had electricity a few days ago after a month and a half, we jumped up and down and were as happy as madmen. And then we didn't know what to do, we forgot what it was all about. Then we remembered and the first thing we did was to make some tea. Later we made some soup and cooked rice and washed the dirty clothes for days and nights... And so, thing will get better and better...

January 31st,1993

Dear ones,

I'm so tired of all this, that I can't thing of what to write. We keep waiting for some dates, some agreements, some Geneva, London, some solutions, and nothing happens. I am starting to think that this will never end, but then somewhere in my subconscious, I comfort myself and wait for the unblocking of my city. I never dreamed I would spend nine months in fear, at home, listening mostly to the radio, when there are batteries. When I Hear songs that remind me of those wonderful days at secondary school or an excursion I feel like crying. Then I start thinking: Who needed all this? Why was it necessary for all these people, youths of my age and children to die for nothing? It used to be so nice: we had everything we could have wished for. But, some crazy heads and somebody's crazy ideas put an end to it all. They say that some felt threatened, But I, so help me God, don't know that anyone in this city was threatened by anyone else. But now we all are. However, I continue to live and hope. I used to think that my eighteenth year would be my best but it turned out to be the worst...

It is April 12th, 1993. A colleague of mine called me up and invited me to a war tango at the Chamber Theater. A few of us will go, that makes me happy. The war tango will take place from noon to 2 p.m., a matinee, but that brings us back into the old days... It is all right, it breaks the monotony...

April 18th, 1993

We were very lucky in returning from the dance. We had a lot of fun. We walked down-town and back. On our way we stopped at the market, to check what they have and bought a bag of wood, and then we danced. Our way back wasn't that great, two shells exploded in the vicinity, we saw four people killed and seven others wounded...

April 16th, 1993

It's late at night. Four candles are burning, I am getting ready to go to bed and to read. I visited the neighbors, some played dominoes, the others played bingo. What fun, when the fire from infantry weapons are echoing outside. Romantic, but that's the sound of Sarajevo at night. Either silence or shooting...

April 19th, 1993

My life has changed for the worse since April 2nd. I was picked up on the street and taken to the front to dig the trenches. We were treated as war prisoners and deserted since we did not have papers for the working duty. It was so hard to working during the first seven days in the mud and snow which was melting. Mirko's white coat, and Braca's shoes kept getting stuck in the mud and I couldn't find them.

May 15th, 1993

... I'm sitting on the balcony, the sun is peeking behind the clouds, I am drinking something which resembles coffee, some vegetables have sprouted, I am immersed in thoughts, while merciless sniper keeps shooting. I watch, defiant, telling to myself, ``You can't get me, there's sunshine after rain.'' I've kindled the fire and am waiting for the first neighbor to come and bake bread. The others will come in turn every hour. There's no bread to be bought, as there is no electricity or oil. There's only good will...

... In the yard below, the kids are getting together. Their game will soon begin, just like in peace...

June 1st, 1993

Amidst the eerie silence, a grenade exploded killing seven children. One of them is the child of Goga's colleague from work. We used to go to her house to fetch water last winter. NATO planes are flying over Sarajevo and breaking the sound barrier. We all jump out of our beds, that is a new sound to which we yet have to get used to.

Everything except for the war and killing is uncertain here. After shelling, the city looks as it was in a science-fiction movie (Mad Max), until the rubble is cleared up a little. Everything looks surreal...

July 7th, 1993

... And now two jokes:

``What's the difference between Sarajevo and Auschwitz?''

``In Auschwitz, they at least had gas.''

Or:

As there is no room for the burials in the city, people are being buried on the football stadium in Kosevo.

``Where was your mother buried?''

``In a sixteen meter zone.''

... we who have stayed in the city, and are not physically capable of giving help, are at least trying to defend ourselves spiritually, even if it means making jokes on our own account.