Not so Black and White

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The residents seem unselfconscious about the Swiss-cheese like buildings that line every street. It is impossible to walk ten feet without seeing another at least partially destroyed grocery store or apartment. Bullet-sized holes and artillery shell explosions are evident everywhere. Many of the near-rubble buildings have warnings posted: NO PARKING OR CLIMBING for fear of the building completely collapsing or undetonated mines exploding.

But this is not an entry about destruction. It is a story of rebuilding.

Upon arrival into Mostar, Bosnia, I was taken in by the Derviskadic family, who runs Pension Oscar, a beautiful new white home overlooking the emerald river that divides the city. I am their only guest and feel more like a visiting friend than a boarder: we all share the same bathroom.

To begin the discourse, I ask about their home. It is a picture hanging on the wall that interests me. I learn their home was completely destroyed in the bombing of Mostar, and they chose to rebuild it into what is now both a place for their family and a place for guests. They are working on constructing a second building for guests in addition to a restaurant and bar. The family chose to rebuild instead of allowing defeat into their lives.

As I described in the previous entry about Sarajevo, the conflict here stems from the breakup of Yugoslavia and desire of each ethnic group to retain a piece of Bosnia-Herzegovina. The fighting within the city of Mostar specifically began with the Yugoslav National Army (JNA), who wanted the area to remain a part of the greater region of Yugoslavia. the JNA faught the allied Bosnian Muslims and Croats, and lost in 1992. Unfortunately, the Croats and Muslims turned against each other after defeating the Serbian-heavy JNA and faught each other. This continued, with even futher destruction of the city, until 1994, where they segregated the city over the river into two parts: the Muslim-dominated eastern side and the Croatian western half of the city. The once destroyed bridge that spanned the river and brought the two sides together has been rebuilt, as a symbol of hope for the future. Populations are still divided, but residents are crossing over the famous "Stari Most Bridge", to each others sides.

I discuss pop music with the 13 year old, Meditha and get a brief history of the war from their 21 year old son, Seid, who was 10 at the time of the war and remembers it well. They invite me on their weekly shopping trip to "the market" where their aunt works selling "jewels" and their uncle vends CDs. It is a maze of overnight tents and vendors selling everything from eggs to leather shoes in the middle of a giant, dusty field. I am given a pair of earrings from their aunts shop and have to pay secretly for them, without mama Zinadida finding out. She wants them to be a gift.

Over the next two days, Meditha works as my translator and convinces me to stay another night. I willingly agree and convince her and her neighbor friend, Leah, to play frisbee with me. They refer to me as "the professional" frisbee player and I smile, gratefully accepting this generous title. We later meet Leahs dog, Bobbi, and pick (all of the) flowers in her backyard. Her grandmother describes the names in Bosnian.

The next morning Meditha invites me to her dance practice. She practices twice a week with a group of girls (and one lone boy!) from the ages of 5 to 14. Their teacher sat me at the front of the studio in prime viewing position. The highlight of the "show" was their performance of the Cotton Eye Joe, where the girls donned red, white and blue bonnets and long skirts while do-si-doing around the room. I had to laugh at their interpretation of our Western Costume. I did manage to refrain from informing them that Texan pioneers no longer wear bonnets.

I am grateful to the Derviskadics for their incredible generosity in showing me that life continues and people perservere, even in times of devastation. They gave me so much more than just a place to stay: they offered inspiration for life after tragedy and hope for the future.

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Photos

The Old Bridge
This bridge connects the Muslim side to the Croat side of the city.

While the world swirls around you
Sometimes you just have to jump.

Leah and Medita
In Leahs backyard

Czarinas
Bosnian lillies!

Before and After
The family I stayed with lived in this house (left) before it was destroyed and rebuilt it into what is now Pansion Oscar (right).