|  Meeting
Sefo
My
adventures in Mostar began on a rainy day in late September, I found myself
being led through bullet-ridden sidewalks and streets lined with decimated
buildings, accompanied by my new found friend Sefo Hujruši. The war
has been over for 5 years, and yet I can’t help but feel it ended
yesterday. The ruined buildings stand as constant reminders, memorials
of what came before. As we walked through town, Sefo pointed out former
buildings: “That used to be Kino. That building over there was the
Town Hall. And this, this building was a huge supermarket where you could
get anything.” The scale of destruction is so vast and so massive
that my brain struggled to comprehend it all. Surely I must be on the
set of a WWII movie, not a real-life living ad breathing city.
Sefo,
an ethnic Albanian, who has lived in Bosnia his entire life, was just
16 years old when the war broke out between Croatians and Muslims, who
are the ethnic majority in Mostar. Sefo, now 23 years old, speaks excellent
English and responds eagerly to my countless questions. He is optimistic,
but paints a stark picture. “The unemployment rate in Mostar is
80%. All the factories and industries were destroyed during the war. I
want to work, but I cannot find a job. My father is supposed to be getting
a pension, but it has not come in yet.”
Sefo
feel somewhat discriminated against because of his ethnicity. “Some
Bosnians look down on ethnic Albanians,” Corey Anibal, an American
Humanitarian worker, tells me. “Partly because their skin is darker,
partly because they have different customs regarding marriage and partly
because Bosnians are afraid of all the humanitarian aid going to the ethnic
Albanians.”
As
we walk through the ruined town, Sefo explains to me that most of the
people in Mostar simply want things to be as they used to be before the
war. There is still somewhat of a division between Croatians and Muslims,
but slowly small changes are beginning to take place. Now, a Muslim can
walk on the west side of town, which is the Croatian side and vice versa.
There are of course exceptions to this rule. Those involved in killing
members from the opposite side would be strongly advised not to leave
their own side of town. Sefo, who spent a year guarding Croatian prisoners,
said to me: “Thank God I never killed anybody.” The schools
are still segregated (as result of the war), but it is becoming more and
more accepted to be friends with someone who is not of your ethnic group.
Karashebish
Sefo
takes me to the area of town where he lives. In Albanian, the word for
Sefo’s part of Mostar is Karashebish. The humanitarian workers translate
it for me –  Container
Village.
The
little village is a collage of old army barracks and even dozens of actual
shipping containers (hence the nickname) that have been converted into
very basic homes. The idea of human beings living in shipping containers
is a new one for me and will take some getting used to. Yet, there is
a certain energy pulsating through this makeshift, patchwork quilt of
a place as chicken hunt through garbage in the yard, and a group of children
play games.
Sefo
tells me that the village is home to a community of gypsies and gypsy
or Albanian economic refugees from Kosovo, who arrived over the last 30
years. Sefo and his family, make up one of about 30 families (over 100
people) who are part of this permanent community.
Additionally,
there are a large number of refugees living in Container Village (CV).
During and after the war in Bosnia, a huge number of people lost their
homes. Some lived on the wrong side of the river for their ethnic group.
Others came from nearby towns that had a clear ethnic identity. To cope
with the housing crisis, the local government acquired shipping containers,
installed doors, windows and electrics and used them to house families.
Six years later, the refugees from the Bosnian war are still living in
Container Village. A second wave of refugees arrived after the crisis
in Kosovo. Many Kosovo refugees had relatives already living in Container
Village. When they started arriving, their relatives approached Novi Most,
a British humanitarian group in Mostar, for help.
Novi
Most has been working in CV for the last 3 and a half years. Making contact
with the families and especially working with the children is essential.
The workers provide a wide variety of activities for the children such
as music lessons, summer camps, football training, helping with the Bosnian
language (which is not their first language), teaching them English and
helping those kids not in school to get a place. Every 2-3 months they
also try and give out a food packet to each family. For one family, who
had 80 relatives join them in the village (sleeping tents in their yard,
or in their car), they built a wooden barracks. They spent many years
lobbying local officials to get water put in, and 18 months ago, a new
local official finally gave permission. Now every house has running water.
Bathrooms, however, are still communal containers. In the past, Novi Most
also helped with medicine, electric bills and clothes, but resources for
this are getting less and less since their funds dried up in July 2000.
Welcomed
with Smiles
I
found myself inexplicably drawn to this place and wanting to learn as
much as I can about the refugee families living here. The first family
I met with were ethnic Albanian refugees from Kosovo. They were one of
the families that had fallen in the “aid has all dried up”
category. After taking off my shoes, a custom in a Muslim home, I was
led by two friendly young boys, into the container. One of the boys had
a good command of the English language and we were able to converse quite
easily. He told me how frustrated he is that the aid has run out. He doesn’t
understand why the help has stopped. His mother, a beautiful woman with
jet-black hair and blue eyes, smokes continuously out of nervousness.
Without the aid she doesn’t know how her family of 7 is going to
survive. She makes coffee for me -- wonderful Turkish coffee – a
gesture that touches me deeply since they have so little. There is no
stove, only a single burner for cooking. How difficult it must be to cook
for a family of 7 with only one little burner! The family has applied
for repatriation to Canada. Now they have to play the long waiting game
to see if they are accepted.
Between
discrimination and the high unemployment rate, their chances of finding
work in Mostar are slim. One of the boys is fascinated by America’s
melting pot. He asked me “Do you see black and white people mixing
in New York?” I tell him black and white people mix all the time
in New York and that I’ve had friends that were black throughout
my entire life. I hope I am giving him encouragement. It seems terribly
wrong that he is living with the double burden of being a refugee in a
foreign land and being discriminated against because of the color of his
skin.
I
visited several more families that day and everywhere the stories were
the same. The needs are so great. One family needed 70 DM (about $35.00)
to fix the car, another family needed money to finish the home they are
constructing, and still another needed money for the dentist. Corey Anibal,
the humanitarian worker, warns me “If you help one family you have
to help them all.” I see the wisdom in what he says, but it breaks
my heart just the same. Despite the poverty, their generosity is overwhelming.
Everywhere I went I was treated with the love and joy generally reserved
for a dear relative or an old friend. I had heard of the famous Balkan
hospitality, but nothing prepared me for this. At every turn, I was offered
big, generous smiles, Turkish coffee and a place to rest from the troubles
of the world. Why is it those who have nothing seem to have the most to
give?
Now
What
What
will happen to the refugees in this forgotten corner of the world? At
what point is it no longer worthwhile to continue to help people who are
still in need? Who determines this? Of course the real solution to this
problem would be to find jobs or create an industry out of Bosnia’s
ruined economy that would allow them to work. I dream of a Marshall Plan
for Bosnia. Of course, in our country, we can’t even begin to comprehend
the inability to find work. Instead, most of us devote ourselves to worrying
about the new job we want or whether or not we can afford that new car.
Being from the privileged West, we spend so much time worrying about all
the wrong things. We are wrapped up in a capitalist mode of consumption
– new clothes, a new car, a new house! There is a pressure to buy,
spend and upgrade! Job and career tend to take center stage in the great
big list of “I need” and “I want”. There is always
an alternative. But how do you get through life if you don’t have
these options? How do you raise a family of 5 or 6 with no hope for employment,
no future and no money?
When
we see refugees on TV it’s pretty easy to distance ourselves. It
takes no effort to decide that they look a little strange, perhaps a little
odd. Most importantly, we pride ourselves in the knowledge that it could
never happen to our family, in our decent and civilized world. The truth
is that the refugees I met in the Container Village were really no different
than my own relatives and neighbors. They certainly don’t want or
plan to be refugees. And they didn’t do anything to deserve their
refugee status. They were just ordinary people who were dealt a really
hard deck of cards in the grand game of life. For the people living in
Container Village, every day is simply about doing their best to survive.
One more sunset, one more cup of coffee, one more smile from their little
girl, one more chat with a fun-loving neighbor. These are their rewards
for somehow managing to make it through one more day. It is survival at
its basic and most brilliant.
I
went to Bosnia to try and understand the madness that happened there.
I wanted real answers, not some politician’s reasons for not getting
involved. The “ancient hatreds” motto wasn’t enough
to explain why we didn’t want to get involved. Sometimes, I wonder
if all those politicians could see what Bosnia was really like, would
they still feel she was not important to preserve one of the few multi-ethnic,
multi-cultural countries in Europe. Certainly, from a human rights standpoint
alone, we had the responsibility to help. But reports of concentration
camps and mass rapes came and went and we did nothing. Now, 200,000 people
are dead and 2.5 million are displaced from their homes.
Now,
when I think of Bosnia I Herzegovina and all that she has been through,
I imagine her a soldier who has been horrifically wounded in a long and
terrible war. The wounds are so great and so terrifying that you think
they will never heal. Although most everyone has given up hope for her
recovery, a few brave souls pray anyway, hoping for a miracle. But this
good little soldier is brave and she has a terrific will to survive. Though
it is painful and slow, the wounds start to heal, ever so slightly. As
the children of Mostar start to make friends with those who are not of
their ethnicity and people start to cross again to the opposite side of
the river, little Bosnia gives up her wheelchair and begins walking with
a cane. Maybe someday, she will begin to walk all by herself. And when
that happens, you bet I will be there to watch. I can’t wait for
that day.
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