The Bosnian Flame
My story begins in Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia and Herzagovina (BIH). You might be wondering where this country is and what I was doing there. Well for starters, the beautiful country is situated in an area known as the Balkans in the heart of the former state of Yugoslavia. Yugoslavia was made up of modern day Croatia, Serbia, BIH, Slovenia, Montenegro, Macedonia and Kosovo, but the latter might be a bit controversial (That’s a debate for another day). For those that still don’t have an idea where Yugoslavia was… Go back to school and ask your geography and History teacher for a refund. But seriously though, BIH is situated between Croatia and Montenegro along the Adriatic Sea. Having moved to the Netherlands recently for work, I felt that I was a little tired of eating potatoes, bread and cheese and needed something a little eastern with a bit of a culture shock and a few less rules…(Europe as many of those!)
Now, before I begin with the actual story, I think it is important that I provide some context on the current Bosnian situation and if there is any Bosnian or Croatian or Serb reading this, if I have got any detail wrong, please feel free to correct me. For starters the political situation there is extremely complex and I am bound to make many mistakes…
The history
From the 6th to the 9th century, the area was populated by the ancestors of the modern Slavic people. From the mid 15th century, it was taken by the Ottomans who brought Islam to the region. From the late 9th century until WW1. The country was annexed by the Austro-Hungarians. Fast-forward a famous assassination and a couple of years and we find ourselves in 1984 when Sarajevo held the Winter Olympics. Not only was it the first Olympic games to be held in a Slavic language speaking country, but it was also the first Winter Olympics to be held in a communist country. In addition, as a result of its legacy, it is now the only Olympic games to be held in a Muslim majority country. This brings me to the next point: Yugoslavia was made up of 36.2% Serb who were mainly Orthodox Christian, 19.7% Croats who were Catholics and 10% Slav Muslim, the rest were a mixture of eastern European together with Turks, Jews, Russians, Italians, Gypsies and Yugoslavs. In the late 80’s the cold war was coming to an end, Germany was being reunified and eastern Europe had left communism – These all put stress on Yugoslavia as a communist state to erode away into the afore mentioned states. By 1992, Yugoslavia ceased to exist, but there was a problem: how to divide the country into new found states? Long story short, a Serb nationalist by the name of Slobadan Milosevic was unhappy with Bosnia and Herzegovina becoming an independent state and to consolidate power amongst the Serbs he, together with the Croatian president at the time, Franjo Todman, who wanted to “protect” the Croats in Bosnia, decided that they needed to take out the common enemy: the Bosnian Muslims. This after the Bosnians and Croats fought together against the Serbs… (It’s rather complicated and messy)
As with all war, everyone loses: Many women, children, Bosnians, Croats, Serbs, Yugoslavs, Gypsies and other Europeans lost their lives. Estimates say over 100 000 lost their lives and over 2 000 000 displaced, this in addition to all the heritage and infrastructure that was lost. I can honestly say, I have always been fortunate enough to not be born in or live in a war-torn country. Having traveled to Bosnia, you still see ruins and still hear the pain in peoples voices when they speak about what happened. It reminds me of some of the older people in South Africa that speak about the wrongs and trauma they experienced during Apartheid – It makes one think of the cries we don’t hear and the tears that don’t hit the ground…
Today, Bosnia and Herzegovina has one of the most complicated political systems in the world. It exists under the Dayton agreement, set up by everyone’s favourite boet – The USA, EU and UN. Basically, the country has two political states: The Federation of Bosnia-Herzegovina and Republika Srpska. In addition, it has 3 presidents: 1 for each of the major identities. Above those 3 presidents is one High Representative from the EU. Basically the presidents have to all agree on a policy for it to be passed to the High representative and only if the representative agrees does the policy get passed. In addition, the representative has the power to remove government officials, court justices and affect laws – Basically he is the Big Daddy of Bosnia.
A map of Bosnia and Herzegovina showing the 2 republics
Now, stay with me, finally the intro is complete and we get on to the story. You might be wondering who the lady in the pic is? Keep wondering...
I decided that I was going to do some hiking in Bosnia, given that the Netherlands (Where I am currently based) is rather flat and well marked out. Coming from South Africa, where rules are a recommendation, Europe is rather strict and proper. I always say that in Africa, the rules are like the spotted white lines on the road: you can cross them. That being said, I was in the mood for some adventure. I decided that I would make my way to Outlaw’s Window, a beautiful arched rock formation siting roughly 2000m above sea level. Another awesome thing to note is that Bosnia has wild bears, mountain goats and approximately 2% of the country still has active landmines, most of which are found in the border hilly regions in Bosnia…
The adventure
I started by getting a bus from Sarajevo to Jablanica. I was then going to get another bus from there to Doljani – the village from where my hike would begin, but when I arrived at the station, I was told that there are no buses to the village and that I would have to take a taxi – If anyone has travelled with me, they would know that I never take taxis as I always try to understand how the everyday local gets around and also, I'm a stingy Indian! I decided that I was going to hitch hike… I ended up walking for two and a half hours in 30 degree plus heat before sitting down for a break. I saw 4x4s, SUVs, E-class’ and the likes and nobody stopped! I continued walking and eventually stopped lifting my thumb – I decided to go back to old school tactics: Rather than be jovial and look like a good tourist living the adventure, I slouched a bit, started taking smaller steps, allowed the sweat to drip from my face, drew on the inner poverty of being and African child and pretended as if I was suffering away in the heat… Playing on human emotions worked! Within minutes, the oldest, most dilapidated, VW station wagon, held together by nothing more than flakes of rust and brown tape stopped for me! I was overjoyed. It was already midday and I hadn’t even gotten to the mountain yet so I wasn’t bothered by what was getting me to my starting point, as long as it wasn’t my legs…
He stopped the car a few meters ahead of me. I ran to the window. He said, “Walking?” I replied by saying Doljani to which he said, “Sovici.” (A town just after Doljani on route) I introduced myself and so did he. His name was Ekrim and he couldn’t speak a word of English, but I could tell that he understood a bit. After exchanging pleasantries, He said, “Musalman?”, which basically means that he was asking if I am a Muslim. I replied with a nod of approval and so did he. He then put his hands together and said, “Sorry”, and pointed to the can of beer on his dashboard. (Now for those who aren’t accustomed to seeing muslims drink alcohol, throughout eastern Europe and Turkiye, it is pretty common and in somewhat acceptable to drink. This is because these countries were made secular quite early on and the thought is that it is fine provided you don’t lose your state of mind. Personally, I am not the judge, when travelling, but always the student.) At this moment, I felt more concerned that he was drinking and driving rather than being a muslim and drinking but my legs were keeping my mouth shut. He took a sip and put the VW into first, he revved it and said, “warm warm” and then the car stalled! He said, “Allah hu akbar” and took a sip of beer before trying to start again… Nothing, the piece of shit wouldn’t even make a noise! He got out and I knew it was time to push. We turned the VW along the curved road and part of the rusty back door fell off. After gaining some momentum Ekrim jumped in and rolled down the hill before jump starting my trusty steed. He turned the taped wagon around and came back up the hill to pick me up. We were off…
The road trip
The road to Doljani was curved and hilly. The landscape changed drastically and the mountain peaks seemed to reach for the sky. The landscape was ragged with tufts of green on the side of the peaks and little villages found themselves in the shadows of these great peaks. Ekrim pointed at one of the villages and said, “Croat” and shook his head. He said, “Doljani, Muslim.” and pointed at the little one ahead and said Croat. He then showed me a war memorial and a tear rolled from his left eye. I probably shouldn’t have but I asked him anyway, “You, war” – He nodded with approval stopped the car and then reversed to a clear spot in the bushes to which he pointed out a little crack between the hills and said, “Me bang bang”. He explained in broken English that he was posted between the hills to try and prevent the Croats from coming to Sovici, the place he was going to. He also explained that he was an upholster and he was taking some material to his mom in Sovici. He showed me a part of the side of the mountain that had been blown away from the bombing and the tears started to pour from his face…
After a long stretch of silence he asked, “Why doljani?” I explained using my index and middle fingers in an upside down V that I was going to hike. He looked shocked and said, “solo?” I said yes! He then asked, “madame?” whilst making imaginary boobs with his hands to which I said solo. Once in Doljani, he stopped and I told him just a little further, he carried on driving to my starting point, but when I wanted to get out, he refused and pleaded with me not to leave saying, “Croat Croat, Muslim no” I explained to him that I would be fine and it’s OK. Eventually he wobbled his head with semi approval, said “Allah hu Akbar” and opened the door. I thanked him and off the rust bucket I went.
The hike
It was quarter-to-three. I turned left off the main road and started to wander up the little, quaint side street through the bushes, following Google maps, to what I was expecting to be an entrance gate. Fock-all, not even a sign! The road kept winding away and slowly dissolving into the soft, fertile earth below it. The trees got greener and thicker and eventually formed an arch over the path. There wasn’t another person in sight nor any signs of people apart from the odd bullet shells I would find. I kept wondering what if I got shot out here or what if there were people out here who just lived in the mountains like in the movie “The Hills have eyes”… Nevertheless, I kept walking. Although a bit creepy, it was beautiful and serene… My soul felt at rest being amongst all the nature. I heard the occasional rock falling from the cliffs along side me and thought for a second that perhaps it was a bear or even hunters, so I carefully made my way to the side of the bushes to peak out and to my surprise, I saw a heard of mountain goats! I decided to continue my hike further into the unknown – most of the path was marked by red paint on the trees but the further and higher I got into the mountains, the more damp it got, the trees had started to fall over, the red paint: fade away and the path, well there wasn’t a clear one at this point.
I had come to the realization that I was going to have to stay on this mountain for the night, which I was Ok with given my previous adventures staying in a stinking toilet for the night. The only problem was that there was no path left for me to follow, no person to ask for instructions, my phone battery was dying and the weather was very unpredictable as it usually is in the mountains. It was at this point that I thought about the hiking rules I had learnt as a scout whilst still in Ladysmith. Rule number 1: Never hike alone. Rule number 2: Familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Rule number 3: Always inform someone about your location. Rule number 4 (Naadir’s own rule): Forget the first 3 rules because everyone will die alone anyway! The path, well there was no path and I had found myself standing infront of a cliff face. I decided that it was time to use my bouldering skills to get over. Long story short, I had ridge rocked myself and was hanging onto a tree root for dear life. I had never recited Surah Yaseen (The heart of the Quraan) that loudly in my life! Eventually I managed to get my bag off and fling it over the ledge and use the side straps to jam it into a crack in the rock so that I could pull myself up.
It started to drizzle… I found a large, overhanging tree and sat under it as the beautiful warm drizzle hissed upon the canopy shelter. I placed a towel under me and another jacket over my legs and decided to snooze until the drizzle had stopped. I would like to say that I woke up when it was over, but It started to pour down, a little stream started to form right next to me… I was sopping and the beautiful overhanging tree I was under had somehow been blessed by Moses himself and split open to let the glory of the skies come down on me. And then it stopped!
The sun was tucked behind the faded grey clouds and the temperature was dropping rapidly. I had no option but to walk in order to keep myself warm: The once mystical forest now seemed like king Charle’s face – a wet sock. I kept moving up a ravine since the path I was supposedly on no longer existed. Whilst contemplating my life (again) with my head down, I noticed the ground I was walking on had been upturned as if something was there before. Having done animal tracking and spooring as a scout before, I am fairly certain the track I saw was that of a bear – I kept moving. Everything was soaked and the light was fading except for its reflection off the red sign ahead of me! Landmine! Hmmmm I thought and kept going around the general area – I mean there could have been other landmines and this one is apparently know, so now I know where not to go!
Landmine!
It was getting really dark and extremely cold. I had run out of water and was starting to shiver. I hoped that over the next hill there would be little village or something. To my excitement, I heard a tin sort of noise! I rushed to the top of the hill , brushing the wet bushes along the way up. Bloody cows! The fattest cows I have ever seen with huge bells around their necks waddled in the valley below. Where did these damn beefs come from? No people, no warmth, but at least I could suck the water from my wet clothes. I made my way to the side of a cliff and found a huge rock to lie on. I stripped out of my wet clothes and found something a little drier to put on. I lay down with my head upon my bag and my red K-way jacket over me and shivered into the night…
The Reason
Why was I there? Once again I found myself asking this question. Why did every moment in my life lead me to this point of aching away from cold on this rock in the middle of I don’t even actually know where? My fingers were starting to go numb – a feeling I felt before as a child growing up in the cold winters in Ladysmith and then again when working in Antarctica. My body was cold, aching and tense from the shivers. I kept trying to close my eyes to sleep, but I couldn’t. My head was tucked under my jacket and everytime I exhaled, a cold mist would hit my hand tucked just ahead. Something in me made me peep out from the jacket at the night sky above: It was the clearest sky I had ever seen! But not a single star up there knew my name! The boy from the Southern Hemisphere was like a spec of sand in the sea under the Northern sky. For the first time in my life barring God and the Angel I say is beside me, I felt alone! Well and truly alone! Not lost… Just alone! I started to think of Ekrim and why he decided to stop for me having the little that he had whilst so many who appeared better off did not! How much do we have to lose before we have nothing left? Perhaps that is the point where we give and offer unwillingly. At what point do we stop and put others before ourself without feeling that urky tension of inconvenience, inside?
The surprising fact is that throughout my travels, local or international, I have always found that those who have the least have been the most hospitable to me and willing to share the most. They are always sincere and true. “Joy no matter what” – The book of Joy. In South Africa you always see it around you somewhere, be it people jumping out of a taxi and having a dance or a mother singing to her child or the bowser boys jiving as they clean your windscreen. My dad would always tell me to pray for wealth, when I asked him what wealth was, he said that some people say it’s money, but to me, it simply means a good quality of life. Perhaps it’s that quality that we should be focused on and not the money to attain it.
PS: I made it off the mountain the next day and got a lift back to Jablanica from another guy who was drinking and driving...We were back in town within a couple of minutes...
Don't drink and drive.
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