Message from Nino’s parents, sent via International Red Cross, fall of 1992:
“Our dear children, Nino and Jaca, this is only one of many ways we’ve tried to get in touch with you. I don’t know if you’ve received anything from us. We live in hopes that you are well. Dear Jaca, I don’t know if you already know, but you’ve become an aunt to an adorable little boy.
Don’t forget, even for a moment, that we will fight to get through this alive because we hope to see you again.”
Message from Nino’s parents, winter of 1992:
“It would be easier to cope with this torture if we could talk to you. Please write, write! Are you healthy? Are you happy with your current situation, with work? What are your plans? Do you have any problems, are you safe?
What do I tell you about us…we are alive. All four of us live in our living room, where we have heating – from a hand-made stove your uncle and I made. The temperature in the rest of the house is below zero and the bathroom is completely frozen. We all have duties: your mom cooks, and your uncle and I are in charge of water and fire wood. Grandma is in charge of complaining and does a great job with it!
We wish you all the happiness in the world (even if it’s relative, we hope it stays with you), we love you and think of you every day.”
Excerpts from Nino’s mother’s letter, fall of 1993:
“You are right when you say the situation in Bosnia seems confusing. It is. We are living a strange life “between life and death.” On one side, there are theater performances in the city, some stores are opened, people have started repairing their homes…on the other hand, we are being bombarded every day, people die. We all believe there is a bomb that’s meant for each one of us – the only question is, when it will hit. One fell yesterday in front of our building and my long-time friend was killed.
We are working on getting gas repaired for the winter. If we manage, it would be big. We would save on firewood. People say that the “early apple blossomed to soon”, which means the winter will be harsh – I pray to God that the apple was wrong.
They started selling “winter packages”, but we have yet to receive ours. We paid up-front for it through “Alemko” company, only to find out that Alemko was arrested for his cooperation with the aggressors – the idea was to buy the goods from them and sell to us.
No one can come in or out of the city, even convoys for old and sick, arranged by the Red Cross. Last one left the city in November of last year. Eighty-two people that were on the list for next one have died in the meantime.
And now, Jaca, about our agriculture project…our experiment with potatoes in a sack did not work. When I opened it up, I was ready to find some good potatoes, instead, I found twenty little pebbles, so tiny that I couldn’t peel them. But, in our garden underneath the balcony, we grew some veggies: 12 squashes, some onion, celery, carrots…and lots of cabbage! We can’t wait to pick it up and make sauerkraut for the winter. Even if half if it gets stolen, we will still have enough. What a change this is from the time our only “salad” was little hot peppers from the balcony.
Thank you so much for sending us money. We feel good knowing that you had made enough so that you could put this much aside and help us. The sad part is, we could buy so much more with this money anywhere else than here. Most of it ends up in the pockets of criminals and black-marketers. I wish you could somehow send us packages instead of money. One pound of salt is five dollars; one pound of cheese twenty. And…one match is fifty cents – without it, you can’t lite a fire or a candle. It breaks my heart to give hard-earned money to these people.
Our dearest children, you have no idea how much we miss you. Nino, we both dream about you – and when we do, we talk about our dreams in the morning, sad that we woke up. We love you and live with you in our thoughts every day.”
Excerpts from Jaca’s sister’s letter, winter of 1994:
“It’s hard for me to write – I don’t have time, and I don’t have focus. The only time I can write is in the evening, after I put the kids to bed, but then it’s dark. I feel guilty, I know I should write more, but I simply can’t, I don’t have enough concentration. I wish I could somehow transfer my thoughts to you, because I think of you all the time, and I talk to you in my mind every day.
I don’t quite know what to call our reality: sad, cruel, awful. I have been in a poor mental state for months. I often think I will go crazy, if I haven’t already. Sometimes I wish they hit us with a bomb so big that we all die at once – because this suffering is too much to bear. People say: “Well, it’s better now, shelling is less frequent and we have more food.” This is, in a way, true and also not true. People still die every day and I fear for everyone’s life just the same as before. Everything points to and comes down to death, every day.
For New Year’s Eve dinner, we had a little bit of smoked meat, two eggs and some green sour tomatoes. That was all. There was no gas and no electricity. At midnight, they started bombing us – with every possible type of bullet and bomb you can imagine. I curled up in the corner of the room with the kids and prayed to God they’s stop soon.”
This is a sweet birthday card sent from Nino’s grandmother in Sarajevo to Nino’s daughter, when she turned one.
Great book, down the fact. Sanja did not take anybody’s side or accused anyone of the atrocity. The Bosnian war displaced many people and families. Sanja’s book is about the survival of people in the war zone and their hope; it is about the people who were displaced, their worries and search for their identity. Sanja managed to capture the feeling of us-immigrant… “Once taken from our roots we would forever be searching for the proof that we fully belonged somewhere….” And her book is really nice tribute to her parents and Bosnian’s spirit.
Thank you:)