Zlata's Diary (11 page)

You should see, Mimmy, what it's like to pack for such a long trip by candlelight. You think you can see enough to pack, but you can't really. I suppose they managed to pack what they need. We're going to see them off tomorrow. The convoy leaves at nine in the morning.

Mommy didn't manage to get all the necessary papers, so we're staying. We'll take some other convoy.

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

An awful lot of people have left Sarajevo. All of them well known. Mommy said: “Sarajevo is leaving.” Mommy and Daddy know a lot of them. They talked to them and when they said goodbye, everyone kept saying: “We'll see one another again somewhere, sometime.” It was sad. Sad and upsetting. November 14, 1992, is a day Sarajevo will remember. It reminded me of the movies I saw about the Jews in the Second World War.

When we got home, the electricity was back on. Daddy went straight to the cellar to cut some wood with the electric saw. Suddenly he came running back from the cellar, his hands covered in blood. The bleeding was terrible. Mommy immediately took him to the clinic, but they were sent on to the hospital where they sewed up his hand, gave him an anti-tetanus shot and told him to come back for a check-up every three days. He was lucky. He could have lost a finger. He says his mind wasn't on his work, he was thinking about the Jewish municipal center, the departure point for leaving Sarajevo. Well-known people are leaving. Sarajevo will be the poorer for losing so many wonderful people, who made it what it was. It's the war that's making them go, this idiocy that we've been living through for a full seven-and-half months.

A TERRIBLY HARD DAY!

Love,
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

As you can see, I'm left without Maja and Bojana. I miss them very, very much. Luckily, Nedo is still here. He consoles me and tries to make up for the two of them. And there's Cici. Only, she's sad too, as though she knows that Maja and Bojana have gone. She, in her way, makes these ugly days less ugly.

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Nothing new on the political front. They are adopting some resolutions, the “kids” are negotiat ing, and we are dying, freezing, starving, crying, parting with our friends, leaving our loved ones.

I keep wanting to explain these stupid politics to myself, because it seems to me that politics caused this war, making it our everyday reality. War has crossed out the day and replaced it with horror, and now horrors are unfolding instead of days. It looks to me as though these politics mean Serbs, Croats and Muslims. But they are all people. They are all the same. They all look like people, there's no difference. They all have arms, legs and heads, they walk and talk, but now there's “something” that wants to make them different.

Among my girlfriends, among our friends, in our family, there are Serbs and Croats and Muslims. It's a mixed group and I never knew who was a Serb, a Croat or a Muslim. Now politics has started meddling around. It has put an “S” on Serbs, an “M” on Muslims and a “C” on Croats, it wants to separate them. And to do so it has chosen the worst, blackest pencil of all—the pencil of war which spells only misery and death.

Why is politics making us unhappy, separating us, when we ourselves know who is good and who isn't? We mix with the good, not with the bad. And among the good there are Serbs and Croats and Muslims, just as there are among the bad. I simply don't understand it. Of course, I'm “young,” and politics are conducted by “grown-ups.” But I think we “young” would do it better. We certainly wouldn't have chosen war.

The “kids” really are playing, which is why us kids are not playing, we are living in fear, we are suffering, we are not enjoying the sun and flowers, we are not enjoying our childhood. WE ARE CRYING.

A bit of philosophizing on my part, but I was alone and felt I could write this to you, Mimmy. You understand me. Fortunately, I've got you to talk to. And now,

Love,
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Doda has left too, with a Slovenian convoy. We didn't manage to get on it. I was at Mirna's today. Her mother is trying to get them on a convoy too. She'll be going with her mother to Slovenia or Krk [an island off the Croatian coast]. Mommy ran into Marijana's mother—they're going to Zaostrog [a town on the Croatian coast]. Basically, we're all waiting for convoys.

Mirna is coming over on Monday (if there's no shooting, of course). We arranged that Mondays she would come to me and Fridays I would go to her. The condition? That there is no shooting.

STOP SHOOTING!!!
Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

The shooting really has died down. I can hear the whine of the electric saws. The winter and the power saws have condemned the old trees, shaded walks and parks that made Sarajevo so pretty.

I was sad today. I couldn't bear the thought of the trees disappearing from my park. They've been condemned. God, all the things my park has had to go through! The children have left it, Nina forever, and now the linden, birch, and plane trees are leaving it forever, too. Sad. I couldn't watch, and I can't write any more.

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

It's cold. We don't have enough wood, so we're saving on it. There is wood at the market, but, like everything else, only for Deutsche Marks and that's very expensive. I keep thinking that my park's linden, birch and plane trees are probably there with the other wood. They're selling for foreign money now.

Braco Lajtner comes by every day. We have lunch together and since he's alone, he stays until dark. Then he goes home. He goes back to a cold, empty house. That isn't easy either!

Mommy brings home the water and when it rains, we collect the rain water, too, it comes in handy. The days are getting shorter and shorter. Mommy, Daddy and I play cards by candlelight, or we read and talk, and around nine o‘clock in the evening Boda, Žika and Nedo come to listen to RFI, and that's how the day ends. It's the same almost every day.

Ciao!
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Today is my birthday. My first wartime birthday. Twelve years old. Congratulations. Happy birthday to me!

The day started off with kisses and congratulations. First Mommy and Daddy, then everyone else. Mommy and Daddy gave me three Chinese vanity cases—with flowers on them!

As usual there was no electricity. Auntie Melica came with her family (Kenan, Naida, Nihad) and gave me a book. And Braco Lajtner came, of course. The whole neighborhood got together in the evening. I got chocolate, vitamins, a heart-shaped soap (small, orange), a key chain with a picture of Maja and Bojana, a pendant made of a stone from Cyprus, a ring (silver) and earrings (bingo!).

The table was nicely laid, with little rolls, fish and rice salad, cream cheese (with Feta), canned corned beef, a pie, and, of course—a birthday cake.

Not how it used to be, but there's a war on. Luckily there was no shooting, so we could celebrate.

It was nice, but something was missing. It's called peace!

Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

It's awful in Otes. The place is in flames. We can hear the thunder of the shelling, which is constant, even here, and we're ten kilometers away. Lots of civilians have been killed. We're worried about Braco, Keka, Mikica and Dačo. Mommy keeps listening to the radio. Braco called from the press center last night. What's going to happen to them? Until now, everything down there was fine. There was no shooting, they had food, as if there was no war. You never know where or when this war is going to flare up.

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Sad, sad news. The whole of Otes has been destroyed and burned down. Everything went up in flames. People were killed, they fled and were killed as they ran, they were trapped in the ruins and nobody could help them. Parents were left without their children, children without their parents. Horrible. More horror.

Luckily, Braco, Keka, Mikica and Dačo managed to get out in one piece. Keka, Mikica and Dačo drove out and Braco fled on foot. He ran with his injured leg, falling and hiding, he swam across the Dobrinja river and managed to make it to the radio and television center.

He fled with Mišo Kučer (his best friend, they reported from Otes together). At one point, Mišo was hit, he fell and that was the end of him. Braco barely managed to drag him to a house and then went on running, to save his own life. It's terrible. Terrible when you're powerless to help a friend. Oh, God, dear God, what is happening to us? How much longer?

Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

And so Braco and his family joined the list of hundreds of families in Sarajevo who are left with nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything they had has been destroyed. But they managed to save their lives. That's the most important thing.

They're at Keka's mother's now. They came to see us. They were sad, they cried. It's awful what they've been through. They need peace and quiet. But where are they going to find that here? We'll help them as much as we can. Mommy has given them a lot of clothes, because it's cold and they have nothing. Other people have helped them too. And will help them again. It's lucky that there are good people around who will give a helping hand to those in need.

Braco is the saddest of all. He cried when he told us about Mišo. TERRIBLE!

 

Love,
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

I spend all my time with Mikica and Dačo these days. I try to help them forget all the awful things that have happened to them. But they can't forget. It's constantly on their minds. They remember the terrible shelling, the destruction, the flames, and everything they left behind and lost in the flames. Their toys, books, photos, their memories. Dačo is sorriest about his Alf dolls, and Mikica says: “When I see something or talk about something I think to myself: Oh, I've got that. And then the truth hits me—I don't really have anything anymore.” It's really hard. But, we're all helpless. The war has got a hold of us and won't let us go.

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Mommy ran into my piano teacher today—Biljana Čanković. She complained to Mommy how she had to hold her piano lessons in the school, and she had no pupils. How can you give lessons when you have no pupils?

Lots of children have left Sarajevo, and for those who are still here it's dangerous to move around the city. The shelling can start out of the blue. She might even lose her job because she has no pupils. It's silly. God, how stupid it is!

Mommy said she'd go to the school headmaster on Monday and arrange something.

And now super news. Mirna can come and sleep over.

Love,
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

NEWS! I'm going to music school. Actually, my piano teacher will be coming here. Since it's too dangerous for children to move around in town. Mirna has signed up too. We have our first lesson on Monday. I've got butterflies in my stomach. See you. Ciao!

Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Today is Christmas. Christmas in wartime. Still, people have tried to make it something special for the children.

Auntie Radmila got me into the group of Caritas children, and so, thanks to her, I got to go to the UNPROFOR [United Nations Protection Force]—PTT [post office] Christmas show. And most interesting of all I got to ride in a real personnel carrier.

As we drove through town I saw Vodoprivreda where Mommy worked (there's nothing left—it's burned down), the Elektroprivreda building (it looks terrible—it's all wounded), the UNIS building (all burned down), the old tobacco plant (an ash heap), and the
Oslobodjenje
newspaper building (it looks awful). I saw but I couldn't believe my eyes. Sarajevo really has been wounded, not to say destroyed.

Tifa, Goga MagaÅ¡, five girls and a boy were in the show. They did some silly dance and then had a smoke, and there was that singer Alma, the one who always goes: “Aooooa ...”

Then they gave out the Christmas presents and sweets. The children started pushing, almost fighting over them. I wasn't one of the lucky ones to get anything, because I didn't elbow my way through. What can I say? A nice little girl from a nice family. The “little lady” didn't get her present. Then the French soldiers began to sing. They were wonderful. We went there at noon and left at five o'clock in the afternoon. Since it was too late to go home, I spent the night at Grandma's and Granddad's.

I'm there now. It's warm. I told them all about what I saw. Grandma made me pancakes. For my sweet tooth!

Ciao.
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Went to Auntie Radmila's for Christmas today. She made all sorts of things. She gave us a wonderful treat and I even got a little Christmas present. Afterward we went to Braco Lajtner's but he wasn't home, just Auntie Vilma and Auntie Micika. Auntie Vilma is Braco's aunt. He brought her to stay with him because of the cold. Auntie Micika is his neighbor. She was his mother's best friend. She has no heat and Braco felt sorry for her so he brought her to live with him. You know how old she is? Eighty-seven. And full of life.