It was a difficult weekend. Depending on myself without a social circle here is starting to wear on me but my mood was buoyed Sunday after I (finally) left the apartment to take a walk. I have a quote from Kierkegaard that I particularly like. He says: "Above all, do not lose your desire to walk... the more one sits still, the closer one comes to feeling ill..."
I crossed through the cobblestone streets of Bascarsija and across the river. I headed up a street I'd not seen before and at the end of it there was a staircase through a slightly wooded area but I could see the end of it leading to a road at the top. The "stairs" were steep (it was really piles of stones, mud, and wet leaves stacked upon each other) and one climbed them with the help of an inventive hand railing made from what appeared to be one long tree limb). As I climbed to the top some napping dogs woke up and and gave me a long hard look before scampering deeper into the wooded area. At the top of the stairs was a small residential street which looked to contain a good amount of grass. I am always in search of greenery, grass especially. I'm like a moth to a flame. Grass!! So I crossed the street and started up towards the homes. The road quickly dead ended, much to my disappointment, but when I started to head back down two men who were putting up a fence called over to me.
"Sta ima?!" one of them. (Informal greeting, essentially "what's up?") And then a jumble of words which I presumed to be something in the nature of, "Who are you/what do you want/what are you doing...")
As I approached the fence I saw there was an older woman behind them, several chickens wandering around, and a beautiful garden full of cabbage, carrots, raspberries, garlic, parsley and more. There were three kittens alternately chasing each other and the chickens. It was somewhat of an idyllic scene but like many of the homes here, visible signs of poverty (or really what should be resourcefulness) , piece-meal repairs to damage from the war, and supplies for the winter.
I replied in my usual rote sentence of broken Bosnian. "Hello. I am an English teacher at the university."
Even when I try to speak Bosnian here people know I am a foreigner. As one friend put it, "you speak beautifully Rebecca, but I have no idea what the hell you are saying." Anyways, they were curious about me, asking where I was from, do I like it here, and they all wanted me to join them for coffee. So "mama" was asked (asked? demanded?) to make some coffee while I was shown the parsley, other plants, and a proud picture of Tito swinging on a hinge from the garage. Moments later 'Mama' returned with a tray of cookies and a hot pot of coffee. We all sat down at a picnic bench covered by a tarp and through broken conversation enjoyed the late afternoon sun together.
I crossed through the cobblestone streets of Bascarsija and across the river. I headed up a street I'd not seen before and at the end of it there was a staircase through a slightly wooded area but I could see the end of it leading to a road at the top. The "stairs" were steep (it was really piles of stones, mud, and wet leaves stacked upon each other) and one climbed them with the help of an inventive hand railing made from what appeared to be one long tree limb). As I climbed to the top some napping dogs woke up and and gave me a long hard look before scampering deeper into the wooded area. At the top of the stairs was a small residential street which looked to contain a good amount of grass. I am always in search of greenery, grass especially. I'm like a moth to a flame. Grass!! So I crossed the street and started up towards the homes. The road quickly dead ended, much to my disappointment, but when I started to head back down two men who were putting up a fence called over to me.
"Sta ima?!" one of them. (Informal greeting, essentially "what's up?") And then a jumble of words which I presumed to be something in the nature of, "Who are you/what do you want/what are you doing...")
As I approached the fence I saw there was an older woman behind them, several chickens wandering around, and a beautiful garden full of cabbage, carrots, raspberries, garlic, parsley and more. There were three kittens alternately chasing each other and the chickens. It was somewhat of an idyllic scene but like many of the homes here, visible signs of poverty (or really what should be resourcefulness) , piece-meal repairs to damage from the war, and supplies for the winter.
I replied in my usual rote sentence of broken Bosnian. "Hello. I am an English teacher at the university."
Even when I try to speak Bosnian here people know I am a foreigner. As one friend put it, "you speak beautifully Rebecca, but I have no idea what the hell you are saying." Anyways, they were curious about me, asking where I was from, do I like it here, and they all wanted me to join them for coffee. So "mama" was asked (asked? demanded?) to make some coffee while I was shown the parsley, other plants, and a proud picture of Tito swinging on a hinge from the garage. Moments later 'Mama' returned with a tray of cookies and a hot pot of coffee. We all sat down at a picnic bench covered by a tarp and through broken conversation enjoyed the late afternoon sun together.
Some days here, I feel incredibly lost. Questioning why I am here, what I am doing, who I am, what makes me happy, and what I am doing, or will do, to heal some of the brokenness in the world. Some days I feel resentful that I am here, and of the teaching, which I pour my energy into and there is little left for trying to answer these questions. But then I don't think I would be any closer to "the answers" in the U.S. or Urbana. I'm aware there is a silver lining to the loneliness, that it is forcing me to face the questions in a way I otherwise would not. When I am not teaching, in the silence, and in the moments when I leave the apartment, searching for something, even if it is just some sunlight, there seems to be answers yet to be uncovered.