Wow, again. So much to write that it is hard to know where to begin. From sharing Chanukah latkes with my Muslim colleagues ("Rebecca you are telling me there is onion in this and you want me to put apples on it?? No."); experiencing Sarajevo's version of the winter holidays (kiddie carnival rides and a fake ice rink covered in Vaseline); hijab wearers sipping coffee through windows spray painted with snowflakes and Santas; and being a part of the media "spectacle" at the Midnight Mass at the Catholic cathedral Christmas Eve. Not to mention sumitting Trebević, one of the four Olympic mountains overlooking Sarajevo - more of an emotionally draining climb because of the landmine signage reminding one to never veer from the cleared path.
All this while still continually watching world events unfold. Events that feel closer to "home" here than in the U.S. such as the Yazidi "genocide" in Syria (to my knowledge it has not formally been called this yet but I think it should) and more protests and turmoil in my hometown including by the diasporic Bosnian community (I was sitting in the living room of a friend yesterday watching the evening news with him and his mother when protests in Berkeley came on the screen.) I also learned yesterday more deeply about the incredible pain of the state of the economy here in Bosnia. As we continued to watch the news, and learned of more factory closings in Tuzla (apparently the closing of factories is a regular and predictable news story here) a discussion unfolded about unemployment and hopelessness felt by many here, including my local friends, who all want to leave... every day their spirit endures.
it is hard to believe December, and 2014 are coming to a close. It feels like a blink. But the pace of my transformation here seems only to be accelerating, and at an ever increasing rate.
All this while still continually watching world events unfold. Events that feel closer to "home" here than in the U.S. such as the Yazidi "genocide" in Syria (to my knowledge it has not formally been called this yet but I think it should) and more protests and turmoil in my hometown including by the diasporic Bosnian community (I was sitting in the living room of a friend yesterday watching the evening news with him and his mother when protests in Berkeley came on the screen.) I also learned yesterday more deeply about the incredible pain of the state of the economy here in Bosnia. As we continued to watch the news, and learned of more factory closings in Tuzla (apparently the closing of factories is a regular and predictable news story here) a discussion unfolded about unemployment and hopelessness felt by many here, including my local friends, who all want to leave... every day their spirit endures.
it is hard to believe December, and 2014 are coming to a close. It feels like a blink. But the pace of my transformation here seems only to be accelerating, and at an ever increasing rate.
Part One: Trebević: an enchanting, eerie climb
We got an early start (well, early for us), around 8:30 and began the walk out of town. Trebević is pretty easily accessible from the city. You cross the river and then just keeping heading up, up, up... the narrow roads wind, the dogs maybe pause from scavenging at the dumpsters to give you a curious stare, and your knees begin to creak as you pass the mix of new, mid-repair, and abandoned homes. There is graffitti everywhere but that is almost just a quality of the architecture here. A social commentary or venue for emotional expression. There is a lot of emotion in this city if you know where to look, but I digress.
After about 40 minutes we came to what seemed to be the southern edge of the city. Suzana examined the deserted futbol field while the rest of us waited a bit nervously on the path.
As we continued our ascent into the late morning, we passed empty shells of former buildings that used to be part of the booming winter sport industry that existed on the mountain in the mid 20th century and the site of many events in the 1984 Winter Olympics. Trebević was the most popular destination for locals and visitors looking for winter relaxation and recreation but during the war it was one of the first conflict zones and to this day buried deep in its mountain soil are the contents of many mines. But there are a few paths, cleared and well-worn by locals over the past twenty years. There were five of us, so enough cautious opinions. Still, there were a few hair raising moments- when the path diverged, or snow made it more difficult to distinguish, or years old yellow warning tape hung limply from a tree branch just to the side of the path. I had been told in my mine awareness training with the U.S. Embassy that various objects - clothing, plastic bottles, plastic bags - can also be used to mark mines. Of course I raised concern when we passed an old ripped t-shirt blowing in the wind from a tree but the others thought nothing of it.
Another eerie part of the trip was journeying up Trebević's old bobsled track, now a favorite location for colorful graffiti. Eventually we got off the track, unsure of how long it would wind before getting us to the top but for about an hour it felt like we were voyageurs, trespassing on the forsaken remnants of a time past.
Up and down Trebević was a day-long journey. Despite the fact that it was national holiday, the National Day of Statehood (troubling controversy about this in the Republika Srpska worth mentioning), and most people were not working, we did not see too many people, but a few. We saw some men doing some construction (think - a bunch of men working together - a few hammering, a few sawing, all smoking - kind of construction - not hard-hat yellow-truck American-type construction) and we asked one innkeeper on the way up for directions. Near the top of the mountain we crossed paths with a large, possibly Turkish speaking, hiking group loudly traipsing down in groups of twos and threes. And then there were one or two small groups of men - two and three together - walking, and one motor biking. But other than these sparse moments throughout the day, it felt like we had the moutain to ourselves.
We got home at the end of the day, our feet and rears sore (boy, hiking up a mountain in the snow is no joke) but hearts full and proud of the day's accomplishment.
part two: cultural bias for the holidays
I still don't fit in here, not because I'm a non-Christian attending Christmas services (that's totally normal here, a large portion of the church-goers on Christmas eve were secular Muslim) but because I get continually unnerved by the lack of sensitivity to individual space and speech. Clearly my American cultural bias, coursing through my blood in these moments. Not only do I experience this weekly with my students who I continually have to ask to end private conversations, but a prime example occurred at the Christmas Eve service, which I attended with another American. I was so irritated by the newscameramen rudely pushing into me ("oprostite, izvinite, oprostite...") throughout the entire service, that I almost had to leave to cool myself down. The media presence as well as people's DISregard for public speakers (authority figures?) continues to astound me. I know I am grounded in my own cultural bias but continues to be one of the hardest things for me to wrap my mind around. Even when the Palestinian Grand Mufti came to speak at the Islamic Faculty, students began loudly talking to themselves, clearly the speech no long holding their attention, after about 30 minutes. A the Midnight Mass, some people were so disruptive a priest had to come down from the pulpit to ask someone to go ask them to be quiet. This, and the click, click of the cameras, the bright lights (religious leaders and services in general are some of the most loved by the paparazzi). I try to remember, this is a place where people were literally dying, and hurting each other because of religion, a mere two decades ago. Perhaps this explains the obsession with recording, but I still really struggle to understand the spectacle and performance-like nature which to me ruins even the slightest opportunity for a spiritual moment.
It's been really interesting to experience "the Christmas season" from the Islamic Faculty (yes, I worked a normal day yesterday, December 25th). All the stores were open, by all accounts it was a normal day. But the signs of capitalist consumerist Christmas season are everywhere here with the stores posting Novododišsnja Akcinje (New Years Sales) since early December. There has also been a Winter Market set up where a few preferred local vendors (and some artists) sell goods until mid January. It is a lot of knit items, a famous cheese vendor (ironically not local), tourist information, and of course, in its center, a bar set up inside of a tent to be protected from the elements. The Chanukah candles were lit inside this bar on the last night of Chanukah, which was strange, since, consistent with what I've experienced thus far, no one really seemed to notice or car that something was happening on the stage or that people were singing a song. People just continued drinking and being in loud. When I asked my friend about this, she said "they just don't know" so there is no reason to stop and listen. When I don't find this behavior entirely unnerving and insensitive, it is, at the least, a curious cultural difference.
part three: warmth despite low temps
There was something about being on the top of Trebević, and the sun beaming down on our sweating faces, that encouraged an opportunity for even deeper reflection of self and place. Trebević was my first view (not counting the plane I flew in on) of this city from above and in a way, what my place has been in it for this first portion of the year. I've recounted to some how in some ways it feels like I've been here forever - there is a routine in the calls to prayer, the tourists at Pigeon Square, the espresso drinkers, the dark humor and daily persistence of people living with bloody memories. In some ways I am certainly feeling more at home. The buildings and cemeteries no longer seem so menacing. I find comfort in the generous warmth of people, friends who have me over for Bosnian coffee ("Please have more" Me: "No thank you, I've already had three cups." Ignores comment and fills cup); the surprisingly warm and personal taxi drivers) "You don't remember me? I'm Hamza, I took you home the last time when Emir was busy,"); my dear friends Eli and Mirjem, busy and involved in their many communities (Jewish, art, scholarly...) who always give me the warmest hug and kiss when they see me (Mirjem affectionately calls me "Rebi," short for "Rebecca," not "Rabbi," which I've confirmed).
I've realized how my passage of time in the U.S. must have been dictated by the decor of Walgreens' stores, or perhaps just stores in general. Is it really Christmas time in Sarajevo? I can't tell. Seriously. It must be still mid-October because I haven't yet walked into a Walgreens and been visually assaulted by inflatable reindeer and red glossy Santas hanging from the ceiling. There are a few lights that some restaurants have put up in their windows to lighten the winter drear but I can count on one hand (and one that's missing three fingers) the number of homes I've seen with lights or decorations. To think that next year will be 2015... hmm... well... I am excited to see what it will bring.