Trees Without Roots

By Ella Colic

With the Balkans being a small tourist destination, not many know of the horrors that plagued the people living there. The traumas of the Bosnian War (1991-1995) can be seen surfacing through the war letters written by brother and sister, Denis and Amela, who were only fifteen and eleven years old at the time. Trees without Roots provid

• Language: English
• Publisher: Advanced Publishing LLC
• Release date: Feb 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781631321252

Book preview

Acknowledgements

I would like to honor the sacrifices my father, Denis, and my aunt, Amela, have made through their journey. Without their trust, their story would have been left unheard. A big thank you to my siblings, Amor and Lani, and my cousin, Anea, for doing absolutely nothing. I appreciate the silence. I would also like to acknowledge my grandma, Draginja, for staying up with me until ungodly hours and taking care of me when I would be too caught up in writing. Another thank you to my mother, Rajka, for being there to support my crazy dreams.

I would like to give a special thanks to my mentor and English professor, Ms. Nicole Pfaff, for providing guidance and editing prowess through this chaotic process. Thanks to Ms. Abigail Johnson, my history professor, for providing advice and giving me reality checks. I also could not have done it without Milina Jovanović or her expertise and suggestions.

And a special shout out to all the colleges and universities that rejected me. Thank you for making me stronger.

Volim vas puno.

Disclaimer

The following story is a true account of two Bosnian refugees from the Bosnian War (1992-1995), who were eleven and fifteen at the time, written from the perspective of a sixteen-(now seventeen upon completion)-year-old girl. Some names and identifying details of individuals mentioned in the book have been changed to protect their privacy.

Introduction

Thanksgiving is the time of the year where American families create memories and share a delicious meal centered around the prized turkey. My Bosnian family holds this gathering every year, bonding through meal preparations, music, and food, since it provides a way for our family to be together in this foreign country. Thanksgiving of 2018 opened a door for me that I had never thought of unlocking. As I helped clean up the dishes after dinner, my aunt handed me a pink envelope. When she passed the envelope to me, I looked at her in confusion. My initial thought was that there was nothing significant going on, so why would she hand me an envelope? It was crumbled, ripped, stained and unsealed. I was expecting some other explanation from her, but I only got silence.

All eyes were on me, waiting for my reaction. Everyone in the room knew what was going on except for me. Pulling back the pink flap, I delicately held the first piece of paper between my fingers, treating it as a baby bird in my palm. While I had a vague knowledge of my family history, it was mostly uncharted territory that I hadn’t bothered exploring. My family is from Bosnia and Herzegovina [hereafter Bosnia]; sought refuge in Germany during the Bosnian War between 1992 to 1995; and then came to America to start the life they have now. I knew I had family overseas and visited them occasionally. The whole story of their past life was never discussed with me because they did not want to transfer the burden of their past trauma. They wanted me to grow up and have the childhood that they have lost. Their main focus was our family here and us growing up happy; I never knew who was what and to what side they belonged.

Lipstick smothered goodbyes, doodles drawn with affection, and rose petals pressed into memories all fell out one by one. These letters gave me a new perspective of my family. I was able to explore this hidden past and read these personal moments that happened during a heartbreaking time in their lives and reveal my true identity in order to understand who I am today. That Thanksgiving would be the start of many intense conversations I would have with my father and aunt about our history.

The letters taught me things about the Bosnian War of the 1990s that cannot be learned in a history class. They provided a better understanding of this small, unknown country in the Balkans and the struggles of religious mixed marriages. It showcases a story of two children, aged fifteen and eleven, who did not identify as any one religion or nationality, caught in war predicated on obsession with sides.

My father, Denis, and my aunt, Amela, grew up in a small city called Teslić with their mother, Gordana, and their father, Mujo. Their grandmother, Bosa (Gordana’s mother), was an elementary school teacher for almost forty years. She served two terms (eight years) in the Parliament as a representative for education. She was also the President of the women’s branch as well as the President for the workers in the local government for twenty years. On top of that, she was Miss Teslić for seven years.

Their grandfather, Ivan, was a CEO. He rebuilt the company Pilana Borja as well as building four new companies: Iverica, Mašinstvo 1, Fabrika Poluprovodnika Slatina, and Mašinstvo 2. Because of this, he was awarded two of the highest orders for economy¹ from President Tito. One was Orden Rada Sa Srebrnim Vjencem² and the other was "Orden Rada sa

Zlatnim Vjencem³."

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¹ These awards were given to either individuals or organizations to celebrate their successes and contributions to the economy and the country. There are three subdivisions to this award (red flag, gold, and silver), and it would be displayed on the right side of the chest.

² Order of Labor with Silver Wreath

³ Order of Labor with Gold Wreath

medals_(introduction)_copy.tif

Order of Labor with Silver Wreath  Order of Labor with Gold Wreath

On the other side of the family tree, Husein and Fata were the parents of Mujo. Husein was born in Rajševa, one of the oldest villages in the county of Teslić. In the 1950s, Husein’s father decided to sell the land in the village and move to the city in search of a better life for his children. They settled in downtown Teslić and built their family house on the properties they bought. Grandma Fata was originally from Tešanj. She was a part of the women’s movement in Teslić that fought to make wearing a hijab a woman’s choice after World War II. However, she passed away at a young age, so my father does not have any memories to share of the moments they spent together. All he remembers was that she looked after him when his parents were at work.

Wherever they went, my father and aunt were easily recognized. Their father, Mujo, ran a restaurant and bar called Bagy while their mother, Gordana, worked in the sales industry for construction materials. My father and aunt lived fairly normal lives; they went to school and had a typical childhood experience. Most of their memories were created with their grandparents in their weekend house in Jelića Potok. Like many other parents, Mujo and Gordana worked and were preoccupied with their day-to-day lives.

They also created many memories with their cousins as their houses were situated on land next to each other: three houses on three land plots back-to-back in a neighborhood called Prometna. Mujo’s sister, Suada, is the only daughter between the three brothers and lived in Doboj. She was also married and had two children. Uncle Emko and Uncle H. (who will remain anonymous due to privacy reasons) are Mujo’s two brothers. Emko married Biljana, and they had three children: Alen, Sanel, and Sanja. Uncle H. married Aunt Jelica, who also had three children. All three brothers fell into mixed marriages, which was very common throughout Bosnia.

Mixed marriage refers to two different religions combined into one family. For example, my father is Muslim and my mother is Eastern Orthodox, and the same applies to my father’s parents; his mother is Orthodox while his father is Muslim. This became a dividing factor during the war.

Family Tree

family_tree_copy.tif

Bosnia and Herzegovina is a country with a rich history. Over several centuries, numerous empires conquered the land and left traces of their culture. There are cities built on the Roman camps, the smell of Turkish coffee ingrained in the walls of Austrian-Hungarian architecture. Empires come and go, but the religions remain. There are about 1.8 billion Muslims worldwide, of which nearly ten percent are European.¹ The conquest of the Ottoman Empire of Bosnia (1384-1463) produced ethnic and religious diversity, leading to the spread of Islam and Turkish influence into the Balkans. Before the Bosnian war, forty-four percent of the population considered themselves Muslim, according to the 1991 census.²

The Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina was located in the center of the former Republic of Yugoslavia. Even today, it is a small country with a very diverse ethnic makeup. The Bosnian population is divided into three ethnic groups that are distinct in terms of religious affiliation: Eastern Orthodox (Serbs), Roman Catholics (Croats), and Sunni Muslims (Bosnian Muslims, also known as Bosniaks). The country itself is divided into three governmental structures: Federation, Republika Srpska and District of Brčko. The Federation and Republic Srpska serves as a symbol of the division that war has left.

Before the outbreak of war, Yugoslavia had relationships with many different countries. The passport gave access to both western and communist countries and because of this, most countries did not require a visa for Yugoslavian citizens. However, the dissolution of Yugoslavia led to the split into multiple countries, with Bosnia and Herzegovina being one of them. In the 1980s after President Tito’s death, Yugoslavia passed through an economic and political transition that threatened the structure of the nation. This dismantling of Yugoslavia and the creation of separate countries into former federal units was triggered by the rise of power of Slobodan Milošević, the President of Serbia; Franjo Tudjman as the President of Croatia; and Alija Izetbegović as the President of Bosnia. They wanted each of their republics to become independent states. By April 7, 1992, the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina was officially recognized as an independent country by the United States and many other members of the United Nations. Two months later, in June of 1992, a state of war was declared in Bosnia.

Many people died, many disappeared, many became displaced, and many moved to different countries. The war left a stamp on the people, but shared traditions and a shared past is what unites them.

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¹ Lipka, Michael. "Muslims and Islam: Key Findings in the U.S. and

around the World." Pew Research Center, 9 Aug. 2017,

www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/08/09/muslims-and-

islam-key-findings-in-the-u-s-and-around-the-world/.

² Klemenčič, Matjaž; Žagar, Mitja (2004). The former Yugoslavia’s Di-

verse Peoples: A Reference Sourcebook. Santa Barbara, Ca-

lifornia: ABC-CLIO. p. 311. ISBN 978-1-57607-294-3.

MapImageIntro.jpg

Maps of  Yugoslavia, Bosnia and Herzegovina¹

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¹ Pickering, Paula, et al. Bosnia and Herzegovina. Encyclopædia

Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 9

Dec. 2019, www.britannica.com/place/Bosnia-and-

Herzegovina.

¹

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¹ Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc.,

www.britannica.com/students/article/Yugoslavia/476586.

Chapter 1

 Denis Was an Apple, and I Was a Pear

Teslic.tif

City of Teslić

Whenever I talk to my father and aunt, they always describe their childhood with a heavy degree of nostalgia, a golden ray of sunshine full of joy, warmth, and happiness. These rays of sunshine looked over their hometown, Teslić, which is located on the banks of the river Usora, and surrounded by rolling green hills. The river was the center of many memories where they would meet with their cousins and dip into the refreshing water. Many happy moments were formed as my father remembers, especially ones with their grandparents.

"I remember Husein from when he retired. He was a good gardener and he always tended the gardens at our house.

He had greenhouses where he would plant in the winter time and sell it to local restaurants and hotels. In the springtime, he would go to the city market. I would go with him and sell vegetables. It was extra income for him, and he would go to meet people. He was religious. I remember as a kid he would pray a lot. We didn’t know what it meant or what it was. Alen and I would watch through the window. We would make noises and try to confuse him. We were so naive and did not know anything about religion. But he would finish his prayer and then chase after us. I remember he would sing me a song called ‘Karanfil Se Na Put Sprema i Pjeva¹.’ It’s an old sevdah² song. It’s like soul music. Before Bagy, my dad had a restaurant called Abba, which was named after Husein’s nickname and located in Rajševa. I used to be there to hang out with my grandpa when I was younger, before I went to school. I remember when there was the opening, there were so many people up there."

It was my aunt who broached the dark side of our family history, retracing her experiences and reliving the horrors of the war. It was alive: I could feel the energy in the air around me, and I could tell it was overtaking my aunt’s emotions. The air was beginning to feel dense with the uneasiness pressurizing us. All she could do was cry while telling her story. She kept apologizing for her tears and tried to throw in occasional jokes to lighten the mood, which surprised me more than actually finding joy in them. I had never seen this side of my aunt before, and I did not know what to do. I wish I was able to comfort her at the time, but I could not, I did not know how. It was strange

seeing someone who is always bubbly and joyful break down. What was I supposed to do or say? I sat next to her and started crying, too. It made me realize that I live in a completely different world than she had. My generation lives in a bubble and in a world of fantasy. With all of the access to new technologies and social media, we end up creating a barricade, making it easier to judge rather than act out of compassion. Because of this, many stigmas arise, and we start creating an us versus them mentality, a difficult barrier to break.

Learning about my family’s history was like opening Pandora’s box. All of the evils and miseries were exposed as my aunt explained her childhood to me. Her stories were as rough as a punch in the face. As my aunt discussed her memories, I sensed her reality shattering around her. She had carried this burden alone for years, and I was the first person she trusted to share the weight with her. During our talks, it was the first time she was able to release her emotions out into the world. She was just a child back then, a child, like any other, who needed affection and love.

Curious about this shift in their lives, I prepared a set of interview questions to truly understand where my aunt was coming from. She looked at me after I posed the first question, what was life like before the war, and she started talking endlessly, as if she had been waiting for someone to ask her that. She just needed someone to attempt to unlock the door she hid her memories behind.

"My childhood, it was wonderful. I mean, because of my grandparents. But as far as my parents, I can’t say we were short on anything, you know food and housing. But we were short on their attention. I have no memories that my mom would sit down with me to do my homework. I would go alone to kindergarten in the morning. Most of the time, I came home and the house was empty, but, all in all, we were happy because of our grandparents. They would always take us everywhere.

My grandma would take me to school, and she would prepare our food. After school, we would go to her apartment. When grandpa was done with his work, we would go to the [weekend] house. So, grandpa had a [weekend] house he built there in 1987. It’s by Banja Vrućica, Jelić Potok. I would spend afternoons there, and I would spend time with my friend, Slaviša. Grandpa used to cook food for us in the outdoor space, and grandma would spend time feeding the animals. He planted a tree— two trees— one for Denis and one for me. Denis was an apple, and I was a pear. Denis used to paint the fence all the time and do all the chores, like working in our grandfather’s woodshop, and I would eat all the strawberries and do as much damage as I can. I would take the bike, and my friend would come with me down to the spring water. We would go there, ride the bike around, get some water, and ride back. My grandpa would have the dinner ready by then. We would go there every single day. Also, grandpa and grandma would take us to visit Nana Zorka in Valjevo, Serbia. That’s where my grandma Bosa is from. Nana Zorka, when she was older, came to live with us in Teslić. Zorka and I used to share a bed. When I was a little kid, I used to rip my pants and fight with other kids. I would come back home, and I would tell Nana, ‘Here’s a chocolate, can you sew my pants?’ I would take care of her, cut her nails, help her get dressed. I was eight years old. Every Saturday morning, I would go and have ćevapi³ with my grandpa at seven in the morning in restaurant Una. All of his friends would be there for coffee and drinks, and I was the only kid there eating ćevapi. Also, grandpa took us to the Adriatic Coast. The place we all used to go together is Malinska⁴ because grandpa’s company had apartments there. We used to go there all the time, Denis, me, Baba, and Djede.⁵ Most of the time we spent was with them, and those were very happy times."

It was authentic joy, pure but short-lived. She grasped onto these moments before sinking back into reality again. Meanwhile, I did not even know what I was getting myself into when I started the process of getting to know my family’s past. Suddenly, I was bombarded with the emotional turmoil: I did not have much time to absorb what I was hearing. I did not know anything prior to this. Within hours, I learned new aspects of my