Habe's Hut

By Bajruzin Hajro Planjac

"Planjac is very interesting writer for children and young people. His books could be read more than once.

Academic Luko Paljetak (CROATIA)

Bajruzin Hajro Planjac saved originality of children storytelling, that is available and sincere.

MA Blaga Žurić, književnica (MONTENEGRO)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9789361724060

Book preview

Habe‘s Hut

Bajruzin Hajro Planjac

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2023

Content Copyright © Bajruzin Hajro Planjac

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

www.ukiyoto.com

Contents

Prologue

Name

Funeral

Ramadan

Garden

Hut

Mushrooms

Kurban

Boots

The Mailbox

Uncle

Watermelons

Kmezo

Hunt

The Shoes

The Writer

SmallTown

Gold Coin

Cookies

Medina

Party

Fićo

Wages

Appropriation

Job

Svjetlana

The Fire

About the Author

Prologue

S

ometimes I can not remember what happened two, three or five years ago, but I can remember even the smallest detail from the garden of my childhood: first toys, fetches, first friends and first love. And even today, in every corner of my soul, there are engraved marks of my childhood. Later on they took my fields, my river on which garbage is now floating, glades on which some other children are playing, meadows, Habe’s hut...

Naughty butterfly and tireless firefly were my companion, I was inseparable with golden lambs, I spent hours with balky calf and playful dog Kibo. In Pousorje, I was welcomed by swallow, willow, cricket, fields, sun and grass. In the swamps around Habe’s hut I know every grass. My walk across the silver moonlight of Pousorje was recognized by crickets, ants, deer and dogs. Happy are those who know how to enjoy in their childhood. Even more happy are those who extended their childhood a little more and wrote it down, transform it into book, and share that happiness with their readers and together with them run through the common fields of carefree and happy childhood. Also, to invoke past memory, search every chest of memories and on moment to enjoy in them. To peek into every classroom, schoolbag, written homework, math class, to peek into memory of first love, first love letters and notes.

And then the life duties and obligations took me, full of worries and fears that I had to confront with. Sometimes there were fewer duties, sometimes more, but always just enough to take my time for rest, let alone the time for a play with my children, in their childhood. I hope I will have more time for play with my grandchildren.

Often I remember my childhood and I feel sad for it. I am sad that it did not last longer. And even now I look at the pages of my childhood, long ago written, but still fresh. Simply that the man does not believe it. Many years have passed, almost half a century. I traveled through dozens of countries, hundreds of cities and thousand miles carrying with me the passages of my childhood.

Even today, in the pause of race with the life, I’m splashed with the wave of almost forgotten childhood happiness. But, just on the moment. And that moment is enough for me to inspire me with the power, might, will and imagination I once had when I was young. I am certain that I am on the trail to once again feel that moment. And that is why I’m afraid not to lose that trail.

Name

W

hen I was born, they gave me a name. And then they gave me another one, so that I was only boy with two names. Actually, other boys had a name, someone even a nickname, and I had two names, one for the books, and another for the everyday usage.

I was bom on Sunday just before Bajram, two days before the beginning of spring, that year when man finally set foot in space. My birth took place in old house in Bobare, close to ancient Tešanj, in the fertile valley of Pousorje.

Father Salko and mother Alema, daughter of Ibrahim, and two sisters, were very happy to see me.

My bed was full of money that people gave as a gift to me and my parents, full like a trees of mature pears in my uncle garden.

Obviously in good mode, some were even laughing and smiling. They surely must have been the friends of our family.

In order for me to be nice, educated and smart, my mother gave me a name Bajruzin.

Bajruzin was a teacher in my village. Tall and beautiful, two eyes can not see enough of him, that how girls in my village described him. The teacher returned from the army and he was given a service in Bobare. People were saying that he is from eastern Bosnia and that he was a best teacher in his generation. Every day he had to pass twice to the end of the village to get to the school. Village girls liked him and wanted to meet him, but every time they saw him they would go red.

As a first male child from the marriage that was not a stable one, I was dear and interesting to all in the house. I mentioned the unstable marriage of my parents, because later on, when I grow up, I often witnessed the fights and disagreements in which my mother was always side that suffered more. My father worked in Željezara, a company in city of Zenica, and his job was very difficult and exhausting. He was home only during Sunday and during holidays, and often he was drunk when he came home. Straight from the door, he saw my mother that tried to sleep me, and while he was almost drunk, he asked her:

- Is that our new child?

Mother nodded her head as a sign of confirmation, and continuing to pray, tried to hide a joyful smile.

- And, what is it? - clearly excited, father asked again, expecting answer sooner than later.

Mother tried to hide smile by praying: subhanalla, subha- nallah, subhanallah.... thirty three times. After mother finished praying, father asked again:

- What is it? What did you bom? Is it a boy?

- Yes, it is a boy- mother said proudly, this time not trying to hide the smile and joy. And then she sat on the couch.

- Great! - father said, taking his cigar and lighter, and then firing his cigar happily and proudly. Obviously he felt very proud and happy that he had a son now.

- Thank God that now I have a son. A great son! Now they will not ask me for whom do I work so hard. I work hard for my son! For my boy!

- What name did you give him? - father asked my mother, while drinking strong alcohol beverage.

- Bajruzin- mother told him after a longer pause, while putting her black hair back beneath the scarf.

- What? - father asked again pretending like he did not hear that.

- Bajruzin? - mother told him again, but this time her voice was nervous, voice which was so weak and insecure like the sheet carried out by wind.

- Bajruzin?! - father