My times in Bosnia have drastically altered the way I see my actions. I first noticed it concretely in 2005. Our Bosnian trip coordinator, Vjeko was being silly, joking around with one of the American team members. (Vjeko, who was known to dance to Madonna in the bus isles in a piranha-printed speedo and who once woke me by tiptoeing into my room and loudly singing "Girls Just Want to Have Fun," could be blessedly silly.) When someone asked him what he was doing, he responded, “hey! I’m
building relationships! Isn't that what our trip is all about?"
Even though it was said in a joking context, I realized it was really true. Life is crucially and fundamentally about the relationships we build: with our family and good friends, with our casual friends and acquaintances, with ourselves, and with God. Every action, every conversation, every thing I do is about building a relationship with someone, and, as such, is important.
left: Vjeko, striking a signature dance move
Fahra immediately started chastising him, and even though I couldn’t actually understand the words they used, I knew exactly what they were saying to each other. The conversation was obviously along the lines of:
-- “Get off the couch and get dressed! Company’s here! What do you think you’re doing?”
-- “Ah, it’s too hot! Can’t you see I’m watching the game?”
They were like so many old married couples I knew in the States.
When I left for the airport at the end of my trip, Fahra wouldn’t let me leave without taking food with me for the journey. I realized Fahra, a Bosnian Muslim living in Sarajevo, shared essentially the same hospitality as my best friend’s Italian Catholic grandma living in North Jersey.
me with Fahra and her granddaughter
The most important part about my relationship-building in Bosnia is the invaluable one-on-one bonds I’ve made with some of the children in our friendship camps. I will never forget our very first camp my first year. We are in a small town called Čengić Vila outside of Sarajveo. I am giving kids nametags, and helping them tie colored bandanas in their hair or on their wrists. I see a girl with straight brown hair and a pink United Colors of Benetton t-shirt. Her name tag says “Anida.”
At beginning of camp, Anida—who speaks English, like many of the older kids--immediately comes running over to me, asking about someone who had been there the year before. What an effect this person had on her! I tell Anida the girl isn't with us this year, but Anida sees my nametag and her eyes light up. "Hey!" she cries, "our names are the same, except for one letter!" And Anida is my special buddy all day -- I am a "traveler" that session, so I get to go around with the kids from activity to activity, and Anida never leaves my side.
At the end of the day, after our musicians play their closing songs, Anida takes my hands, looks right into my eyes, and says "I will never forget you." I say the same thing back to her, and I know it was true: there is no way, for as long as I live, that I will ever forget Anida
I made these same kind connections over and over. My first year I met a girl at the second camp we went to in a town called Visoko. Her name was Ilma, and she gave me the bracelet off her own arm as a gift at the end of the day. I took down her address and wrote a letter to her during the year. The next year, I didn't go to that camp. Our group was split into North and South teams; Visoko was a South team camp, and I was on the North team. I sent a letter to Ilma with a South team member, and Ilma had a letter waiting for me. The same thing happened the next year – one of the team members who went to Visoko told me that when she walked into camp, Ilma came running over asking if I was there.
The highest and lowest points of my life have been spent in Bosnia, sometimes on the very same day. I want to talk about the high points. In 2005, we were holding camp in a town in Northern Bosnia called Brčko. I had made a really special bond the year before with a girl named Đurđica, perhaps in part because I was the only American who correctly pronounced her name on the first try. I couldn't wait to see her – but as camp was getting ready to start, I didn't see her there, and I was starting to feel really disappointed.
Me with Đurđica
Our opening was just about to start, when I heard someone shout my name from across the room. I looked up, and Đurđica came running across the room and threw her arms around me. She called an interpreter over, and told me through the interpreter that she had been dropping her younger sister off at camp and wasn't planning on staying herself, but she saw me and just had to come over and see me. She stayed the whole day and we had a great time!
I have seen God in Bosnia, with all five of my senses. I have found God in the sunlight: when I was feeling lost or faced with something particularly dark, I literally saw the sun breaking through the clouds. I have seen God in the faces of the kids, the Americans, our interpreters, and people on the street. I have heard God in the imam’s call to prayer, in the ringing of church bells, in the songs we sing with the kids, and even in the bad American pop music that plays in restaurants. I have felt God in the hugs I share, the hands I hold as I dance, the rocks and stones and water I touch. I have smelled God in the flowers, the breeze, and the rain. I have tasted God in the food and brandy that has been so generously shared with me, in the fabulous gelato I buy on the Sarajevo streets.
And everywhere I look, I have seen faith that can move mountains.
above: the cross at Rama monastary
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