Juxtaposition

Juxtaposition. An eerie juxtaposition. That’s the word that repeatedly has popped into my head the last three days here in Sarajevo. Although I am enjoying the beauty of the natural landscape with it’s little houses dotted all over the massive, green hills, I can’t help but think of the soldiers who were on this hill. I enjoy the local architecture and yet I see buildings where only the shell and some walls remain, scattered with bullet holes. I can’t even enjoy a lunch or coffee outside without looking at other people in the cafe and wondering, “Were they here during the siege? What did they see? What and who did they lose?”

It’s this constant struggle between enjoying all the beauty that Sarajevo has to offer and yet feeling this heaviness connected to the city. It’s almost as if I feel guilty for enjoying the city when I know so many thousands cannot because they have either been killed, expelled, or simply have too many horrible memories to every fully enjoy their home ever again. Every time I feel some sort of happiness over ice cream or I share a laugh with a friend, it’s as if I feel it’s inappropriate to do so knowing what took place here.

These feelings have only intensified with the people we have met. After hearing the Army Commander speak about fighting in the trenches and all of the strategic points of Zuc Hill and other hills, I never looked up at the mountains the same way again. It was no longer this beautiful landscape dotted with red rooftops where I imagined happy families lived, it was a warzone. After hearing our tour guide tell the story of a sniper almost hitting him, the streets of Sarajevo were no longer this place of wonder with new experiences around every corner. It was a warzone. After hearing the survivor of Srebrenica, Bosnia as a whole was no longer just this beautiful country in my eyes. It was a war zone.

As I now sit back and take in everything I have heard and seen in the last three days, I find it hard to put my feelings into any kind of meaningful words at the moment. In high school I never learned about this genocide or the war, so I am left completely dumbfounded at the atrocity of it all. It almost feels as if I should say nothing because my words cannot do it justice, even though that’s the whole point of this blog.

So I will leave with the only real concrete thought I have other than pure horror. Bosnia is a juxtaposition. It’s a quilt woven from patches of pain, destruction, and beauty. These patches can never be separated, nor should they ever be. They will remain together, fighting with each other in the minds of its residents and visitors. Is Bosnia this beautiful countryside that people should flock to visit and enjoy? Or is it this somber place to be remembered and mourned? Can it truly be both? As of right now, I really don’t know.