Zlata's Diary
Page 8
Sunday, September 20, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
YIPPEE! I crossed the bridge today. Finally I got to go out too! I can hardly believe it. The bridge hasn’t changed. But it’s sad, sad because of the post office, which looks even sadder. It’s in the same place, but it’s not the same old post office. The fire has left its mark. It stands there like a witness to brutal destruction.
The streets aren’t the same, not many people are out, they’re worried, sad, everybody rushing around with bowed heads. All the shop windows have been broken and looted. My school was hit by a shell and its top floor destroyed. The theater was also hit by some disgusting shells, and it’s wounded. An awful lot of wonderful old Sarajevo buildings have been wounded.
I went to see Grandma and Granddad. Oh, how we hugged and kissed! They cried with joy. They’ve lost weight and aged since I last saw them four months ago. They told me I had grown, that I was now a big girl. That’s nature at work. Children grow, the elderly age. That’s how it is with those of us who are still alive.
And there are lots and lots of people and children in Sarajevo who are no longer among the living. The war has claimed them. And all of them were innocent. Innocent victims of this disgusting war.
We ran into Marijana’s mother. They didn’t leave. They’re alive and well. She told me that Ivana had gone to Zagreb—with a Jewish convoy.
We also went to see our friend Doda. She, too, was surprised when she saw me. She cried. She says I’ve grown. Slobo (her husband) was wounded, but he’s all right now. There’s no news of Dejan (her son). It makes her sad.
Dear Mimmy, I have something to confess to you. I dressed up. I put on that nice plaid outfit. My shoes were a bit tight, because my feet have grown, but I survived.
So, that was my encounter with the bridge, the post office, Grandma, Granddad, and with a wounded Sarajevo. If only the war would stop, the wounds would heal!
Ciao!
Zlata
Monday, September 21, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Yesterday’s outing into the streets of Sarajevo made me happy, but sad too. I keep seeing the school, the post office, the nearly empty streets, the worried passers-by, the looted shops.
I boasted to Bojana, Maja and Neda how now I had also seen our school, because until yesterday they had been allowed out but I hadn’t. My parents were afraid for me. Still, Maja and Bojana are older than I am.
But now I can say like the others that I’m brave. I walked bravely through the streets of Sarajevo.
They said on the radio yesterday that the last long-distance power line that supplied the city with electricity had been destroyed. That means no electricity tonight. Darkness again.
Your Zlata
Monday, September 28, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
OOOOHHHH! No electricity, no water! The water didn’t come on this morning. The “fine gentlemen” turned “Bačcevo” off. OOOHHH!
It was Lela’s birthday seven days ago (she’s a friend of Maja’s). I had my hair cut that day. You know who my hairdresser was? My neighbor Alma, because not a single hairdresser’s is open yet. And hair grows!
Two days ago it was Avdo’s birthday (Lela’s father), but there was shooting that day so we couldn’t go. I’m sorry about that because birthdays are the only days when the neighbors relax, spend some time together and cheer up a bit. It’s nicer than having us all in the cellar. That’s why I look forward to birthdays so much.
Neda came today. It looks like she’s really going to Zagreb. There’s a Jewish convoy leaving at the beginning of October and she’s trying to get on it. God, even Neda is leaving us. Mommy is very sad. Zlata
Wednesday, September 30, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
There’s no electricity, and probably won’t be any for a long time. The batteries ran out so Daddy brought in the battery from the car and hooked it up to the radio. Now we can listen to the news. Not music, because we have to save on the battery.
They just said on the radio that lots of Croats and Muslims have been expelled from Grbavica. We’re expecting Mommy’s relatives, Nedo’s parents and Lalo (our friend).
Your Zlata
Thursday, October 1, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Spring has been and gone, summer has been and gone, and now it’s autumn. October has started. And the war is still on. The days are getting shorter and colder. Soon we’ll move the stove upstairs to the apartment. But how will we keep warm? God, is anyone thinking of us here in Sarajevo? Are we going to start winter without electricity, water or gas, and with a war going on?
The “kids” are negotiating. Will they finally negotiate something? Are they thinking about us when they negotiate, or are they just trying to outwit each other, and leave us to our fate?
Daddy has been checking the attic and cellar for wood. It looks to me as though part of the furniture is going to wind up in the stove if this keeps up until winter. It seems that nobody is thinking of us, that this madness is going to go on and on. We have no choice, we have to rely on ourselves, to take care of ourselves and find a way to fight off the oncoming winter.
Mommy came home from work in a state of shock today. Two of her colleagues came from Grbavica. It really is true that people are being expelled from there. There’s no sign of Mommy’s and Nedo’s relatives or of Lalo. Nedo is going berserk. Your Zlata
Sunday, October 4, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
YESSS! It’s not water!
YESSS! It’s not electricity!
YESSS! YESSS! YESSS!
Mirna came to see me!
My bestest friend.
MIRNA
Her hair has grown long. She’s become a real fashion designer. She has a Dalmatian dog in the neighborhood named Gule. She hasn’t lost weight. She’s even put some on. After we kissed, we didn’t know where to start. We hadn’t seen each other for such a long time. Since it was war that had separated us, that’s mostly what we talked about. But the important thing is that we were together. I promised to come and see her this week (if there’s no shooting, of course).
Love you, Dear Mimmy,
Zlata
Monday, October 5, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Grandma and Granddad had gas heating. Grandma cooked at Neda’s, because she has a gas stove. Well! No electricity, no water, and, wouldn’t you know it, no gas!
Your Zlata
Wednesday, October 7, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Neda has left after all. We’re all sad about it. Mommy more than anybody. We’ll miss her, but we have to accept that this war is separating us from our friends. How many more people will leave? I’m sorry, Mimmy, I feel sad, I can’t write anymore. Love,
Zlata
Sunday, October 11, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Today is a day to be remembered in my family. Today we brought the wood-burning stove into the kitchen. It’s nice and warm. Mommy and Daddy and I all had a bath. It was rain water, but it doesn’t matter. We’re clean, and we didn’t freeze, like the past few days.
There’s still no electricity or water.
Your Zlata
Wednesday, October 14, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
I’m writing to you again by the light of one of my favorite candles. I lit it with a heavy heart. But we have to get light from somewhere. I went to Mirna’s today. She showed me her fashion designs and her dog Gule. He’s cute, but he hasn’t got any spots on his head.
It was a wonderful two hours. Good news:
THE GAS IS BACK ON!
YESSS!
Zlata
Friday, October 16, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
I sometimes go into the “dangerous room” now, where the piano is, and the notes keep me company. They take me back to the days before the war. Pictures flash through my mind of Jahorina, the sea, Crnotina, my friends. It makes me sad, it even makes me cry. God, they’ve taken everything away from me.
Mirna came t
oday. YESSS!
There’s still no water or electricity. But, luckily, the gas came back on so it’s warm at Grandma and Granddad’s.
Your Zlata
Wednesday, October 21, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Today is Daddy’s birthday. I gave him a kiss and a “Happy Birthday, Daddy.” We made little sweets “à la Mirna.”
And now let me explain something to you Mimmy: as you know, I confide in you every day (almost). Well, you know the summer school in our community center? We had a wonderful time together there, did some acting, some reciting, and best of all, some writing too. It was all so nice, until that horrible shell killed our friend Eldin.
Maja is still working with our teacher Irena Vidovic. And the other day, Maja asks me: “Do you keep a diary, Fipa (my nickname)?”
I say: “Yes.”
And Maja says: “Is it full of your own secrets or is it about the war?”
And I say: “Now, it’s about the war.”
And she says: “Fipa, you’re terrific.”
She said that because they want to publish a child’s diary and it just might be mine, which means—YOU, MIMMY And so I copied part of you into another notebook and you, Mimmy, went to the City Assembly to be looked at. And I’ve just heard, Mimmy, that you’re going to be published! You’re coming out for the UNICEF week! SUPER!
And now super good news: the electricity is back on. But it’s 5:45 now and it’s gone off already. Samra says it will come back on. Let’s hope so. Ciao!
Zlata
Saturday, October 24, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
You know Lalo and Alma. They live in Grbavica, in the occupied part of Sarajevo. Lalo worked with a group of other prisoners. One day they were sent to collect the bodies of dead Chetniks and were arrested by one of “our” units. A few days later they let them go. That’s how Lalo got to Sarajevo, to his mother’s, but he left his family behind in Grbavica. He looked for a way to get Alma and the children out of Grbavica through some kind of exchange. And, and, and ... HE DID IT! SUPER!
Your Zlata
Monday, October 26, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Today we went to see Alma, Anja and Maja (Lalo’s family). They’re close by now, they live in one of the Zvijezda tower blocks. They’re still upset, although everything turned out all right. The important thing is that they’re all together now. They’re sad because they had to leave everything behind in Grbavica. Anja is little and she keeps asking when they’re going home. How can they tell her when she doesn’t understand anything? She wants her dolls, her bed. It’s really awful!
Zlata
Tuesday, October 27, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
There’s talk at the Bobars’ that Maja and Bojana might be going to Austria. Is that possible? Will they go and leave me too? I don’t dare think about it. They’re not crazy about the idea either. We’ll see what happens. There’s talk of another Jewish convoy leaving Sarajevo.
Your Zlata
Thursday, October 29, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Mommy and Auntie Ivanka (from her office) have received grants to specialize in Holland. They have letters of guarantee, and there’s even one for me. But Mommy can’t decide. If she accepts, she leaves behind Daddy, her parents, her brother. I think it’s a hard decision to make. One minute I think—no, I’m against it. But then I remember the war, winter, hunger, my stolen childhood and I feel like going. Then I think of Daddy, Grandma and Granddad, and I don’t want to go. It’s hard to know what to do. I’m really on edge, Mimmy, I can’t write anymore.
Your Zlata
Monday, November 2, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Mommy thought it over, talked to Daddy, Grandma and Granddad, and to me, and she’s decided to go. The reason for her decision is—ME. What’s happening in Sarajevo is already too much for me, and the coming winter will make it even harder. All right. But ... well, I suppose it’s better for me to go. I really can’t stand it here anymore. I talked to Auntie Ivanka today and she told me that this war is hardest on the children, and that the children should be got out of the city. Daddy will manage, maybe he’ll even get to come with us.
Ciao!
Zlata
Friday, November 6, 1991
Dear Mimmy,
Mommy and Auntie Ivanka are trying to get all their papers, because to get out of Sarajevo you need a heap of papers and signatures. It’s now certain that Maja and Bojana will be going to Austria. They signed up for the Jewish convoy. Maybe we’ll leave on that convoy too.
Zlata
Friday, November 13, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
We were at the Bobars’. Maja and Bojana are packing their suitcases. They leave tomorrow. It was sad. We were all upset and cried.
You should see, Mimmy, what it’s like to pack for such a long trip by candlelight. You think you can see enough to pack, but you can’t really. I suppose they managed to pack what they need. We’re going to see them off tomorrow. The convoy leaves at nine in the morning.
Mommy didn’t manage to get all the necessary papers, so we’re staying. We’ll take some other convoy.
Zlata
Sunday, November 15, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
An awful lot of people have left Sarajevo. All of them well known. Mommy said: “Sarajevo is leaving.” Mommy and Daddy know a lot of them. They talked to them and when they said goodbye, everyone kept saying: “We’ll see one another again somewhere, sometime.” It was sad. Sad and upsetting. November 14, 1992, is a day Sarajevo will remember. It reminded me of the movies I saw about the Jews in the Second World War.
When we got home, the electricity was back on. Daddy went straight to the cellar to cut some wood with the electric saw. Suddenly he came running back from the cellar, his hands covered in blood. The bleeding was terrible. Mommy immediately took him to the clinic, but they were sent on to the hospital where they sewed up his hand, gave him an anti-tetanus shot and told him to come back for a check-up every three days. He was lucky. He could have lost a finger. He says his mind wasn’t on his work, he was thinking about the Jewish municipal center, the departure point for leaving Sarajevo. Well-known people are leaving. Sarajevo will be the poorer for losing so many wonderful people, who made it what it was. It’s the war that’s making them go, this idiocy that we’ve been living through for a full seven-and-half months.
A TERRIBLY HARD DAY!
Love,
Zlata
Tuesday, November 17, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
As you can see, I’m left without Maja and Bojana. I miss them very, very much. Luckily, Nedo is still here. He consoles me and tries to make up for the two of them. And there’s Cici. Only, she’s sad too, as though she knows that Maja and Bojana have gone. She, in her way, makes these ugly days less ugly.
Zlata
Thursday, November 19, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Nothing new on the political front. They are adopting some resolutions, the “kids” are negotiat ing, and we are dying, freezing, starving, crying, parting with our friends, leaving our loved ones.
I keep wanting to explain these stupid politics to myself, because it seems to me that politics caused this war, making it our everyday reality. War has crossed out the day and replaced it with horror, and now horrors are unfolding instead of days. It looks to me as though these politics mean Serbs, Croats and Muslims. But they are all people. They are all the same. They all look like people, there’s no difference. They all have arms, legs and heads, they walk and talk, but now there’s “something” that wants to make them different.
Among my girlfriends, among our friends, in our family, there are Serbs and Croats and Muslims. It’s a mixed group and I never knew who was a Serb, a Croat or a Muslim. Now politics has started meddling around. It has put an “S” on Serbs, an “M” on Muslims and a “C” on Croats, it wants to separate them. And to do so it has chosen the worst, blackest pencil of al
l—the pencil of war which spells only misery and death.
Why is politics making us unhappy, separating us, when we ourselves know who is good and who isn’t? We mix with the good, not with the bad. And among the good there are Serbs and Croats and Muslims, just as there are among the bad. I simply don’t understand it. Of course, I’m “young,” and politics are conducted by “grown-ups.” But I think we “young” would do it better. We certainly wouldn’t have chosen war.
The “kids” really are playing, which is why us kids are not playing, we are living in fear, we are suffering, we are not enjoying the sun and flowers, we are not enjoying our childhood. WE ARE CRYING.
A bit of philosophizing on my part, but I was alone and felt I could write this to you, Mimmy. You understand me. Fortunately, I’ve got you to talk to. And now,
Love,
Zlata
Friday, November 20, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Doda has left too, with a Slovenian convoy. We didn’t manage to get on it. I was at Mirna’s today. Her mother is trying to get them on a convoy too. She’ll be going with her mother to Slovenia or Krk [an island off the Croatian coast]. Mommy ran into Marijana’s mother—they’re going to Zaostrog [a town on the Croatian coast]. Basically, we’re all waiting for convoys.
Mirna is coming over on Monday (if there’s no shooting, of course). We arranged that Mondays she would come to me and Fridays I would go to her. The condition? That there is no shooting.
STOP SHOOTING!!!
Your Zlata
Wednesday, November 25, 1992
Dear Mimmy,