After that BANG I went BOO-HOO! SNIFFLE! SNIFFLE!. And everyone kept saying to me: “Don’t cry, Fipa, he’s going to a better place, imagine what it’s like for him...,” where, oh, where is my hanky? I know, I know, but I’m still sorry. BOO-HOO! SNIFFLE!
I calmed down and began thinking. Thinking brought back memories: “Hey, you remember when...,” “He really was a wonderful guy...,” “Nedo is... ,” and so on and so forth.
I find it hard, I’m really sad, but I think it must be hardest for Auntie Boda. First Maja and Bojana, and now her adopted son, Nedo. I don’t know, everything is so stupid, let’s go kill ourselves! Let’s, Mimmy.
Love,
Zlata
Saturday, July 10, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
Well, now I’m left without Nedo as well. Slowly everybody is leaving while I stay behind. God, Mimmy, will I ever get out of this hell-hole? I’ve had more than enough. Nedo’s departure reminded me that all my friends have left.
I’m sitting in my room. Cici is with me. She’s enjoying herself on the armchair—sleeping. As for me, I’m reading through my letters. Letters are all I’ve got left of my friends. I read them and they take me back to my friends.
I have to tell you that I miss you, but I hope we’ll see each other soon. I’m slowly getting used to this new life. Take care of yourself, Zlata, and be good to your parents.
Much love from your Matea
Dear Fipa, I think of you often and wonder what you’re doing, how you’re living. I miss you a lot, I miss the whole of Sarajevo—the most beautiful city in the world, with the biggest and warmest embrace in the world, the heart of the world. It’s now in flames, but it will never burn down. I know it’s hard for you. All I can say is that I love and miss you.
Many, many kisses from your Martina and all the other refugees who want to come home!
I heard two of Dr. Alban’s songs: “It’s My Life” and “Say Hallelujah.” I don’t know if they’ve managed to come your way. Maja thought today of taping a cassette for you with hit songs by Mick Jagger, Michael Jackson, Bon Jovi. Nothing new in the fashion world. Oh, Fipa, how I wish I could talk to you.
Much love from your Bojana
I’m sending these “Pretty Ladies” to my Fipa so she can see what people will be wearing this summer and what they’ll be dishing out all their money for. Naturally, each of these “pretty ladies” carries a million kisses for my Fipa and will tell her how much Maja loves and thinks of her.
My Dear Zlata, You are and always will be my best friend. No one will ever be able to destroy our friendship, not even this war. Although you’re in Sarajevo and I’m in Italy, although we haven’t seen each other for more than a year now, you are still my best friend.
Much love from your Oga
My Darling Little Girl, I’m sending you this flower from our garden and this butterfly from the woods. You can make a picture with them. If I could, I’d send you a basket full of flowers, the forest, trees and lots of birds, but these people here won’t let me. So I’m sending you my love with the gentle butterfly and the red flower.
Don’t worry about the future. Remember that good and happy times come to all good people, and you and your parents are good people and you will be well, cheerful and happy. I think of you often.
Much love from your Keka
And so, Mimmy, in their letters they send me their love, their thoughts, pictures of a normal life, songs, fashion, best wishes for happiness and an end to this madness. I read them and sometimes I cry, because I want them, I want life, not just letters.
Now all I’ll have left of Nedo, too, are letters. Still, letters mean a lot to me, I look forward to them.
Ciao!
Zlata
Tuesday, July 13, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
I’m sick again. I have a temperature, a tummy ache and a sore throat. The thermometer and medicine are by my side. God, why do I have to be sick on top of everything else? I miss Nedo and am waiting for your book promotion.
Your Zlata
Thursday, July 15, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
Today I heard that the promotion is on Saturday. Yes, Saturday. And here I am sick. What will it be like, Mimmy?
Saturday, July 17, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
PROMOTION DAY,
Since I didn’t take you with me (just a part of you was there) I have to tell you what it was like.
It was wonderful. The presenter was a girl who looked unbelievably like Linda Evangelista. She read parts of you, Mimmy, and was even accompanied on the piano. Auntie Irena was there. Warm and kind, as always, with warm words for children and adults alike.
It was held in the cafe Jez, and was packed with wonderful people, family, friends, school friends and, of course, NEIGHBORS. There was electricity (a generator), and the lightbulbs made it all even nicer. You and I, Mimmy, have Gordana Trebinjac of the International Peace Center to thank for the good organization, and for having made it as nice as it was.
Naturally, there were film cameras and photographers and a huge bouquet of flowers, roses and daisies, for us, Mimmy.
At the end I read my message. This is what I said:
Suddenly, unexpectedly, someone is using the ugly powers of war, which horrify me, to try to pull and drag me away from the shores of peace, from the happiness of wonderful friendships, playing and love. I feel like a swimmer who was made to enter the cold water, against her will. I feel shocked, sad, unhappy and frightened and I wonder where they are forcing me to go, I wonder why they have taken away my peaceful and lovely shores of my childhood. I used to rejoice at each new day, because each was beautiful in its own way. I used to rejoice at the sun, at playing, at songs. In short, I enjoyed my childhood. I had no need of a better one. I have less and less strength to keep swimming in these cold waters. So take me back to the shores of my childhood, where I was warm, happy and content, like all the children whose childhood and the right to enjoy it are now being destroyed.
The only thing I want to say to everyone is: PEACE!
There was a ‘Spaniard at the promotion—Julio Fuentos. He photographed me standing on some jerrycans (full of water—a precious liquid in Sarajevo), and the woman to whom they belonged almost went crazy. “OOOHHHH, just so long as the jerrycans don’t break!” They didn’t!
All in all, it was nice. It couldn’t have been otherwise, since it was your promotion, Mimmy. I represented you. You know how much I love you. I represented you with all the love I feel for you.
When I got home that afternoon, Auntie Radmila brought me a big flowerpot wrapped in colorful paper and tied up with a bow. Inside the pot was a tomato, a real live tomato. That was the nicest “bouquet” I ever got.
Love,
Zlata
Friday, July 23, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
Even since July 17, various people have been coming around—journalists, reporters, cameramen. From Spain, France, the US, England... and yesterday a crew came from ABC News. They filmed me for American TV as the “person of the week.” Hey, imagine, me a personality?
They filmed me in my room, by my piano, in my apartment with my parents. They talked to me. In English, of course. I have to boast and tell you that they told me my English is EXCELLENT.
And tonight the world will be looking at me (and that, you know, is because of you, Mimmy). Meanwhile I’m looking at the candle, and all around me is darkness. I’m looking in the dark.
Can that outside world see the darkness I see? Just as I can’t see myself on TV tonight, so the rest of the world probably can’t see the darkness I’m looking at. We’re at two ends of the world. Our lives are so different. Theirs is a bright light. Ours is darkness.
Your Zlata
P.S. You know that Cici is pregnant? She’s going to have kittens. I have to “get” Mommy and Daddy to take one.
Zlata
Tuesday, July 27, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
Journalists,
reporters, TV and radio crews from all over the world (even Japan). They’re interested in you, Mimmy, and ask me about you, but also about me. It’s exciting. Nice. Unusual for a wartime child.
My days have changed a little. They’re more interesting now. It takes my mind off things. When I go to bed at night I think about the day behind me. Nice, as though it weren’t wartime, and with such thoughts I happily fall asleep.
But in the morning, when the wheels of the water carts wake me up, I realize that there’s a war on, that mine is a wartime life. SHOOTING, NO ELECTRICITY, NO WATER, NO GAS, NO FOOD. Almost no life.
Zlata
Friday, July 30, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
A journalist has just left. I’m at the window. It’s hot. I am watching the people lug water home.
You should see the different kinds of water carts they have. How inventive people are. Two-wheelers, three-wheelers, wheelbarrows, shopping carts, wheelchairs, hospital tables, supermarket carts and, topping them all—a sled on rollerskates. And you should hear the sounds! The various sounds and screeching of the wheels. That is what wakes us up every morning. It’s all funny and sad at the same time. Sometimes I think about all the films that could be made in Sarajevo. There are loads of subjects for films here.
Love,
Zlata
Monday, August 2, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
More journalists, reporters and cameramen. They write, take photographs, film, and it all goes to France, Italy, Canada, Japan, Spain, America. But you and I, Mimmy, we stay where we are, we stay and we wait, and, of course, keep each other company.
Some people compare me with Anne Frank. That frightens me, Mimmy. I don’t want to suffer her fate.
Zlata
Friday, August 6, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
All these journalists got me muddled and I forgot to tell you that school is over (July 4, 1993) . Sixth year is behind me. It was a wartime school year.
Mirna slept over last night. There was no shooting, but there’s no electricity or water. THERE IS GAS! YESSS!
The gas came on at about 4:00 today. It’s now 7:40 and we still have gas. As for electricity, we haven’t had any for a LONG, LONG TIME. There has been no electricity, no water and no bread for three months.
Just try and imagine what it’s like, Mimmy. Every day is hard.
We make do with candles and oil lamps instead of electricity, we lug water, the wood stove (what wood?) replaces the oven. AND BREAD. Bread is the biggest problem. You can only get flour for foreign money. And in order to bake it, we have to find a free oven in the neighborhood.
Rushing, running, worrying—all day long.
Imagine, Mimmy, it’s August, and we’re heating. Zlata
Sunday, August 8, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
We got a letter from Keka, and Martina and Matea today. We were so excited. We laughed but, yes, there were also tears. They’re fine. Martina and Matea are growing, living, eating... Ah, while on the subject of food, today I made Mommy, Daddy and Mirna laugh when I said I’d like to eat something oily, salty, sugary, in other words something “unhealthy” so that when my tummy hurts at least I know why. Something like a sandwich (but a real sandwich). YUM-YUM!
Mirna is sleeping over again tonight. I told her that I’ve had enough already (ha, ha, ha) and that she’s really a pain (tee-hee-hee). She has to practice because tomorrow we have two piano lessons and solfeggio as well. Exams are coming up.
Tuesday, August 10, 1993
Dear Mimmy, I have more very, very sad news for you. OUR CAT IS NO MORE. Our Cici died. Awful. First Cicko, and now Cici.
I went to Auntie Boda’s today and talked about all sorts of things. How I got a C in solfeggio, how I got a pair of trousers from Auntie Irena, how my piano exam was coming up. And I asked why they hadn’t come over the night before.
Auntie Boda: “We had a problem.”
Me (stupidly): “Whyyy?”
Auntie Boda: “We don’t have our cat anymore.”
Me (lost): “You, you mean it’s d-d-dead???”
Me (a lump in my throat): “I have to go. I’m going home, I have to go home. Goodbye.”
And when I got home: BOO-HOO! SOB! SOB! SOB! OOOHHH!
Mommy and Daddy (in duet): “What’s wrong??”
Me: “The cat, the cat. It died.”
Mommy and Daddy (again in duet): “Aaaaaah!!!”
And then an hour of tears. Can it be? Our cat, the most wonderful, most beautiful, most lovable, sweetest, best cat in the whole wide world—gone. My little cat. When I think of how lovable, sweet and wonderful she was! I cry my eyes out. I know terrible things are happening, people are being killed, there’s a war on, but still... I’m so sorry. She cheered us all up, made us smile, filled up our hours. Yellow Cici. My friend.
Haris and Enes buried her in the yard next to Cicko. They made a little grave out of tiles. She deserved it.
I’m very, very sad.
Zlata
Wednesday, August 11, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
Today is the first day without Cici. I miss her so much. We’re all sad. We talk about her, remember how lovable and beautiful she was.
She died because she was pregnant and couldn’t produce her litter. Oh, Cici, it’s all that tomcat’s fault. And I was looking forward to getting a kitten. Your Zlata
Friday, August 13, 1993
Dear Mimmy, The days go by without Cici. You have to keep living.
Today I got my report card. I finished the sixth grade with straight As.
On Monday I probably have my piano exam.
I’m nervous about it.
Zlata
Sunday, August 15, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
We received a letter from Maja, Bojana and Nedo. Nedo is now in Austria—in Vienna. They’re together there now. It’s a short letter, their thoughts are with us just as ours are with them.
And now the news. Nedo is getting married on August 26. Maja is going to be the bridesmaid. Oh, I wish I could be there!
Your Zlata
Tuesday, August 17, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
Journalists, television reporters, cameramen keep coming. I’ve already come to know quite a few of them. Some come back. There’s Alexandra, Paul, Ron, Kevin ... I’ve become fond of them. Alexandra took my picture today standing next to the UNPROFOR building. I was with Mirna.
I forgot to tell you that we’re in the grips of “gasomania.” We’re getting a gas pipe installed. But will there be any gas???
Electricity is returning to the city. But our crooks, our criminals, our thieves stole the oil from the transformer station, and now almost no one has electricity. Can you imagine? They use the oil in place of gas to drive their cars.
Your Zlata
Wednesday, August 18, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
Yesterday I heard some optimistic news. The “kids” have signed an agreement in Geneva on the demilitarization of Sarajevo. What can I say? That I hope, that I believe it???? I don’t know how I could. Whenever I believed and hoped for something it didn’t happen, and whenever I didn’t believe or expect anything it did happen.
Today some Italian journalists asked me what I thought about the idea of “Sarajevo—an Open City.” I gave them some answer, but I think the “kids” are just playing and I don’t believe them at all and I’ve had enough of everything. Because, I know there is no electricity, no water, no food, that people keep getting killed, that we no longer have even candles, that smuggling and crime are rife, that the days are getting shorter and soon it will be what the whole of Sarajevo fears most: WINTER. The mere thought of it gives me the chills.
Mommy and Daddy often say: “Post nubila, Phoe-bus, ” which is Latin, Mimmy, and it means: “After the clouds comes the sun.” But when????
Zlata
Thursday, August 19, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
Mirna had her piano exam today. She got
an A. It looks as though I’ll have mine tomorrow. I have to practice.
There’s no gas again. But there is talk that the electricity might return tomorrow. We’ll see. Zlata
Saturday, August 21, 1993
Dear Mimmy,
Everybody is in a bad mood these days. Mommy, Daddy, Braco, Melica, Grandma, Granddad ... I don’t know, everybody’s quite edgy.
Did I tell you, Mimmy, that Kenan (Melica’s son) is in the hospital? Wait, wait, no, he’s not wounded. There’s no injury. He’s sick. He has jaundice. From the water, probably, because they get their water from a spring and it looks as if that spring isn’t “pure.” And there seems to be an epidemic in that part of town.
Mirna was here yesterday. Even she isn’t quite right.
The day before yesterday I was at my cousin Di-ana’s. We watched two movies: Purple Rain and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Audrey Hepburn is really cute. Do you know she died? Yes, she died about two months ago, maybe more.
Yesterday I got an A in my piano exam. Super.
The political situation? A STUPID MESS. Maybe that’s why everybody is so edgy. The “kids” are trying to come to some agreement again. They’re drawing maps, coloring with their crayons, but I think they’re crossing out human beings, childhood and everything that’s nice and normal. They really are just like kids.
There’s no mail. I don’t know why, but nobody has been getting any mail lately.
Zlata
Thursday, August 26, 1993
Zlata's Diary Page 12