Zlata's Diary

by Zlata Filipovic

  Dear Mimmy,

  Our Nedo is getting married today. Yes, our Nedo. Today is what Bojana calls “Judgment Day.” Today he stops being a bachelor and becomes a ”family man.” Ha, ha, ha!

  We had a little celebration here in honor of Nedo’s wedding. Mommy made a cake (hey, a cake?) in the shape of a heart. Sweet. Auntie Boda and Alemka made the rest, whatever you can make in these wartime conditions—sandwiches, little rolls, a savory pie (a little rice, a little mangel and you’ve got yourself a good pie) ...

  We all got together at Auntie Boda’s. Nedo was in Vienna. But we were with him in our thoughts and wished him and Amna every happiness. An imitation wedding, Mimmy, that’s what it was—an imitation of life. People in Sarajevo do it all the time. We imitate life to make things easier.

  I find it so strange, so odd that Nedo is getting married. Auntie Boda sent a card with the names of all his neighbors and friends from Sarajevo, and at the end she wrote:—“Just our little yellow pussy-cat is missing. She has passed away.” Yes, but we’re learning to steel ourselves, this war is teaching us, and we’re slowly suppressing everything that hurts us.

  Your Zlata

  Friday, August 27, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  Yesterday Nedo got married, and yesterday Auntie Radmila and Uncle Tomo left Sarajevo. They left Sarajevo forever. They had lost their apartment and everything in it. They were living in somebody else’s apartment, then they got lodgers. They’ve been separated from their children from the start of the war. They have gone to join their daughters and start a new life somewhere. I’m sorry Auntie Radmila has gone. She was wonderful to me. She’d often surprise me with a sweet, chewing gum, powdered milk, fruit, a warm word and, of course, there was that wonderful “bouquet,” the tomato in the flowerpot.

  Mommy is very sad. Now Auntie Radmila has also gone. Mommy has only Auntie Ivanka left now. But I think that she and Uncle Mirko will be leaving soon too. And so, Mimmy, our friends are leaving. We say goodbye to them and we stay behind. Ciao!

  Zlata

  Thursday, September 2, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  Alexandra (the reporter from Le Figaro) came. She came to say goodbye and to take a few more photos. I’ve grown very fond of her and in these few meetings we’ve become real friends.

  She was in Mostar and she’s very sad. She says Mostar looks terrible. In fact, it doesn’t exist anymore. Such a beautiful town and it doesn’t exist anymore. She was very upset by what she saw in Mostar.

  The talk in town is that Sarajevo will suffer the same fate. I’m afraid, Mimmy. You see, other things are now important. Now force rules and it can do anything. It can wipe out people, families, towns. I keep asking myself for the hundred millionth time: WHY? WHY ME? WHY? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING???

  Alexandra is going home, she’s going back to her peaceful country, her peaceful town, to her friends and her job. She has so much. AND ME? I have a burned-down, destroyed country, a demolished town, friends-refugees all over the world ... But, luckily, I have you Mimmy, and your lined pages, which are always silent, patiently waiting for me to fill them out with my sad thoughts.

  I went with Alexandra to the old Sarajevo library, the Vjecnica. Generations and generations of people enriched their knowledge by reading and leafing through its countless books. Somebody once said that books are the greatest treasure, the greatest friend one has. The Vjecnica was such a treasure trove. We had so many friends there. But now we’ve lost the treasure and the friends and the lovely old building. They all went up in the destroying flames.

  The Vjecnica is now a treasure trove of ashes, bricks, and the odd scrap of paper. I brought home a piece of brick and a fragment of metal as a memento of that treasure-house of friends.

  I said goodbye to Alexandra and said I hoped to see her again.

  Your Zlata

  Saturday, September 4, 1993

  Dear Mimmy, Yesterday was a bit iffy. A man was wounded on the bridge by a sniper. Perviz’s gas-pressure regulator got stolen. The apartment now has gas (pipes, not the gas itself). I’m worried about the electricity. Food—? When the real winter starts we’ll turn on the storage heater. Absolutely no mail is coming in, not even through UNPROFOR. Aaaaah. Samra got married yesterday. The lucky man is Zijo (his only fault: a limp handshake)! Mommy and I went to attend the “solemn act of marriage between Samra Kozaric and Zijad Pehid,” as the registrar would say.

  The registrar rushed everything so much that I couldn’t get what was happening. Afterward everybody went to lunch at the Premier, and Mommy and I went home to our MISHMASH, but it was a good “mishmash,” a good one.

  Well, Mimmy, that’s it!

  Lots of love,

  Zlata

  Sunday, September 5, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  All eyes and ears are turned on Geneva. More agreements, negotiations. I don’t think this will ever end. My childhood, youth and life are slipping away while I wait. We stand as witnesses who didn’t deserve to have to live through all this.

  Today we heard that letters aren’t coming into Sarajevo anymore. There’s something worse than not having electricity, water and gas, and that’s not getting letters, which are our only contact with the outside world. Now we’ve lost that as well. It’s just too much!

  Zika brought me something wonderful today. A real live orange. Mommy said: “Let’s see whether I remember how to peel it?” And, and ... she remembered. She did it. It was so nice and juicy.

  YUMMY!

  The other day we went to Djoka’s (Bojana and Merica’s father). I went to see whether any of their shoes would fit me, because all of mine are too small. I didn’t find any. Everything is standing still, it’s just me that’s growing, Mimmy.

  We heard some sad news from Djoko. Slobo’s condition is deteriorating and he’s been moved to the Military Hospital in Belgrade. Doda and Dejan have left for Slovenia. They’ve split up on various sides again. The sad fate of a family.

  Ciao!

  Zlata

  Monday, September 6, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  The first day of the new school year. I’m starting seventh grade. New subjects, new knowledge, new obligations, new school days, but I don’t feel the way I used to. It’s probably the war again.

  Pupils from four years are all in one classroom. Some listen to their language lessons, others to biology, others to English and still others to chemistry. It’s awful, Mimmy. It makes me sad. Don’t I deserve to go to a normal school? What have I done not to deserve it?

  Your Zlata

  Wednesday, September 8, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  Today, today I received a letter. A letter from my friend in Vienna. A letter from my Nedo. It made me so happy! I don’t have to tell you, you know what it’s like.

  My darling Fipa,

  I’m so sorry I wasn’t at the promotion of your Diary, but I have my own copy and won’t give it to anyone to read (maybe I will, but only in my presence).

  I have to admit it was very, very hard for me too, when I had to leave. I acted “cool,” but I had a lump in my throat and couldn’t even talk. Half of me is still there with you. But one day we’ll meet again and laugh at all the things that bothered us, a little or a lot.

  Keep your feet on the ground and your head out of the clouds.

  Much love to you from your Nedo

  There, that’s part of Nedo’s letter, which I keep on my desk. I keep rereading it. I’m going to learn it by heart like all the others. And so Nedo’s letter will join my “war archive.”

  Paul (the journalist) came to say goodbye today. He’s leaving for London. I was at school and so I couldn’t say goodbye to him. But he said he’d be back at the end of September. We’ll see each other again. I’m glad, because Paul has become another dear friend. Ciao Paul, until we meet again! Zlata

  Thursday, September 9, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  Today is Mommy’s birthday. I gave her a biiiig kiss and a “H
appy Birthday, Mommy.” That’s all I have.

  This is Mommy’s second birthday in wartime. My birthday is coming up too. December is near. Will it be another wartime birthday? Again????

  Your Zlata

  Wednesday, September 15, 1993

  Dear Mimmy, Back to the old story. There was gunfire yesterday and we all immediately got nervous. We remembered the cellar and were afraid of going through it all over again. I sincerely hope we won’t have to. But hoping doesn’t mean a thing here.

  I’m going to UNPROFOR at the Skenderija building tomorrow—to the dentist’s. All the children in the neighborhood have been, and now it’s my turn.

  School! I’m disappointed. There are lots of children who missed a school year last year. I don’t feel like a real seventh-grader either. I feel as if I’m still in fifth grade, the way I was that April, not so long ago in 1992. Time seems to have stopped since then.

  The books aren’t mine and they’re not new. Some are Bojana‘s, some Martina’s, some Diana’s, and some Mirna gave me. The pencils are old, the notebooks half full, from last year. The war has ruined even school and school life.

  I’m now in the sixth year of music school. The teacher told me to practice every day, and knuckle down. It’s the final year. It has to be taken seriously.

  Lots of journalists, reporters and TV crews from France are coming tomorrow. Maybe Alexandra and Christian will come. I already miss them. Your Zlata

  Friday, September 17, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  The “kids” are negotiating something, signing something. Again giving us hope that this madness will end. There’s supposed to be a cease-fire tomorrow and on September 21 at Sarajevo airport everybody is supposed to sign FOR PEACE. Will the war stop on the day that marks the change from one season to another???

  With all the disappointments I’ve had with previous truces and signatures, I can’t believe it.

  I can’t believe it because another horrible shell fell today, ending the life of a three-year-old little boy, wounding his sister and mother.

  All I know is that the result of their little games is 15,000 dead in Sarajevo, 3,000 of them children, 50,000 permanent invalids, whom I already see in the streets on crutches, in wheelchairs, armless and legless. And I know that there’s no room left in the cemeteries and parks to bury the latest victims.

  Maybe that’s why this madness should stop. Your Zlata

  Sunday, September 19, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  I keep thinking about Sarajevo, and the more I think about it, the more it seems to me that Sarajevo is slowly ceasing to be what it was. So many dead and wounded. Historical monuments destroyed. Treasure troves of books and paintings gone. Century-old trees felled. So many people have left Sarajevo forever. No birds, just the occasional chirping sparrow. A dead city. And the warlords are still negotiating over something, drawing, crossing out, I just don’t know for how long. Until September 29? I don’t believe it!

  Your Zlata

  Monday, September 20, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  All eyes and ears are on tomorrow’s game of War or Peace. Everybody is waiting for that historic meeting at Sarajevo airport. Suddenly, unexpected news. The Serbian, Croatian and Muslim warlords have met on a warship in the Adriatic. For another shipwreck ? We’ll find out!

  Your Zlata

  Tuesday, September 21, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  The historic game of WAR OR PEACE has been postponed. Does that mean PEACE is losing again? I’m really fed up with politics!

  Your Zlata

  Wednesday, September 22, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  Although I told you that I didn’t think anything good would happen on September 21, 1993, I still had a flicker of hope that it would. But it was no use.

  Another D-Day has come and gone. How many have we had? A hundred? A million? How many more will there be?

  Politics is making my life miserable!!

  Your Zlata

  Saturday, September 25, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  The electricity is back, but it’s being rationed. And the rationing, like the life we’re living, is stupid. We get four hours of electricity every fifty-six hours.

  You should see, Mimmy, what a madhouse this is when the electricity comes on! Piles of unwashed laundry waiting to go into the washing machine. Even bigger piles of laundry waiting for the iron. Dust waiting to be vacuumed. Cooking to be done, bread to be baked, and we’d all like to watch a bit of television. There’s hair to be washed and dried with a hair dryer. It’s incredible. You wouldn’t believe it.

  Every time Mommy says: “If we’re not going to have electricity, then let’s not have any at all. That way I don’t worry. This is unbearable.” Yes, but then again, Mommy ...

  We have water more often now.

  There’s a problem with bread again, even though the electricity is back. We get 300 grams per person every three days. Ridiculous!

  I had to laugh at lunch today when Daddy said: “This ‘German’ lunch is good.” You must be wondering, Mimmy, why we would be eating a “German lunch.” The potato salad was made of potatoes and onions bought for Deutsche Marks at our “rich” market. With it we had German fish from the humanitarian aid package. So that’s “German,” isn’t it?

  Your Zlata

  Wednesday, September 29, 1993

  We waited for September 27 and 28. The 27th was the Assembly of Bosnian Intellectuals, and the 28th was the session of the B-H Parliament. And the result is “conditional acceptance of the Geneva agreement.” CONDITIONAL. What does that mean? To me, it means non-acceptance of the agreement, because there’s no peace. To me it means the continuation of the war and everything that goes with it.

  Once more the circle closes. The circle is closing, Mimmy, and it’s strangling us.

  Sometimes I wish I had wings so I could fly away from this hell.

  Like Icarus.

  There’s no other way.

  But to do that I’d need wings for Mommy, wings for Daddy, for Grandma and Granddad and ... for you, Mimmy.

  And that’s impossible, because humans are not birds.

  That’s why I have to try to get through all this, with your support, Mimmy, and to hope that it will pass and that I will not suffer the fate of Anne Frank. That I will be a child again, living my childhood in peace. Love,

  Zlata

  Monday, October 4, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  Life in a closed circle continues. You wonder what that life is like, Mimmy. It’s a life of waiting, of fear, a life where you want the circle to open and the sun of peace to shine down on you again.

  Today, while I was playing the piano, Mommy came into the room and told me I had visitors. I went into the sitting room and there I found ALEXANDRA. She came from Paris this morning. Rested, beautiful, content. I was glad to see her. And I must say I missed her, because she really is wonderful. She’s here in Sarajevo again now, so we’ll spend some time together.

  Zlata

  Thursday, October 7, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  Things are the way they used to be, lately. There’s no shooting (thank God), I go to school, read, play the piano ...

  Winter is approaching, but we have nothing to heat with.

  I look at the calendar and it seems as though this year of 1993 will again be marked by war. God, we’ve lost two years listening to gunfire, bat-tling with electricity, water, food, and waiting for peace.

  I look at Mommy and Daddy. In two years they’ve aged ten. And me? I haven’t aged, but I’ve grown, although I honestly don’t know how. I don’t eat fruit or vegetables, I don’t drink juices, I don’t eat meat ... I am a child of rice, peas and spaghetti. There I am talking about food again. I often catch myself dreaming about chicken, a good cutlet, pizza, lasagna ... Oh, enough of that.

  Zlata

  Tuesday, October 12, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  I don’t remember
whether I told you that last summer I sent a letter through school to a pen-pal in America. It was a letter for an American girl or boy.

  Today I got an answer. A boy wrote to me. His name is Brandon, he’s twelve like me, and lives in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. It really made me happy.

  I don’t know who invented the mail and letters, but thank you whoever you are. I now have a friend in America, and Brandon has a friend in Sarajevo. This is my first letter from across the Atlantic. And in it is a reply envelope, and a lovely pencil.

  A Canadian TV crew and journalist from The Sunday Times (Janine) came to our gym class today. They brought me two chocolate bars. What a treat. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sweets.

  Love,

  Zlata

  Wednesday, October 13, 1993

  Dear Mimmy,

  Today we received a letter from Oga and Jaca in Italy. They sent us photos. Oga has grown into a young girl, and you can see from the letter that she’s more serious and mature now. I could barely recognize her. When Mommy saw the picture she began to cry. The letter really made us happy. It was sent in August, and took a long, long time to reach us.

  They also read you, Mimmy (I sent them a copy in a letter), and say that they cried and laughed as they read.

  Here’s what Oga writes:

  I often think of us on Mount Jahorina. But that’s just a lovely memory now. Skiing, sledding down the road, making snow houses, gossiping before going to sleep, birthday parties, New Year’s Eve.

  Those are all lovely memories of the good times we had, which were suddenly cut short, never to be repeated.

  All the houses on Jahorina have been looted, everything down to the counters has been removed. Imagine the idiots. They could have at least moved some refugees into those houses.