Sarajevo had been awarded to the Muslims in the Peace Agreement, and Kevin wondered how safe he would be, although he had told Diane and Ellen there was nothing to worry about. But what if he was recognized from TV as Draga’s lawyer?
The skyscrapers of the city came into view in the distance. Sarajevo looked like a big city in a bowl, with tall office and apartment buildings, and the pointed towers of Muslim mosques jutting into the air from a valley surrounded by large hills. When the plane got closer, Kevin saw that some of the buildings were just shells, with no glass in the windows and burned out interiors. One skyscraper was partially collapsed; a twisted rubble of steel and cement rising about five stories in a grotesque heap.
Kevin was reminded of a movie called “Welcome to Sarajevo” that he had seen back in the United States. It portrayed a bloody, dangerous place where people ran between buildings to avoid the constant snipers.
He was glad to see Nihudian’s smiling face when he walked into the airport terminal after clearing Customs.
“Welcome to Sarajevo,” Nihudian said warmly, extending his hand.
As he offered his own hand, Kevin shuddered.
Nihudian led Kevin to his car, an old red Volkswagen Golf. “I want you to meet my family. Then, we will start working. I have arranged meetings with six witnesses.”
“Good work. Do you think we’ll have any – security problems?”
“Well, we might if you are recognized. But most people here are too busy rebuilding to watch much TV. So, we’ll just keep a low profile and you should be okay.”
Kevin felt only slightly reassured.
Nihudian drove north from the airport, along the Miljacka River, which ran along the east side of downtown Sarajevo. Kevin saw the bright yellow and red tower of the Holiday Inn, where he would be staying. The hotel had been relentlessly shelled and sniped at during the war, but now, with a fresh paint job, it stood looking like any Holiday Inn in a major city.
As they drove, Kevin saw 19th century buildings that looked to be untouched by the war, such as an old post office, an opera building, and parts of Sarajevo University. The streets were filled with people hurrying about as in any American city.
“There’s the old National Library,” Nihudian said, pointing to a stately brown building with its windows blown out. “The Serbs shelled it during the war, and we lost many historical works. Then they claimed the Muslims did it themselves to look like victims.” Nihudian shook his head sadly.
He pointed out Old Town Sarajevo, a mixture of stone mosques and small shops resembling a Turkish bazaar. “This is from the Ottoman Empire,” Nihudian said. “It’s what makes Sarajevo unique, and why the Muslims fought so hard to keep it.”
Soon they parked in front of a large, gray apartment building. “This is home,” Nihudian said. “My wife and daughters are anxious to meet you.”
They walked up the stairs to the fourth floor. When they reached the apartment, Nihudian introduced Kevin to his wife and two young daughters, none of whom spoke English except, “Hello, Kevin,” which they said in unison and had obviously practiced. The table was set with shiny silverware and fancy porcelain plates and cups. When they sat down for lunch, Nihudian interpreted as Kevin asked the girls how old they were, if they liked their school, and what they did for fun.
“We like to play with our dolls,” the oldest said, “and ride our bikes.”
Kevin thought of how little difference there seemed to be between these Bosnian girls and his own all-American daughter. Many Bosnian children had lost their fathers or both parents during the war. Fortunately, Nihudian’s girls – bright, healthy and well-mannered – looked as if they had survived the violence with no outward signs of trauma.
After lunch, Nihudian and his family took Kevin for a walk around their neighborhood. They pointed out some buildings nearby that were riddled with holes from shells fired by the Serbs from a football stadium near the hills. Kevin watched as the girls played on the swings and climbed on monkey bars at a small neighborhood park.
“Your girls are wonderful,” Kevin told Nihudian. “I’m glad you and your family can live here safely now.”
“It is a shame that they cannot grow up like I did,” Nihudian said, “side by side with Serbs and Croats. The war deeply divided this country and too many bad things happened for people to be able to forgive and forget so soon.”
“What surprises me is that you can’t tell who is a Serb, Croat, or Muslim by just looking at someone,” Kevin said. “They’re all Caucasians, and they look basically the same. I pictured Muslims as darker skinned people, like those from Iran or India. How did people know who was Serb, Croat, or Muslim during the war?”
“Their neighbors. The war turned neighbor against neighbor. When the Serbs invaded a town, they left the Serb houses standing and burned the Muslim houses, then looted them. You could see a street with some houses perfectly normal, and the ones on either side of them completely destroyed.”
“Why did Serbs turn against their Muslim neighbors?”
“I think most did it out of fear. Fear that they would be treated as a Muslim if they did not go along. Fear that the Muslims would do the same thing to them if given a chance. That was the kind of propaganda Slobodan Milosevic put out all over Serbia.”
Kevin looked at the children playing together in the park, and then up at the hillside where snipers had taken aim. It gave him a sudden shiver.
“You’ll have four days to get to know Sarajevo,” Nihudian said as if he could read Kevin’s mind. “You’ll learn to like it more.” He looked at his watch. “We’d better get going to our first interview. It is with a judge, so we don’t want to be late.”
Kevin watched as Nihudian hugged his girls and kissed his wife goodbye. Then he led Kevin through his neighborhood until they came to an old shabby apartment building a few blocks away.
“A judge lives here?” Kevin asked.
“This judge is a refugee from another part of Bosnia. She was a judge in the northern municipality of Prijedor before the war. Many people fled to Sarajevo after the Serbs expelled them from their villages. When the war ended, the Dayton Peace Agreement divided Bosnia in two. The Serbs now govern the territory they took during the war, forty-nine percent of the country. They call it Republika Srpska. The Muslim and Croat Federation governs the remaining fifty-one percent of Bosnia. The Muslims are still afraid to go back to their homes in Serb territory.”
As they climbed the stairs to the judge’s apartment, it looked like this judge was living as a peasant. But the middle-aged woman who answered the door, with jet black hair streaked with grey, had a competent, intelligent air about her. She and Nihudian spoke in Bosnian for a minute, then she motioned to Kevin to come in.
She led them to a small table in the main room of what looked like a two-room flat. Kevin could see four other people sitting inside the other room, which looked to be a bedroom. “I know you are working for Draga,” she said to Kevin as Nihudian translated. “I also know that you will be looking for some way to discredit me or use my testimony to help your client. But go ahead and ask your questions.”
Kevin tried to break the ice. “I’m not trying to discredit you. That would serve no purpose. There are too many others like you who will testify. I just want to know some of the details of what you saw the Black Dragons do, and who in particular was doing it.”
“Do you want to know the name of the man who raped me at Omarska?”
The judge looked Kevin directly in the eye without a hint of bitterness or shame.
“You were at the camp in Omarska? I thought only men were kept there.”
“They kept a handful of women to work in the restaurant, prepare the food, clean the offices, that kind of thing.”
“I do want to know the name of the man who raped you, if you don’t mind.”