Drawing Sarajevo: My Sketches of Humanity

Glen Milan
University of Northern Colorado, Greeley
E-mail: milanglen@netscape.net

Traveling around Europe with a backpack attracts many young adventurers from all over the world. Many travelers go to Paris or Rome because Western Europe is popular, but there is more to Europe than cafés and museums. After traveling a while in Western Europe, I turned east to get away from marauding American tour groups with buses, video cameras, and matching jumpsuits. I found the Balkans refreshing; the few Americans on the Balkan Peninsula were tourists in Greece or United Nations soldiers on peacekeeping missions in Bosnia and Serbia. Working my way down from Slovenia, I traveled through Croatia into Bosnia-Herzegovina; my final destination was the city of Sarajevo. As I traveled further south, the destruction of the 1992-1996 war became evident; houses and roads were pockmarked with bullet holes and shellfire. The trip was rewarding because I saw for myself the brutal effects of war on people and the environment. The people of Sarajevo welcomed me into their city, and I was surprised by their kindness. My trip to Sarajevo showed me that humanity has an immense capacity for destruction; nevertheless, compassion and humor persist in dark times.

I had no illusions about the hazards of traveling in Bosnia-Herzegovina, and I admit that I was driven by curiosity about war. There were no trains left after the war to take people from Zagreb, Croatia, to Sarajevo, so I took a bus. Bosnian guards let me through the immigration checkpoint at the border but refused to stamp my passport. I stopped feeling disappointed about my lost stamp when the guards took a man off of the bus and led him into a small building on the side of the road. I guess he didn't have the right papers. The bus was swerving precariously through the mountains around Banja Luka, and I almost puked in the plastic lunch bag I was carrying with me. A man next to me on the bus laughed and shook his head. By now every farm and house in the countryside was riddled with shell divots and bullet holes; many houses had been burned down, leaving only chimneys and blackened concrete. At about five o'clock in the afternoon, the bus arrived at a half-destroyed concrete building that was the central Sarajevo bus terminal. I picked up my backpack and started walking in the direction of my hotel; I nervously clutched a crude map in my hand and tried to look calm.

The owner of the hotel looked me up and down, chuckled, and shook his head. After examining my passport, he assured me that my last name was Slavic, not Italian. I didn't argue with him. My hotel room was small and filthy; it was exactly what I expected. One of the first things I had to do was register with the American embassy in case I disappeared. As I was searching for the embassy, I noticed a UN SFOR soldier with an American patch on his fatigues. I asked him politely where the American embassy might be, and without looking at me, the soldier said, "I have no idea. There is no reason why I would know that.&Quot; He walked away, and I found the embassy on my own. The embassy guards searched me at the entrance and insisted that I drink from my water bottle to prove that it wasn't poison or gasoline. The guards watched me for about thirty seconds; they let me in after my water didn't kill me. The registrar asked me why I was in Sarajevo, so I explained that I had come to draw scenes of the city. She laughed at me and shook her head. Then, she scolded me for not getting my passport stamped at the border and told me to leave.

The next three days were spent drawing street scenes in Sarajevo. By looking up at the mountains surrounding the city, it is plain to see how easily Serbian artillery pounded Sarajevo with shellfire during the siege. One of my goals was to draw the famous Gazi Husref-Bey mosque in the Turkish quarter. I had to convince a guard to let me into the courtyard of the mosque. With the help of a young scholar who spoke English, I was allowed to sit in the courtyard and draw the main entrance. Muslims were the friendliest people I met, and it seemed to me that Muslims were happiest when they came out of the mosques from prayer. The next day I was drawing near the Miljaka River, and a woman walked up to me and started explaining something about my drawing. I told her that I could not understand what she was saying, so she switched from Serbo-Croat to German. I still didn't understand; she shook her head and said, "American ... But this drawing is a good thing you are doing.&Quot;

On the fourth day I was ready to go, but the ticket seller at the bus terminal told me that the next bus out of Sarajevo wasn't for another three days. At least he didn't laugh at me--he was quite serious. The next day a young man walked up to me as I was drawing the Sarajevo Museum of Contemporary Art and invited me in. As it turned out, there was an important art opening that day. The exhibition was an internationally funded cultural project showcasing Bosnian artists. As I entered the building, I could tell that the event was very important; I suddenly felt underdressed. As I walked around the exhibition, I listened to speeches from important diplomats and artists through a head set that translated many different foreign languages into English. One of the strongest pieces of artwork I saw that day was a large painting of these words: "If you are looking for hell ... Ask the artist where it is ... If you don't find the artist ... Then you are already in hell.&Quot;

I would have missed the annual opening of Bosnia's international cultural project if I had not been stranded in Sarajevo for an extra three days. Certainly, I would never have gone to Sarajevo in the first place if I had listened to advice. Some people in Sarajevo immediately resented my presence because I was a foreigner, but I found that most people were friendly or simply indifferent. I produced about five good drawings of Sarajevo, and I am pleased with my presentation of what I saw. The bus ride out of Bosnia followed the Dalmatian coast of Croatia south to Dubrovnik. Once I was out of Bosnia, I felt a sense of relief and accomplishment.

When I recollect the people of Sarajevo, I remember them as weary, pragmatic, and strong. When I recollect the buildings of Sarajevo, I remember them as burned, broken, and weak. Even in the aftermath of an enormously destructive war, the people of Sarajevo retain their humor, pragmatism, and wit. I would not trade a week in Paris or a month in London for the exciting adventure that I found in Sarajevo.

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