From Jajce

We have already made our way to several destinations in Bosnia. After leaving Kladusa, we headed to a town called Kropa to meet some people and have lunch. We stopped at a mosque to pray Duhr. The first man who met us was a fair man, in his thirties probably. His face was light up with huge smiles. He took the boys in big, welcoming hugs. “As-salam Alaykum,” he greeted us and spoke a few sentences in fluent Arabic. Many people who are practising Islam here, try to learn Arabic. Those who attempt, do a pretty good job. One arm of his was missing. Just like many others, he lost his limb during the war. He told us about his five girls: Sabila, Madina, Amina(the three names I could remember) which we later met. Amina was feisty and she was also the youngest. Amina, among her sisters, definitely left the biggest little imprint in my heart.

“She is strong like her father,” her mother told us as the little girl’s blond hair bounced up and down while she tried to catch trout in the river beside us. Amina’s mother told us stories about the war in her broken Arabic. Those of us who spoke Arabic, translated to the rest of the group. People here had to be strong I thought to myself.

The younger boys had already finished lunch and left the older men chattering away at the table about politics and all its complications. They had taken off their shoes, rolled up their trousers and were taking a dip in the river. “It is so cold,” they screamed out to us in muffled laughs.

While we had gathered earlier in front of the mosque, an old woman walked out. She poured on us kisses and hugs. She looked a bit like the old Turkish villager women, similar clothing and a head scarf. Yet, it would be hard to mistaken a Bosnian for a Turk, the people here look significantly simpler and poorer. A man explained that she was happy to see young women like us wearing the head scarf. It was true. It had been our second full day in Bosnia and I had not seen any women (other than the very old) wearing a scarf. Few of the people praying at the mosque were from our generation. I could not see many signs of Islam in the towns and cities we passed through. I had heard stories from people before I came. “The Bosnians know their religion more now after they were discriminated because of it during the war.” It does not seem very true so far I thought to myself.

Soon enough we left Kropa and we stopped at a little farm to see some bee hives. Biscuits, cakes and coffee came out to greet us. Some Bosnians are so generous really. I liked the experience of the farm. The animals were all around us. In most countries today, farmers no longer live like farmers because of modernity and globalization. Not in Bosnia though; a farm is farm, a farmer is a farmer. That is what I am liking about Bosnia. It has not been hit by the sweeping capitalist markets and globalization which seem to make all traditional ways disappear and all things that last, a carbon copy of the rest.

The day was slowly coming to an end, but we still had more to see. We went to our final stop, Jajce, where we spend the night. Jajce, is one of the oldest and biggest cities in Bosnia. We saw the most amazing waterfall that ran into Portovo River, one of the main and most beautiful rivers in Bosnia. It was running on our right as we drove during the day. We walked through the old city and climbed up to a fortress by the Ottomans. Ottoman influence over Bosnia is profound since Bosnia had been part of the Ottoman Empire since 1463 for three or four centuries. Most of the Bosnian mosques were either built by Ottomans or resemble their same architecture to a great extent. I passed by houses built on top of high mountains that only had a foot path to reach them. I lost track of time as I sat on top of the walls of the fortress. I could see the whole city from above... it was breathtaking. I cam back to the world as I heard the call for Maghreb prayer; it had gotten dark and I realized I was alone. I got lost from the rest of the group that day and I delayed them for maybe half an hour as they looked for me. I’m lucky our group leader did not get too cross with me. But, I learned my lesson and stuck close to the rest of the group from then on.

Our day was only tainted by the Bosnian police who gave us a ticket for apparently parking in the wrong place! This is the second time we deal with the police here. We were given a ticket earlier during the day for speeding. All I can say is that Bosnian police is as corrupt as the Egyptian police! We gave him some money and he decided he’d be nice enough to waive the ticket.

Jajce, Bosnia
10.35 pm

5/07/2010