detail from: KRK Art dizajn

PATCHWORK GRAVES

As soon as the war in Bosnia ended and the survivors began to cultivate their fields again and village life slowly began to return to normal, we spoke to Joja (baptized Jovo) and Stan, and they told us that they were the first to return. in Jasenica. That made us happy and I traveled to Novi Sad, eagerly waiting to see my brother and his family. In Novi Sad, I met with my family and agreed with Boćo that we would travel to Bosnia together. I told him that we had a place to sleep with Joja and Stana, they were already at home, they had enough food and we would not miss anything. Boćo accepted my proposal, and he was looking forward to visiting his homeland, although he knew that their house had been burned down and that he would only see the ruins there.

That July morning, when the day could not be better for traveling, we boarded an intercity bus, which drove to Prijedor. Along the way, we talked about our life in Canada. We had something to talk about, because we hadn't seen each other for several years, for all the years that the war in Bosnia lasted. Boco knew more than I did what was going on there and how they experienced it all. He knew about all those who died, who moved and where, and he heard many stories from neighbors who found themselves in Bosnia during the war. We had another bus from Prijedor to Bosanska Krupa, and from there a local bus took us to Jasenica, where we arrived in the afternoon, when the sun was, illuminating the wooded Ćulumak and the high mountain peaks of Grmeč.

We were very happy to meet Joja and Stana, after the war sufferings they experienced, and the appearance of the house, which was completely demolished and rebuilt on the same foundations and almost unchanged in appearance. I was in that house eleven years ago and since then I thought I would never come there again. And here I come again. Boco and I walked to their ruins after lunch. Their house and all the neighbors were demolished and set on fire, and trees and shrubs grew in the basement, from which the walls could no longer be seen. The whole area is unrecognizable. Six years have passed since no one's foot stepped there, and the wild animals even do not come by, there is no reason because there is nothing to find there. Only the Ciganovac stream is still bubbling. And some birds are heard singing. They started coming back, Joja and Stana tell us. While fierce battles were fought and the birds disappeared, they all fled into the woods.

Joja and Stana seemed cheerful. Always optimistic, always hoping for the best. They were the first to return to Jasenica. In the house, they rejoined the water that Joja was the first to bring in the fifties, under Marcheta's houses. And that water, it's a cure. As soon as you drink it, you are soon thirsty again. The orchard around the house is already partially old, and many trees have been cut down by Muslims. And they started to renew it, there is always something to do in the village.

The next day, Boćo and I went to visit the cemetery. It started to rain. All monuments in the cemetery were destroyed and smashed. Many pictures from the monument were smashed. The two of us started putting them together. We fitted parts of the monument according to the cracks where it fits. And we managed to put together most of the pictures. Until the next day, we left what belonged to the graves. The next day, we brought cement and water from Joja and started patching up the monuments. That is why we named this cemetery "Patchwork Graves". We managed to bring back some of the pictures. We put everything together so that all the graves were recognizable. Names and years of birth and death could be read from each monument. We painted each grave separately to send the pictures to relatives. When the rain stopped, we lit candles on every monument, we crossed ourselves in front of everyone, for the peace and eternal peace of their souls.

Damaged graves

In the evening, Joja and Stana told us about their events during the war. On September 7, 1995, they were ordered to leave the housing immediately. Stables full of cattle, hungry pigs, time to feed everyone. The chickens were just getting ready for a night's rest. A house full of grain, a tractor with a trailer and a blacksmith's fire under the cruise. How to leave it all now, nothing can be taken away, and cannons can already be heard from the surrounding hills. We need to run, save lives. They fled towards Ćulumak, along the stream, and arrived in Benakovac in the evening. That evening, the six of them spent the night together standing in the pantry. And the next day they took them out to beat them. Fortunately, there was a Muslim, who recognized Joja and ordered that no one should touch him and his people, because as he said: "Joja saved my children from starvation. He delivered a thousand kilograms of food to them. " - And so we were saved, Joja told us. As soon as a few days passed, we found ourselves in Vojevac and they started taking us out to be shot. And again, there was one among the Muslims who recognized him and ordered the perpetrators: - "Separate Joja (Yoya) and his people and that no one did anything to them." Only when you take both my eyes out, so that I don't look at them, then you can do what you want. I visited Joja countless times and was always friendly. " We made sure that good returns to good. Our house was set on fire on September 19, 1995.

And then they brought them to Bosanska Krupa. Thirty-six of them were housed in a dilapidated house. They were all naked and barefoot, old and young, all tormented and hungry. Some old women were completely lost, tormented by tragedies and persecution. The guards were ruthless. They beat them, forced them to do hard and dirty work, and kept them hungry. It was called Camp, Muslim Camp. Later, the Red Cross came, it just needed to be welcomed. In the meantime, some died, some went crazy. Those who remained called the house "Crazy House". Joja and Stana were diligent and obedient there as well. There was nothing else left for them to do. When they got to know them better, they called them "Flowers of a Crazy House". German lady Haida, who worked for the Human Rights at the United Nations and lived in Bosanska Krupa, told us more about these events. She fell in love with Joja and Stana, as good workers and honest citizens. After the war, she often visited them in Jasenica. That's where we met her. She left us with a pleasant impression. Haida also liked the arrival and the knowledge that I live in Canada, and she also knew English quite well and learned Serbian, as well, so we spoke bilingually, English and Serbian. My knowledge of the German language is quite scarce, just enough so that we could greet each other and exchange the first information related to health.

Muslims demolished and set fire to all Serb houses, from Krupa to Sanski Most, not a single one remained. And on that move, they built nine new mosques, and all Serbian churches were demolished. And those who did evil were never allowed to return to their area and their houses were completely overgrown with weeds. When Haida asked Joja about someone named Avdo from Krupa, he was the only one who knew that his Muslim neighbor had killed him, and the Serb had buried him in his garden. Joja was not allowed to tell anyone that, so after that, Avda's wife planted vegetables in her garden, not knowing to pick it from Avda's grave. When Haida heard that, she was left speechless, completely distraught.

We also heard from Joja about the behavior of his neighbors during the war, while Serbian forces were in the lead. They gathered every day behind Ilija and Mico's house, where they made a sheep pen. There they groomed all the sheep they found in Muslim houses and slaughtered and grilled one every day. They ate and drank, got drunk and recounted what someone did to Muslims. Drago, son of Mico’s, spent time in Muslim houses. He took the most beautiful pieces of furniture, where he found anything. Finally, while he was stealing furniture in Bosanska Krupa, someone killed him and that's how he ended up. Evil for evil returned to him. He filled the newly built house on the hill near "Trnjak" with stolen furniture, and then he died and a woman with minor children was left a widow.

For Trivo, uncle Dušan’s, Joja told us, that Trivo was leading a cow from Muslim houses and in the passage next to Joja he asked him to look Joja in the cow's teeth and see "does it worth anything"? Joja just said to him: -Trivo, it is not for you. Joja knew it didn't suit Trivo.

Returning to Novi Sad, via Prijedor, Boćo and I recounted what we saw and heard. As we both lost our mothers in our earliest youth, we are living witnesses to what wars bring. Good for no one, for sure. We stopped at Boćo's sister Zora in Prijedor for a few hours, and then extended the trip to Novi Sad. And that day was clear and sunny, usually warm. The greenery of the passing forests and meadows, where shepherds grazed cattle, was pleasing to the eye. It was noticed that life was returning. We listened to news and music from the bus radio, although our thoughts were more preoccupied with what we had experienced. Boco told me that he would never return to Bosnia, above all he had nowhere to go, and even if he did, he would not want to see what he saw again. He liked my story about the origin of Jelača’s families, which I told him on arrival and asked me to prepare something similar again, on which occasion I could tell him more about anything. He knew that I had traveled a lot around the world, so I definitely had something. Boco was especially interested in my stories about Peru and India, which are unforgettable for me as well.

That summer I spent a few weeks in Novi Sad, visited everything I wanted and really felt comfortable among my family.

About two weeks after our return from Bosnia, Joja and Stana came to visit us in Novi Sad. Then I showed them a copy of my letter I sent to President Bill Clinton, asking him to help free Joja and Stana, in return for the work our father Lazo did for American pilots at the end of World War II. The case was that an American plane, returning from the bombing of Berlin, caught fire over our fields, and on that occasion our father was the first at the crashed plane and managed to pull out seven soldiers, alive, whom he took to our house, and the five remaining soldiers they burned on the plane. He buried them the next day in the cemetery next to the primary school in Zalin. Every American soldier had an identification plate around his neck, which Lazo called "Death Certificate". The rescued soldiers were especially lucky to find themselves in our house, which then housed the partisan headquarters, from where they soon reported to Belgrade, announcing their whereabouts, and they were even more pleased that our father spoke English and truly loved America, so they talked for a few days about his events in America. When the relatives of the buried soldiers came to us after a year, the father took them to the cemetery and helped them take out the bones of their children and take them to their homes in America. Lazo, burying the Americans, left his death certificate with everyone in the grave, which turned out very well.

Sending a letter to the President of the United States, I did not expect Bill Clinton to answer me personally, but I expected at least someone from his administration to call me, but never anyone, at least to thank Lazo for what he did for American soldiers, rescuing himself from a burning plane, on which occasion he risked his life. And while Joja and Stana, with their children, were locking in a Muslim camp, I received information from an American woman who worked for the United Nations, where they were. Since then, I have started writing letters to them from Canada. I even learned that my first letter was mistakenly sent to Sri Lanka instead of Bosnia. And the word that Joja managed to receive was crossed out with a black felt-tip pen, every word that bothered the camp staff. That's why he never answered any of my questions, because in fact he couldn't even read the questions. And so, the memories of all the events of the war remain unforgettable for life.

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