Passed

Nenad's mother died at the age of 93, the day before yesterday. Being born in the Second Balkan war of 1913 (which arguably was not fought in Bosnia proper, but in the terrirory of the empire it belonged to, and near enough Sarajevo to be politically affected by this war), she survived 4 wars in Europe- Second Balkan War, Worl War I, World War II and the civil war in the nineties of the last century. For someone like me, for whom the Second World war is 'the war', this is unimaginable. her death ends an era. In live she must have been a goldmine for historians.

I decide to go and pay my respect to her, by formally visiting Nenad. He lets me in, and offers me drinks- hard liquor. He and his friends have been drinking a bit already, and within moments we are talking football and Yugoslavia, despite his mother being in the room next to us. Nenad offers me a rakija, a home made brew with an alcohol percentage of over 40 percent. Rakija is a drink widely drunk by everybody in the country, on every occasion. With every glas we drink to the peace of his mothers soul. I do not want to be the one who breaks her peace, so I drink 4 glasses with them, although it is only two pm. After 4 glases I am afraid of my own peace, and I leave. Cynically I think that now Nenand can leave BiH if he wants to; however, I think he will never leave this country or city. Sarajevo tends to get under your skin. Under mine too.