Along the right bank of the Miljacka river, in an old neighborhood of Sarajevo’s historic sector, a young girl named Emina Sarajčić Koso faced a chapter of her life consumed by violent warfare. Emina was only ten years old when she endured the longest siege in modern history, facing the harsh reality of being young in the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina in the year of 1992.
In April of 1992, the Bosnian War began with the siege of Sarajevo. What followed would be a tragedy beyond common comprehension. Between 1992 and 1995, over 100,000 people were killed, the majority of the victims being of Bosniak origin, otherwise known as Bosnian Muslims. As a result of the complex collapse of Yugoslavia, the Bosnian War in its very conception came to be a conflict ruled by the politicization of ethno-nationalism, making life particularly dangerous for Bosniaks.
When explaining the outbreak of the war, Emina, coming from the perspective of a Bosniak resident of Sarajevo, relies on the memories of her younger self. She vividly recalls being four years old taking public transportation with her mother around Sarajevo.
“There was a sort of respect, you know.”
Emina says, as she thinks back on interaction in Sarajevo prior to the siege. Her words carry images of strangers willing to help a young girl find her way around the city, welcoming her questions with care. Beyond the community, she describes a peace that every childhood home should carry. Although her house was small, Emina never felt limited to its physical boundaries. She was an adventurer who knew every hidden corner of her area, becoming native to Sarajevo not just by birth but also through her experience exploring the vibrant city.
Upon the enforcement of the siege in 1992, Emina was forced to adapt her lifestyle drastically. The freedom she once experienced as an explorer in her own city was replaced by the threat to her, and her family’s livelihood. She conveys her initial reaction to the news of the war, saying that at first she didn’t take it seriously. When the sounds of warfare, specifically the rattling mortar shells that left the streets she once traveled on covered in destruction, rang around her home, young Emina quickly realized that this conflict was not “something from a movie,” but rather, her very dire reality.
A list began to form: water, wood, and food. No electricity and an ongoing siege meant a drastic change to her family’s priorities, focusing them on these three necessities. The rich meats that are so heavily appreciated within Bosnian culture were replaced with bread and, soon after, by whatever they could find. The cobblestone streets that once offered conversation and comfort to Emina were now watched from the surrounding green mountains by Bosnian Serbs looking to make use of their snipers. Emina was quickly shifted into a state of emergency. Supplies were running low, and with her father fighting in the battlefront and her mother looking after her infant sister, Emina at 10 years old felt she was meant to find her place in keeping herself and her family alive.
“I’m the one who was never scared.”
Emina says, recalling these hardships. The sentence was delivered with an implied sense of responsibility. For Emina, this role wasn’t a choice; it was her obligation to help her family.
About a kilometer and a half away from Emina’s residence, the Egyptian United Nations peacekeeping troops, brought to Sarajevo through the United Protection Force (UNPROFOR), had secured their base. As members of the United Protection Force, these peacekeeping troops had been deployed to distribute humanitarian aid and stabilize areas of the city. These foreigners were potential lifelines for the starving citizens of Sarajevo who had resorted to eating dog food if anything at all. Metal gates separated the people from the base, but that did not stop them from gathering outside or crying out for help, even at the risk of being caught in the shelling or by one of the snipers. Emina, with her dark cropped hair and round youthful face, was not an uncommon figure among that crowd.
Beyond the physical boundaries, the issue of language struck hard for the people of Sarajevo. The troops who came through the United Nations were of different nationalities and oftentimes did not speak Bosnian. The Egyptian troops relied primarily on Arabic and English, creating a gap in understanding and communication with the citizens of Sarajevo seeking their aid.
Emina refused to let this barrier break her commitment to survival. She was determined to find a way to communicate with the troops and bring home aid for her family. It started with hand signs and pointing, then observation and repetition. Her routine would allow her a daily morning stop at the Egyptian base if the conditions seemed steady, giving her ample exposure to the language spoken by the troops surrounding the base. Slowly, Emina had begun to develop her own language, one that assumed that the English and Arabic spoken by the Egyptian troops was actually one language. It wasn’t long before the Egyptian troops took note of the young girl calling to them in a mixed variant of their language, claiming to have a baby. Of course, Emina had only meant to reference her baby sister, but the intrigue of a Bosnian child learning to speak to them in their own language and proclaiming herself to be a mother was enough to get her access into the Egyptian base.
While a war based in the politicization of ethnic identity raged around her, Emina played with the boundaries of her own identity within the Egyptian base. There, she was immersed in the little pocket of Egyptian culture cultivated amongst the Egyptians, finding herself no longer just surviving but rather living like a child again, expressing young curiosity and supported by the care of the Egyptian troops. She learned from them, having conversations with the doctors about medical treatments and practicing her language skills with the commanders. Soon, she was mimicking the heaviness of Egyptian Arabic, speaking in their dialect and following along with the common English words thrown between the troops. In the freedom found in these languages, Emina was able to connect with these once strangers. An opening of humanity established across a bridge of understanding, creating a deep respect that traveled both ways.
“They left a big mark on my heart.”
Emina says
Their talkative nature and kindness reminded her of the practices of her own people, and eventually, these foreigners felt like her second family.
“I was like a favorite child to them.”
She says, depicting the community she found amongst the Egyptian troops.
By 1993, Emina had mastered both Arabic and English, a skill that had promised her regular access to the Egyptian UN base and aid for her family, usually in the form of small packages of food such as boiled eggs or pasta. Along this journey, however, Emina was no longer limited to the role of the eldest daughter looking to protect her family. Her position had evolved to a more ambiguous title, one of even further responsibility.
While she had managed to conquer the language barrier, most still found themselves limited in communication. Emina became someone her people would look to for translation. It was soon routine for her to use what she had been taught in the base to translate the needs of the people around her in aid lines. In 1994, she began to handle more complicated interactions, translating between injured troops and the Egyptians for urgent transfers on the front lines. Through her experiences serving as this unofficial translator, Emina came to realize the power in language and the connections that it brought her, even more so how those connections garnered hope not just for her survival but the survival of her people.
In December of 1995, a peace agreement negotiated in Dayton Ohio was signed ensuring the end of the war and initiating a ceasefire. The peace agreement had been sparked by US led negotiations and an intervention in Croatia by NATO which left Bosnia and Herzegovina split into two state entities. Although conflict had eased, the population was not free of the exhaustion and mourning induced by the terrible war. The city that Emina had cherished so deeply in her childhood had been scarred by bullet holes, and her people had witnessed neighbors become enemies, leaving burning wounds both physically and psychologically. While every person left the war carrying the heavy impacts of their experiences, Emina had left carrying something else. She had developed an unwavering connection to the Egyptian troops and a new perspective on humanity fostered through the gift of language and a will to survive. Upon their exit in 1998, Emina was in tears, unwilling to watch the people who had become her family throughout the war leave her – a moment noted by the Egyptians themselves, who would later mention it in their daily paper Al-Ahram.
Emina’s story continues to serve as a reminder of the humanity that is uncovered through understanding. Her ability to break barriers and connect with the Egyptian troops through language not only helped her and her family survive a devastation that killed over 11,000 people in Sarajevo, but even more, it let her retain a piece of childhood throughout the tragedy. Thirty years later, Emina still remembers the Egyptians fondly, remaining in contact with one of the captains and sharing her story in fluent Bosnian, English, and Arabic.
Emina and Captain Mohammed Aly (the only remaining contact she currently has) in 1998 standing near the front line of the Bosnian and Serbian forces
Edited by Justine Delangle
