Pain of July: It only gets darker

BY: Amina CORBO - ZECO

It happens every time, every year... 2-3 days ahead of 11 July, the sky gets that special look, the Sun does not shine in its usual way but just stands there in the fog, as a witness of monstrous acts of those who are still trying to deny the Srebrenica genocide.

Every time, every year... the pain persists, it will not go away. In the middle of the night I get a call. On the other side of the telephone is a voice of a survivor of the 1995 horror.

In 1995, Adel Sabanovic was a small child. He lost 22 family members during the Srebrenica genocide. As the time goes by, he says it becomes more difficult to live in peace. Adel is still afraid of falling asleep when lights are off. He quickly says hello, noting that his eyes are burning from crying.

I pray to God that no child will ever again feel pain or face trauma, in war or in peace, like I did... We saw the coffins with remains, I ran after the truck to the Eternal flame... I did not catch up with, Adel says.

I glance the clock. Two past midnight... I'm convinced that he is not aware of the time, as for him the time stopped on 11 July 1995.

- My wounds are too deep and big, somehow they just can't heal. And some don't trust me, they doubt my pain, Adel continues without pause, like he is about to scream and release his pain in the dark night, so those 22 family members, guilty of being Bosniaks could hear him.

During our midnight talking, Adel recalls being sent by Drinski corps of the RS Army to bring water so that they could wash their hands and knives after slaughtering Bosniaks. He was only 8 then. He had to watch the RS army soldiers rape and slaughter his family members, neighbours and friends.

- My father was killed at the beginning of the war, my grandfather somewhat later. They took away everything I had. Some doubt it really happened. I felt sick yesterday at Bashcarsija, ER came, I was so embarrassed, Sabanovic says.

He won't let me ask questions, but later on I find out that after the sad march from Sarajevo that saw off remains of 71 victims to be buried on 11 July, Adel collapsed... Sarajevo doctors helped him come around. Yet, there's no cure for his heart and soul...

He lives with his wounds and pain without any understanding or protection of this society and state. Thanks to some good people, he has a place to live.

At least once a month Adel pays a visit to his Podrinje. So will he this year. He will make a prayer at the funeral and see his family off to the eternal peace. His old friend – pain, will return yet again and some new wounds will show. And he will call me at midnight hour because the darkness will become even more terrifying. Luckily, he will still have tears to help him soothe his soul.  

Even his voice sounds different these days. Dimmed, fearful... I imagine it is the same for all those who feel the July pain. Adel says that is his diagnosis and there's no cure for it. It always come at this time of the year, and it gets washed down by rain when the caskets are lowered in the ground and the souls find their peace...

- What do you think, Amina, will it rain after this heat, Adel asks.

- It will, Adel, it always rains on the white tombstones to soothe our pain, I respond.

- I will keep the lights on, and try to get some sleep... sorry for bothering you, Adel concludes.

No, Adel, don't apologize... We should apologize to you if we fall short of feeling your pain and the pain of all the mothers, daughters, sons, orphans. We should apologize for feeling your pain only for a brief moment every July... And do keep the lights on for fear will disappear, for a brief moment in time.