Confession of a Sarajevo alley
As a small side street in Sarajevo, hidden from the hustle and bustle of the main roads, I am a silent witness to history. My cobblestones have borne the weight of centuries and heard the stories of countless people. Here, historical figures, changing rulers, and ordinary citizens have left their marks.
Once, my city was a shining symbol of diversity. Minarets, church spires, and synagogue domes stretched together into the sky, forming a unique mosaic and symphony of cultures and ethnicities. The scent of spices and the hum of markets filled the air as merchants from distant lands offered their wares. In my shady corners, teenagers fell in love under the gentle glow of lanterns, and workers returned home tired but content after a long day. Poets and artists who strolled through my alley filled the hearts of the people with their works.
„Our shadows will roam Vienna, haunt the court, scare the Lords.“
– Gavrilo Princip
Among the many who walked my cobblestones was Gavrilo Princip. A young man whose actions would echo through history, Princip’s footsteps still resonate within me. It was in Sarajevo, on June 28, 1914, that he fired the shots that assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife, an act that sparked the onset of World War I. My stones bear the weight of this momentous event, a reminder of how the actions of one can alter the course of history.
Throughout the years, many notable figures have graced Sarajevo with their presence. Nobel Prize winner Ivo Andrić walked these streets, drawing inspiration from the city’s rich tapestry for his literary masterpieces or the legendary filmmaker Emir Kusturica captured the soul of the Balkans in his films. Their legacies are woven into the very fabric of my stones, whispering tales of creativity and resilience to those who pass by.
In 1984, my city took center stage on the global stage as the host of the Winter Olympic Games. Athletes from around the world converged upon Sarajevo, bringing with them a spirit of competition and camaraderie. The city buzzed with excitement, and I felt the pride and joy of my people as they welcomed the world with open arms. The Olympic spirit left an indelible mark, a testament to the unity and strength that Sarajevo embodies.
But then the war came, and my city was shrouded in darkness. The harmony that once reigned in Sarajevo shattered into a thousand pieces. I, witnessed fear and suffering as I had never seen before. Bombs fell, and the echo of gunshots rang through my narrow alleys. People who had once been neighbors and friends became bloodthirsty enemies. The diversity that made my city so special became a reason for hatred and destruction.
My cobblestones, which had seen so many joyful and heartfelt moments, were drenched in blood. I saw families torn apart, homes destroyed, and the souls of people broken. Yet even in those darkest times, I never stopped telling stories—stories of humanity. In my corners, survivors whispered words of hope to each other, and despite the horrors of war, there were always moments of solidarity and compassion.
After the war, the scars were deep, but life slowly began to pulse anew. New generations of children, teenagers, and adults entered my alley, determined to revive the city and heal the wounds of the past. A very small part of the diversity returned, more cautious and deliberate than before.
I saw the markets fill again, children playing and laughing, and lovers finding each other under my streetlights. My stones, which hold so many stories, whisper of a future that does not forget the mistakes of the past but also does not repeat them.
My city has changed, but its essence remains. It has been shaped by its history. And so, I will continue to bear the steps of all those who come to contribute their part to the never-ending story.
„Objectively, Paris is the most beautiful city in the world, and nothing in Sarajevo can be compared to Paris, but my heart never trembles in Paris like it does here in Sarajevo, when I wait in line at the post office.“– Goran Bregović, musician and composer
In the still hours of the night, when Sarajevo rests, I listen to the memories of the past. I remember the voices of those who lived and loved here, the sounds of daily life that once filled me. I bear the scars of war and the hope of peace within me, and in my stones, the history of my city lives on. I will always be here to preserve and tell the stories of Sarajevo.
