CHAPTER 1 Part 3

 

CHAPTER ONE part 3

As it was in that time, the 80's in the city were quite demanding on working parents. There were no private daycare centers and the ones that did exist, had a rather limited number of available spots. Many young parents at a time, leaned heavily on the support of their parent's, as in, stand in nannies for their children while they were at work.

 

My brother and  I, being their first grand kids, were truly loved by our grandparents. Plus, my aunts and uncle were all younger than my mom, still unmarried and all living with my grandparents. So to say that for them, all revolved around two of us, would be an understatement. 

At least in that aspect, my mother had full on support. She knew that there'll always be someone to pick us up and keep us safe if she's late from work,  to pitch in if she is tired, overwhelmed, or has an unplanned emergency and she can’t make it.

 

Even so, since my brother attended kinder garden before elementary school as well, my parents thought that placing me in the  preschool daycare, would be more beneficial than spending all my time at my grandmothers place, being surrounded by adults. In their mind, I would be better prepared for elementary school, learn to socialise more and overall toughen up for what’s to come.

 

Eventually they managed to get me placed in the local preschool center, after pulling some strings to do so.

But that ended being a disaster, after just a little bit over a month, of me attending it.

 

I had an inexplicable aversion to daycare center. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to them, since I  rarely even played with any kids as it is, preferring solitary entertainment and my own company. I was pretty selective when it came to people and that appeared to be a constant throughout my life.  

The real term for that now days would be an introvert person.

The sanctuary of my grandmother’s house, my own little space of peace and feeling of safety and comfort it provided, was all I needed.

I was not a kid who liked mingling, talking or playing group games…I was self sufficient and a loner by nature.

Needless to say, when they started bringing me to preschool, I would  scream like a banshee, cry and beg my aunt, grandmother or whoever it was that happened to be on a duty of dropping me off at a time, not to leave me in there.  

But it wasn’t their call to make. They had to leave me in there. 

To be continued...

CHAPTER 1 Part 2

 

CHAPTER ONE   part 2

 One memory of our outings to the green market stayed with me until this day. We came to the market just as we usually do, but I remember that day as being unusually crowded, with people milling around, trying to pass each other between narrow market stalls.

My grandmother held my hand pretty tightly, not wanting to loose me by chance in that crowd. We entered the butcher store and in a second we got split in the mass of bodies pushing up to the front of the store.

I felt  momentary panic, looking up at all those people squashing me while I was frantically looking for her brown colored jacket she wore that morning. All I could see around from my small vantage point were strange bodies and faces. 

My little heart was pumping furiously and unshed tears began to prick the back of my eyes. "Naaanaa, nannaa", I cried, panic creeping up my voice.

Next thing I know, strange hands were picking me up from behind, and I was placed to sit on some kind of counter where I could immediately see to the front. And there she was, my Nana, face pale and worried, calling out my name, looking around for a glimpse of me.

The moment her eyes laid on me, relief flooded them. "I'm here honey, don't you worry. I'm coming over, sit tight", she exclaimed in a reassuring voice.

 All fear left me at the exact moment I saw her. She could take her time for all I care, as long as I could have her in sight. 

 Yes, I knew then and I know now. I was the apple of her eye, the drum of her heart, the wing to her soul, the happiness, worry and pride and she kept me rooted when I was all but gone under.

I am and forever will be grateful to that woman. 

She was my living testament, that even I was unconditionally loved. Every soul needs that someone in their life, whoever that may be, a parent, a friend, a spouse..., just one soul, you never doubt, one soul that never betrays you, one soul that will always have your back, always put you first, one soul to grab your , when the whole world collapses around and on you. 

to be continued..

CHAPTER 1 Part 1.

CHAPTER ONE

 

 Remembering my earliest childhood memories is not that easy. I have tried numerous times to draw out more vivid images of myself, but all I ever got were just glimpses of people and places, snippets of the movie that was my earliest childhood. 

I suppose the furthest my memory goes back, is  my 4^th or 5^th year of life. I can recall myself drawing pictures at my grandmother’s place while she baked in the kitchen, the tantalizing smell of my favorite hot buns with jam, coming from the old oven.

Whenever she baked anything with flour, she would always make sure to put a little piece of dough aside, so that I too could make my own little pita (local pastry dish).

Then, she would ceremoniously place my pita beside her own to bake.

Needless to say, mine was inedible, rock hard piece of baked dough, but she would praise my cooking as it was the most delicious thing she has ever eaten.

The day was never dull with my grandma.

We would go to the green market almost on a daily basis and sometimes, on the way there, we would take a detour and stroll in the park, spent some time on the slides, feed the birds or just sit on the bench and have our own chat. Once back in, I would usually go back to my drawing or she would give me her stack of fashion magazines to pick what outfit I liked best.

She was an excellent seamstress. My brother and I were always dressed nicely, even on a pretty tight budget, all due to her sewing talent. She would make all sorts of cute outfits for me. I don’t remember this, but at one point she even made me a trendy trench coat, that ended up being a total hit with neighboring mom’s, who pestered my grandmother to no end to tell them where she managed to order such a cute little coat from, figuring it must have come from Milano itself !

..to be continued..

 

 

MADE IN BOSNIA- Prologue

 PROLOGUE

 

What I am, is a product of a centuries old, restless, warring and controversial nation. Peace was always short lived and every century or so, there would be some kind of usurper. The constant conflicts, wars and turmoil, generation after generation, seemed to have forged us, into some weird kind of species.

As much as the anything tried to destroy us, we fed on this land and kept on being resilient, stubborn and unbeatable. It turned us into phoenixes, rising over and over again, at times, if nothing more than a speck of ashes left in the debris of what our lives were.

This land I was born in, has a history, almost old as civilisation itself. Bosnia was a compact geopolitical unit as far as 9^th century, while the middle age state of Bosnia got its independence around year 1200.

The first rulers of Bosnia were called “Ban”, a title that equated to lords and princes in Europe at a time.

The most famous Ban’s until this day, were Ban Kulin and Ban Tvrtko I Kotromanic, whose inauguration place remains, can be still found in a small, but ripe with history little town called Visoko.

Now days Visoko is famous for a discovery of the “pyramidal” structures, Pyramid of the Sun and the Moon, with huge network of underground tunnels, chambers and water accumulations.

Least to say, this “discovery” created debates and upheaval among experts. I mean, confirming it as actual pyramids, would meant rewriting the whole world history.  

As it is, my country is as blessed as it is cursed.

It is called European Jerusalem for a good reason. Ripe with a mixture of history and heritage, born throughout centuries of constant changes, influences of occupying cultures, those seemingly opposing differences created a magically intertwined, blended co-existence, that you will not see or experience anywhere else in the world.

In recent history only, after the end of the WW2, a federal unit was formed consisting of the now called, ex-Yugoslav countries under the ruling of Tito.

During this communist era, Muslims in Bosnia and Herzegovina were finally recognized as a constitutional nation. Unfortunately after Tito’s passing, aspiration of other nationalities in ex-Yugoslavia created deeper and deeper conflicts, resulting in one of the worst wars and atrocities against humanity after the WW2.

As it is, my country is as blessed as it is cursed. It can be hell and paradise, and it’s not meant for everyone to love.

BOOK COPYRIGHT Ⓒ Katarina B.

                

 

 ALL rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed  in this book are real.  Names are changed to protect privacy and identities.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise , without express written permission of the publisher.

Made In Bosnia

Author

Katarina B.

A riveting, emotional journey of a young girl through challenging, unexpected events that forever marked the path of her life.  

Non- fiction memoire "Made in Bosnia".

Expected publishing date, June, 2025. 

All Rights reserved © Katarina B.