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A View over Sarajevo:
Exploring a City Devastated by War, but on the Road to Recovery

By Amber Foster

“You must drink,” Sonny told us, pointing to the trickle of water dripping from the stone fountain. “If you drink, it means you will come back to Sarajevo someday.”

He was our guide, and we---obedient American tourists all---heeded his advice. As I waited my turn to drink, I momentarily wondered if I would later regret drinking unfiltered tap water. "You only live once", I admonished myself, knowing that in this place it was an even more poignant mantra.

We stood on a hill overlooking the city. The Bosnian capital was spread below us, a testament to both the folly and resiliency of man.

Even ten years after the war with Serbia, signs of the destruction remained: buildings Swiss-cheesed with bullet holes, cement apartment complexes gutted by fire, and everywhere "Sarajevo roses," the flower-shaped craters of tank artillery shells. It was easy to let my eyes wander to the worst, and ignore the abounding signs of recovery. For every ruined husk of a building was a modern complex of metal and glass, newly erected and gleaming in the sunlight. Many historic buildings were concealed under scaffolds, in anticipation of their unveiling.

I had been in Sarajevo for three days, and I had met nothing but smiling, friendly people. At first, they had answered my questions, speaking to me of bombings, of hiding from snipers, of buying the simple necessities of life on the black market. Finally, they exclaimed, “the war, bah! The war is over! Let us enjoy life now!” and our glasses had clinked together, again and again, as the conversation shifted to American music, politics, sex. It was one of those nights that pass in a haze of cigarette smoke and laughter, to be remembered later on a nostalgic evening spent flipping through photo albums.

The next morning I took Sonny's guided tour, which promised spectacular views from the surrounding hills.

It was my turn at the fountain. It was ancient, an eroded lion’s head concealing the pipe where a trickle of water poured down into a rusted grate. I cupped the cold water in my palm, letting the crisp, slightly metallic taste of the liquid sit on my tongue for a minute before swallowing.

I looked up to see Sonny looking at me, smiling. “You’ll come back,” he announced, his blue eyes sparkling.

I only nodded, turning for one last look over Sarajevo before it was time to move on.

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