BY Vildana Kurtovic
Growing up in the US, my mother would bring up the story of my great-grandmother. It was not a typical nostalgic memory, similar to that of my American friends. One in which a family recipe is recounted with a jovial smile. My mother’s memory of her maternal grandmother left her with sadness and questions, and me with tremendous second-hand guilt because I could not help her in those moments.
I could not blame my mom for bringing her up. As an immigrant to metro-Detroit, and former German refugee, my mother, Edina, spent much of her adulthood surviving, learning new languages and attempting to find her way, and in other ways mentally blocking a challenging past instead of having to relieve it in candid moments during which she would open up. When it comes to my great-grandmother, Derviša, I do not know who would want to relieve her story, even as my mother’s family tries to find closure.
You see, the memories my mother shares with me in this case, I cannot even muster up the courage to write here. They are more than painful, seemingly out of a horror novel.
At the start of the war in Bosnia in the early 1990’s, when the Serbs turned on the Bosnian and mainly Bosniak people, my great-grandmother was painfully unaware and naïve as most Bosnian people were at the time. This was within the scope of a few years, going to become the most catastrophic genocide on European soil since the Holocaust. This time, targeting the Muslim instead of Jewish population.
My mother recalls to me the story, with every word making my blood boil, but more than anything creating a depth of sadness that seems inherent in our truth. My grandmother, Šefika, had attempted to call my great-grandmother to leave our native Herzegovina region. She was in Nevesinje, a smaller town close to Mostar, the most well-known Herzegovinian city.
My grandmother asked her mother to leave Nevesinje and that the Serbs were on a killing spree. My great-grandmother assured her, “they won’t do anything to me. Why would they touch me? I am an old woman, what threat could I be to them?”
Looking back, many Bosniaks were this naïve. Even after learning about so many recent prior wars and the atrocities of the Holocaust; what the Nazis were capable of—there is always the assumption that it just cannot happen to you or your people. These were, after all, our neighbors, community members and friends. Who would have known how quickly they could turn on us?
My grandmother pleaded with my great-grandmother, but to no avail. She was set in her way; on staying in her home, her Herzegovina. These were mere rumors of fighting and war. Even as her Serb neighbors came over to her home in the weeks leading up to the war, turning her stove on its opposite side, so that she would not be able to cook meals or heat her home properly—she did not think the worst could happen to her.
My grandmother tried again, she called her mother and continued to plead with her. Until she could not reach her any longer.
One day, my great-grandmother simply disappeared.
Years later, as a recent Michigan State University graduate, finding myself and my own path in New York City, I tried my luck at finding my great-grandmother. I studied journalism as an undergraduate and always found myself to be very resourceful, or in some ways investigative.
I reached out to the Red Cross, learning from my family in Mostar that the organization was helping Bosniak families identify the remains of loved ones, many preserved in mass graves filled by Serbs. I called periodically, referencing a case number I received. The calls were akin to those you make to a doctor or pharmacy to check and see if your prescription is ready. But in this case, I was searching for a whole human with whom I never had a chance to bond with, who was a part of me.
Years went by, the Red Cross could not track her down. Even after my family members provided DNA samples, she was never found or traced back to any remains from the numerous mass graves—at least not yet.
The only piece of mind my family received was through the unnerving words of a local who experienced the war—the same story my mother would tell me over the years. My family went back to Nevesinje after the war, except not as locals any longer, but as visitors to a city overtaken by the Serbs. Our homes were not destroyed, but eerily filled with new people, with their own traditions, going on about as if this was completely normal.
A man in the town told my family that my great-grandmother, along with other residents were rounded up by Serbs and buried alive in a septic area, living out their last days on this planet in the most inhumane and undeserving way possible.
Others in town were burned alive in select homes, set on fire by the Serbs. Many years later, her children and grandchildren would visit Nevesinje and see that the Serb neighbors still living in town casually held on to my great-grandmother’s belongings.
While I do not know the exact details of what happened to my great-grandmother, with so much of the world currently in turmoil (including another war on European soil, this time Ukraine), I want to at least tell a piece of her story while we try to make sense of what happened 30 years ago. Her story is one of many untold, decades later, without any justice.
I would love to tell you about my great-grandmother’s cooking, her traditions and family; all those happy moments recounted without adversity. But right now, my great-grandmother needs us to find her.
Just as much, my hope is that this story and many like it get across to those who are in positions to create change. Our news cycle today is not exclusive to any particular region of the world when it comes to wars and genocide. You never expect it to happen on your soil, but life turns upside down so swiftly. To those perpetuating war, consider the story of one great-grandmother and the impact her story alone has left on generations after her. This could become your story.
Hope exists, that we can all enjoy creating lasting memories with our loved ones instead of searching for closure.
Vildana Kurtovic is a Bosnian-American, currently living in Vienna, Austria. She always held an interest in storytelling and human rights, and studied Journalism at Michigan State University and PR and Corporate Communications at New York University. She has been working in the communications field (PR and marketing) for the last 15 years across NYC and the States and more recently internationally with a base in Vienna.