We went to Srebrenica on Friday. That isn’t the kind of trip that I can just talk about, as if it could be easily equated to any one of our other day trips. I remember the 90s very well, and genocide happening during my lifetime, on a continent where I occasionally lived, is hard to digest. While I was throwing fits about what I wanted in my lunch, or whether I could go to my friend’s house on a weeknight, other kids were walking 100 kilometers to Tuzla while their brothers and fathers and friends were being killed by artillery and sniper fire. I was begging my Dad for those new Adidas sneakers, while mothers and daughters and sisters in Bosnia were begging for the lives of their husbands and sons and brothers. There is very little I can say about Srebrenica without sounding cavalier, which is why I will say very little this week.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s