After hearing story upon story about the Bosnian War, the siege of Sarajevo, and the massacre at Srebrenica, I couldn’t wash it out of mind.
As I walked the streets of Sarajevo and saw the older women begging, my mind quickly began to think about how many family members they could have lost. The women of this age more than likely lost one, if not more of her relatives to this war. Fathers, brothers, husbands, sons, uncles and nephews would have been among those slaughtered that year.
When I saw older men, I noticed that 85-90% of those men were suffering the consequences of the war. They were limping, they were missing limbs, they were in wheelchairs and using canes, and their scars told the stories. Some were rough and some were ragged but yet they would still muster up a smile when we spoke.
There had been a shift of perspective in my eyes. No longer were they just old women and men, they were survivors. They had persevered. When they were literally surrounded by the enemy, they chose to keep going.
But my eyes had not only shifted in relation to the people. They also shifted to see this place, this town, these buildings, roads, and alleys in a new light.
Suddenly, I was noticing damage to buildings and structures that was more than likely from shells and artillery fired at the people of the city. After hearing stories of the snipers who were perched in the surrounding mountains, I found myself walking the same streets that young men and women had to run through as shots were fired at them.
The art gallery about the siege showed pictures of graffiti and propaganda from the war. And as I left the building that day and walked through the streets of Old Town, my eyes suddenly began to notice the surrounding graffiti. Yes, I had noticed an occasional piece here and there before, but now that I had seen the graffiti documented during the war, my eyes were drawn to every piece of graffiti and street art that we passed.
I was overwhelmed. It felt like the walls were crying out to me. It became hard to concentrate on the task at hand because I found my mind wondering what each piece, what each word, what each picture meant. Did it have a message? Was it about the war?
That day I decided that I would spend a day or two meandering through these streets and documenting the graffiti that I came across. Initially, I thought this would be easy. I mapped my course out and set out. Within 15 minutes of being on that course, I was chasing graffiti well out of the initial area I had planned.
As I sit here writing this, my mind has wandered to the story found in Genesis. Where Cain kills his brother and Abel’s blood cries out from the ground. These walls were crying out to me just as Abel’s blood cried out to God in the book of Genesis and I couldn’t help but chase the trails of graffiti through the city. They are crying out to anyone who will stop and listen. But no one does.
As I walked the streets of Sarajevo documenting this graffiti that was plastered on every wall and corner and door, not one person was stopping to look. Some of it was new and some was old, but the cries had faded to the ears of each person passing.
These people feel forgotten. They feel unknown.
The thing that most people know about Sarajevo is that it held the 1984 winter Olympics. What they don’t know, is that the Olympic mountain also served as sniper perches. The men who fled to the mountains for refuge, were shot by snipers lurking in the bobsled tracks. The glory of this Olympic mountain now serves as a resting ground for the bodies of many who were massacred. Covered up and forgotten.
Eventually my mind came to this point: who else are we forgetting?
One thing I have learned on this journey so far is that there are people all over this world in need. I can’t meet all their needs. It doesn’t matter how much I want to or how hard I try, I cannot do it. But praise be, that I know the One who can.
This experience in Sarajevo has pushed me to a new place. With everything I learn, I realize that there is so much that I don’t know. With every new pain and hurt I find in the world, I realize that there is much more that I don’t see.
I have made a vow to myself and to the Lord that I will never stop asking that question: who am I forgetting?
**The day that I went into the city and chased graffiti, we walked over 5 miles and took over 1,000 photos. This video is just a glimpse of some of my favorite ones from the day. Please watch!
