I spent years documenting the aftermath of Bosnia-Herzegovina. I’d go inside natural pits to photograph how people search for bones. I documented a community looking for their loved ones on dry beds of a lake. I spent a decade speaking to immigrants and refugees only in a language we can understand, our emotions. Then I sort of diminished from the photo world. Or the world of these hard-heartfelt stories. I didn’t stop photographing, but I returned to Bosnia because I felt the need to slowly start showing the other side of my homeland, the mountains.
I started hiking.
For the world outside Bosnia, hiking is a normal sport and something that has become quite common. But, I walk on the mountains that wars have been fought on, yet with many others, we remember, but we manage to live beyond Bosnia’s past.
Though, I am sure, a decade ago, I would have written of the dangers of visiting our mountains due to the mines left from the 90s war. And the war before that, and the First World War. But today, I’d tell everyone to go into the mountains, for they unite. And for decades, my country was angry, or influenced by the politicians who constantly use our past to divide us. I’ll never forget the war I survived, or the images my colleagues photojournalists made while risking their own lives here. Or the the aftermath I documented and the deep scars of people who let me in their lives. And my own scars from the war.
But as if we’re still haunted. We are even disturbed by the peace. So I find other side of Bosnia in my hiking boots.
That’s where people fight for each other, but from falling, or from some wild animal. Because the steps on the way to the mountain, they aren’t just steps. They lead us to unity that creates better and healthier mindsets of tomorrow-something Bosnia really needs. That is what I’m doing these days.
And I welcome you to Bosnia-Herzegovina, again.
Or as I call it, the Rebirth Project.