Wednesday: the workshop, and then, as usual, we read the letters and messages from our friends. Sura from Suncokret of Rijeka asks us to visit a young man in the Belgrade hospital. His grandmother lives in Rijeka. In Brcko this young man was wounded by shelling and he has no one here. His name is Akif Piskavica. We agree to visit him. Akif is located in the prosthetics ward — ward A, room 1. Thursday: I enter room 1. A young man with dark hair is sitting on a bed under the window. Yes, that's him. No need to ask. He's the only young person — the others are elderly.
We introduce ourselves. I explain to him who I am, who sent me, what sort of organization we are. And so on, every Thursday for almost the whole next year.
I find out how he was wounded: Akif, his cousin, and their friend were on the balcony when the shell fell. His cousin and friend were killed, and Akif was left without a leg and blind in one eye. He was taken by helicopter to Belgrade. Several operations were performed because his other leg was seriously wounded. He was put in this ward in order to have a prosthesis made.
Akif is worried about his family, his parents, his younger brother, and sister. It is the saddest when he talks about his sister, who cannot get over the fact that the shell blew up her piano. He knows that his parents will never be able to buy her another one, and she was incredibly talented, one of the best in the music school.
Summer came, and it was Akif s 18th birthday, his coming of age. I wanted to honor it in a special way. July 28th I was not going to be in Belgrade, so our friends Ljuba and Majda, representing Women in Black, brought him a birthday cake and the book The Bridge on the Drina. Akif later told me that he was very touched by their visit and gift, feeling that he was not alone in this city.
Finally, after all the measurements, fittings, and waiting, he receives his prosthesis. But the joint isn't right. He is impatient. The doctor cheers him up, consoles him and promises that he will do everything he can to get the prosthesis imported. He just needs to wait.
But there's always the question — where will he go when he receives the prosthesis and leaves the hospital? There are three possibilities: through an exchange, then to his parents who fled to Muslim territory near Brcko; to his grandmother's place in Rijeka; to his relatives who left for Frankfurt at the beginning of the war. Akif must make a decision. Where?
After all the letters and conversations with his parents, relatives, and the doctor, the decision is made — Frankfurt.
I immediately contact UNHCR and Save the Children in order to procure all the necessary documents; because Akif has nothing verifying his identity, only what he alone stated.
While waiting for the documents and visa, Akif studies German with cassettes; he had studied German in secondary school. I bring him paper, paint, and brushes for painting. Painting calms him, relaxes him.
The first days of fall arrive and Akif receives the prosthesis from Finland. It suits him, it's okay. He quickly gets used to it. He is satisfied, as is his young doctor, Grbic, who over time has become his best friend in the hospital.
The time has come for Akif to be able to get to know the city where he has been for so long, and which he hasn't seen at all. We want him to meet some people of his own age, to be able to take some nice memories from here; memories other than those painful ones, those from the hospital.
For the first time he is walking through Belgrade. We go for a juice on the main square, then down Knez Mihajlova to Kalemegdan. We show him what is still beautiful in this city. Our friends' children are with us — Dunja, Milica, Hana. The young people have their own stories, and Akif slowly fits into their group. We agree to meet again. It will be at Ljuba's house. The young people come, and so do we, the older ones. Balasevic's latest big concert is on video. We all have a great time. We organize a similar get-together for New Year's also.
But time passes and the permission for the visa arrives. We are all excited but a bit sad for the imminent departure, because Akif is the kind of young man one becomes very close to, even from the first encounter. It is he eve of his departure, and we are all gathered, with little gifts, a souvenir painting. And tomorrow — the airport.
It's January—and like a perfect spring day, as if nature wants to see Akif off in beauty and warmth, to dry the tears in our eyes. Because with Akif, one cannot say good-bye without weeping.
Akif, we look forward to seeing you in Brcko, Belgrade, or somewhere else.
February, 1996
Borka
