Anamarija Knezević, Podhum, Bosnia & Herzegovina
Girlfriends from Podhum
Author: Anamarija Knezević
This indicator holds a personal truth for me. Let me share the story of three friends from the same building.
In the early 1970s, my family and I moved to Gupčeva Street – my father, mother, and I. After living in a community surrounded by extended family, our new apartment felt vast, like a castle. As we carried our belongings inside, we had the chance to meet our neighbors, who shared in our joy. They kindly offered assistance with furniture and exchanged friendly words. During one encounter, I noticed a shy girl on the second floor who gave me a timid wave. On my way back with a bag of toys, another girl was waiting for me. Both were smaller, leading me to believe they were younger than me. “Hi, I’m Anja, this is Sonja, and what’s your name?” they asked. “I’m Nela,” I replied. From that day on, a friendship blossomed—one that would endure a lifetime. We grew up together, attending the same kindergarten, playing in the same yard, and eventually sharing the same school and classroom. Podhum was a place of endless adventures and mischief. Gardens abounded with fruit, and we often sneaked into Brekina’s or Raljević’s gardens to savor cherries, plums, or apricots.
The legendary battles between groups of neighborhood kids, identified by the colors of their respective buildings, continue to evoke smiles when we reminisce about them. Thankfully, none of those skirmishes ever escalated into something serious, thanks to the watchful eyes of caring mothers who stepped in to restore harmony among us.
As time went by and we entered adulthood, the energetic playtime in the yard transitioned into leisurely strolls, movie outings, and savoring delectable pastries at cafes. However, the unbreakable bond of our “fantastic trio” remained steadfast. Even when Anja relocated to Sarajevo, our inseparability endured. We maintained a consistent correspondence through heartfelt letters and cherished the moments we spent together during holidays and breaks, creating invaluable memories. It all seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. As we shared our academic and personal journeys, including our romantic experiences, the time eventually came for us to part ways. Yet, we never allowed conflicts or disagreements to overshadow our friendship. Each of us had her own unique perspectives, but we deeply respected and valued one another’s opinions. Then came the chapter of university life. I pursued a Law degree in Mostar, Sonja pursued Architecture in Belgrade, and Anja remained in Sarajevo. Podhum was no longer the sole meeting place; our reunions expanded to Sarajevo, Belgrade, or Makarska on the Croatian coast. We diligently worked to meet our academic deadlines, eagerly anticipating the joy of reuniting during our breaks and relishing each other’s company once more.
Suddenly, everything changed as the war erupted. Sonja remained in Belgrade, Anja in Sarajevo, and I in Mostar. Our communication relied on messages sent through the Red Cross, serving as a lifeline to confirm our survival. Each of us carried her own fears, which often evolved into unbearable agony. I took on the responsibility of looking after Sonja’s father while we were still in the building. Eventually, I too had to leave Podhum and seek refuge in Zagreb. Sonja managed to find my relatives in Modriča and informed them of our well-being, despite the devastation of our home, and our relocation to Zagreb. Anja narrowly escaped Sarajevo with her family, seeking sanctuary in Germany. Sonja and her boyfriend embarked on a journey to the United States. A heavy silence settled upon us as we faced our individual struggles and battled our inner demons amidst the turmoil of war.
Three years after the war, I finally arrived in Mostar for the first time. As I turned a corner onto Žovnička Road, I was captivated by the sight of poplar trees flourishing along the Radobolja River. A rush of inexplicable emotions overwhelmed me. They had survived! Standing proudly, it seemed as if they were even taller than I remembered.
Hum hill had transformed into a verdant oasis. The fifteen minutes that separated me from home felt like an eternity. Anxiety gripped me. What would I encounter? Who would be missing? Countless questions flooded my mind, yet answers remained elusive. We parked the car in front of the building. Familiar faces caught my eye. The street sign had changed, replacing Gupčeva Street with Franjevačka Street. The elevator was out of order, so I decided to ascend by foot. Step by step, I reached Sonja’s door. With trepidation, I knocked. Silence enveloped me. Just as I was about to turn away, the sound of the door unlocking echoed through the hallway. I stood in darkness, awaiting the revelation of the figure behind the door. Suddenly, a radiant light flooded the space, momentarily blinding me. Gradually, my eyes adjusted, and I recognized Sonja’s father standing before me. We embraced, overcome with a mix of joy and relief. I stepped into the apartment that had once been my second home. Everything seemed frozen in time, unchanged. Our conversation flowed effortlessly, reminiscent of days gone by. Sonja’s father proudly shared photographs—of Sonja, her husband, and their children. He handed me her address, a symbol of reconnection. With a sense of anticipation, I made my way to my own apartment. As I entered, a wave of familiarity washed over me. The space had undergone renovation, yet it retained its essence. I had returned to my sanctuary. It took some time before I fully resettled, making Mostar my permanent home once again. Throughout this period, our letters resumed their journeys, bridging the distance between us. And then, on one scorching summer day, Sonja and Anja unexpectedly appeared at my doorstep.
We hugged, cried, laughed, all at once. We didn’t close our eyes for twenty-four hours as we had so much to catch up on. Tears and laughter intertwined as we shared our stories. Even to this day, we stay in touch and make a point to see each other. Our reunion wasn’t simply a chance to reintroduce ourselves, even though much time had passed, and we endured difficult moments. It served as a pivotal moment in an ongoing narrative that continues to unfold to this day.