Anamarija Knezević, Podhum, Bosnia & Herzegovina
A Better Life
Author: Anamarija Knezević
I want to emphasize my agreement with this indicator right from the beginning. It is evident that a large number of young people are leaving Mostar, and the issue at hand goes beyond mere physical safety concerns. It now extends to their existential security. The task of finding a job through honest means has become incredibly challenging, to the point where it seems like an impossible mission. Let me further clarify this notion of an “impossible mission.” Unless one is part of specific circles, political parties, or conforms to certain expectations, there seems to be no place for them here. In this context, one’s diploma, knowledge, and dedication become irrelevant. I speak from personal experience when I say this.
As a mother of three sons, I have experienced the challenges of raising them single-handedly before, during, and after the war. Parenthood is an arduous journey, a lifelong commitment with no instruction manual to follow. It requires acting on instinct, making choices based on love and intuition. There are moments when you feel like a successful parent, proud of the outcomes, and there are times when self-doubt creeps in, wondering if things could have been better.
After the war, a pivotal moment occurred when my middle son, who was nineteen at the time and a dreamer by nature, came home one afternoon and expressed his desire to leave Mostar. I prepared a cup of coffee for both of us and settled down to have a heartfelt conversation with my son. This particular cup of coffee felt different from all the ones we’d shared before. Typically, I initiate our discussions, asking questions either subtly or directly. However, this time, it was my son who took the lead in the conversation. With a determined tone, he opened up, saying, “Mom, I don’t want to stay here any longer. I refuse to be confined by time (as the curfew was still in place in Mostar), or defined solely by my name and surname. I want to break free from the limitations this city imposes on me. I simply cannot envision planning my life based on these rigid rules any longer.”
I sat there in silence, allowing my son to pour out his heart. He continued with the same determined tone, “I’m in the process of arranging all the necessary paperwork for America.” In that moment, it felt as though a sharp sting pierced through my heart. I jumped up abruptly, startled by the realization. My child, my little bird, was planning to embark on a journey across the ocean.
I made an effort to collect myself, refraining from an exaggerated reaction, and instead embraced my son while diverting the conversation. “Son, this love trouble will pass, the current problems will be solved. That’s not a reason to pack up and go to America.” My son hugged me back and said with a sad voice, “We can’t afford to pursue education or enjoy outings with just your salary. I won’t settle for having enough to eat, and I won’t accept even a small amount of money from you for going out. It’s too little for me and too much for you, considering there are three of us.” Observing my child, I couldn’t help but see his maturity and growth. What should I say to him? He hadn’t said anything incorrect; he was simply telling the facts. Now, as a wise mother, I found myself shifting my perspective and supporting his position. Going to America would be an arduous journey. The visa conditions provided some reassurance. Ultimately, I encouraged him to proceed with arranging the necessary documentation, unaware of what the outcome would be. Remarkably, after just four months, he received an interview invitation from the American Embassy in Split. After only four months, he was called for an interview at the American Embassy in Split.
I borrowed money and a car, and we went to the interview together. It concluded quickly and thus l doubted that anything would come of it. I held onto the hope that they would contact him eventually, but deep down, it felt unlikely. We returned to Mostar, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a surge of relief and happiness. However, that feeling didn’t last long. Within a month, my precious child received a student visa for America. Two months later, we accompanied him to Split Airport to bid him farewell. I stood there, watching the three of them embrace, laugh, and joke around. I felt like a machine, mechanically going through the final preparations for his journey. But inside, my heart was breaking. He was just a child, and I worried about his future in America. Will college work out? What challenges lie ahead? I reassured myself that we would all return home, that this was just a temporary separation. As my son hugged me tightly, he whispered, “Don’t cry, Mom, everything will be okay.” The final boarding call echoed through the airport, and he walked away swiftly. Just before disappearing through the gate, he turned back and waved one last time. And then, he was gone. My other sons bid him farewell, filled with excitement and optimism. The younger one anticipated having his own bed, while the older one considered joining him, thinking about the easier paperwork. I was left shattered and terrified, realizing my child was venturing into the unknown.
He successfully completed two degrees, one at a music academy and another in management. He was involved in a rock band and eventually got married, now having two sons of his own. He accomplished all the goals he set for himself.
My eldest son also graduated from the Music Academy in Sarajevo, got married, and currently resides in Mostar. He has established a stable career as a music teacher.
My youngest son, an athlete, completed his college education, but struggled to find employment in his chosen field. Instead, he found himself working as a waiter. As the years passed, he got married, and his wife, who studied journalism also faced unemployment. The two of them lived with me, and I did my best to give them space and support, hoping that their circumstances would improve. I wished for both of them to secure jobs in their desired fields, but time went on without any positive changes. Then, in a familiar situation, my son and I sat together, sipping our coffee. Unexpectedly, he shared their plan to relocate to Ireland, believing that it offered better opportunities for them. I remained silent, fully aware of the situation. I asked him about his plans for work in Ireland, to which he replied with a hopeful tone, saying he would take whatever opportunities came his way. I could see the excitement in his eyes. And so, the scene repeated at Split Airport, where his wife and I bid him farewell as he embarked on his journey to Ireland.
After six months, his wife also decided to leave. They immediately found employment in their respective fields. Three years later, an opportunity arose for him to work in Germany, and the conditions were exceptional. They made the move to Munich and soon welcomed a child into their lives. They now lead a beautiful life, one that is dignified and fulfilling.
I would like to mention that my middle son visited Mostar for the first time in 15 years. It wasn’t due to a lack of financial means, but rather because there was nothing pulling him back to this place. Similarly, my youngest son hasn’t been to Mostar in five years because he doesn’t feel a strong connection to it. As for me, I have retired and find myself constantly traveling between Mostar, Dallas, Dublin, and now Munich. Despite the geographical distance, the brothers maintain a remarkable bond and cherish their relationship.
No matter how difficult it is for me to accept that my children have pursued their dreams for a better future, I am equally happy and proud of their determination and unwavering commitment to a better and more secure life. A life where they can earn an honest living from their own hard work, where maternity leave and financial compensation are guaranteed. A life where people on the streets smile at each other, some even nod in greeting. A life where there is no fear about what to eat tomorrow or if there will be enough to eat. A life where no political maneuvering can lead to sudden termination of employment. It is for the sake of such security that young people are leaving Mostar, their country, and the region. There is a better life beyond these hills and mountains, beyond this stagnant pond, where everyone looks out for their own interests and engages in petty rivalries.