Sweet Moment in a Sad Land
By John Dwyer
Orange County Register
29 December, 2002
In a world torn by terrorism and religious strife, one is apt
to overlook the humanity that exists in the majority of people
of all ethnicities and religions. During this season, with its
talk both of war and of the tradition of giving, I am reminded
of a chance encounter with a saintly little girl on a Balkan
road.
It was August 1996 and I was in Bosnia, working as a United
Nations volunteer election supervisor. Another supervisor and I
were assigned to oversee several polling stations in the first
elections since the war had ended the previous December. My
partner, also an American, wanted to buy some sundries at the
local U.S. Army PX. He asked me if I would join him on a walk to
the Army base located near Zivinice, Bosnia. I reluctantly said
yes.
I had arrived in Bosnia a few days before our walk. The trip
from my California home had been filled with nervous
anticipation. I was apprehensive about the assignment. The
Bosnian war had been particularly brutal and destructive, and I
was unsure of the circumstances on the ground. The flight from a
devastated Sarajevo to Tuzla Air Base on a military C-130 added
to the anxiety.
At the air base, we received a security briefing from the U.S.
Army. Included in that briefing was a vivid and horrifying
presentation of the danger posed by omnipresent land mines in
the area in which we were about to serve. The tough sergeant
leading the presentation repeatedly warned us of the dangers of
traveling on dirt roads. They had not all been cleared of land
mines and were very dangerous. Hence my concern about walking in
unfamiliar territory.
Nevertheless, my partner and I set off on our quest. We had some
memory of the roads as our driver had taken us on an orientation
tour of the area—but we were soon lost. We had taken a wrong
turn and ended up on a narrow and strange rural dirt road, the
tough sergeant’s words ringing in our ears.
The area was pleasant enough for a place so recently wracked by
war. Gently rolling hills, cattle grazing peacefully. Inverted
cone-shaped haystacks, so unique to the Balkans, were sprinkled
about the wire-fenced fields. We passed silent farmhouses with
red-tiled roofs. The late summer light gave the countryside a
golden glow. But our apprehension remained.
About 20 minutes into our walk on that rural road, I noticed a
group of Muslim schoolboys coming toward us. Carrying backpacks,
they were chatting away and playfully pushing and shoving each
other as schoolboys do the world over. When the boys got within
hailing distance, I wished them a good afternoon in their
language. They were so involved in their chatter that they did
not respond and walked on.
A few minutes later, two young Muslim girls about 10 years
old approached us on the road. One of the girls was eating from
a bunch of grapes. They, too, were chatting away - happily
enjoying the day and each other. I wished them a good afternoon.
They looked up and both wished me the same. We continued along
on our separate journeys.
Shortly I heard the sound of running footsteps coming up behind
me. I turned and saw one of the little girls was trying to catch
up with me. It was the girl with the grapes. I stopped. The
pretty blond girl came up to me and looked up with her striking
blue eyes. She shyly raised her hands, took her small bunch of
grapes, split it in two, and gave me one of the halves. She then
smiled, turned, and merrily ran back to rejoin her friend.
To say I was touched is to understate the moment. My thoughts
were that the little girl had just lived through a war that had
devastated her country. She had heard the sound of artillery
shells whistling overhead on the way to kill and maim. She had
no doubt huddled with her family, filled with a stark fear of
unknown assailants’ bent on destruction, in a war that she
didn’t understand. But the terrifying experiences did not defeat
that little girl’s innate humanity and giving heart. The war had
not destroyed the kindness and goodness that was within her. She
took the time to share with a foreign stranger on that summer
afternoon.
I think of that little girl often. Especially when I read
reports about the hatred in today’s world. I never saw her
again, but I will see her forever. Those pretty blue eyes. Her
shy gesture reaching up to share her grapes. The beautiful smile
on her youthful face. Watching her joyously running back to join
her friend. These thoughts remain—thoughts of a poignant
encounter with a little Muslim girl’s transcendent humanity in a
troubled world.