Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
gether. I loved the road less traveled, and yet so much of this world demanded permanence,
demanded commitment, demanded valor in order to keep safe the places we call home and
the people we call family.
We were standing in the tunnel itself, and as he looked into the darkness, where people
had run quietly (and quickly) through the night, praying to make it out alive, Edis ex-
plained, “You know, I was also at that time defending the city. I was a member of the Bos-
nian army. I participated in this tunnel also. Here, we help three hundred thousand people
to survive.”
I could feel him looking at me in the dark, his eyes shining brightly as he said, “This is
really a special thing.”
For all my love of living life on the road, this man's family had taken an immense risk to
stay, to commit themselves to each other and to their people. I thought again of my grand-
father, who had risked his life to defend his own home.
My throat tightened as I realized out loud: “You are in very many ways responsible for
saving this city.”
Edis didn't reply. He just nodded.
Often it is so hard to accept gratitude, to honor ourselves for the good we do. But we
must—we must celebrate what's permanent. Because though sometimes we can be a de-
structive people, sometimes we can be heroes.
Edis went back upstairs as I went for a walk in what remained of the passageway. I
touched its cool, damp walls and felt my feet walking in the same footsteps of the hundreds
of thousands who fled through it, praying that they might live to see the sun rise, that they
might get to hold their wives once again or kiss the faces of their children, people for whom
home wasn't a choice, but a desperate and heartbroken dream.
As I left Edis's former home, I thought again about my grandfather in London, but also
back to Taso's story of 9/11 in New York. Wherever there is tragedy, there is also love.
There are people coming together to save each other, to offer food and water, and in the
case of Edis's family, to put their own lives at risk to protect what matters most.
Though I knew that there was still much healing to be done in Sarajevo, as I left Edis
and walked back to Kindness One through the safe and quiet streets, I saw a people re-
united—Muslims and Christians sharing the city in peace. And underneath that history of
war, of destruction, of the assassination of Franz Ferdinand, was also a place of healing.
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