Posted on 05/19/2004 7:19:24 PM PDT by Destro
Bosnia - Mujahedeen Adventure in Bosnia
by Charlene Cowling, photos by Darko Zeljkovic 05.19.04
My heart is pumping and I can feel the anxiety rolling around in my gut, oily and slick. It creeps up in to the back of my throat and I have to use everything in my power to shove it back down to a more manageable level. It percolates there, but, at least I can finally force myself to think.
We approach the Mujahedeen (Muslim extremists) on foot, having trashed our initial plan of shooting images from the nearby consecrated grounds of the Serbian Church. This, our original vantage point, offered security, no doubt, but relatively useless images.
"I think we have to go down there," I say to my partner. He gives me a long stare but nods in agreement.
"How are we going to do this?" he asks, and I can hear the tension in his voice.
"We are going to go right up to them and we are going to choose the least scary person and we are going to start talking," brave words from me since I don't speak a word of Serbian and my partner is fluent. I guess the pressure is on him, by default.
"Okay" he agrees, "but you do the talking". An hour previously, we had arrived in our little car, affectionately dubbed "the unsinkable Molly," to the little village of Bocinja in central Bosnia. We had followed the Bosna River, still swollen and murky from week long rains and flooding. As we approached the little village surrounded by towns called "Jealousy" and "Unloved."
I start to feel the tension build. One little village, in particular, Field of Crosses, tugged at my heart. Evidence of the bullet holes that tore through the village were scattered everywhere. I closed my eyes and imagined the carnage that must have occurred here during the recent civil war that tore the country to pieces.
We approach Bocinja. On our right, just across the river, is a Catholic Croatian Church. Directly across from it lies a Muslim Mosque and across a field, perched on a rolling hill, lies the Serbian Church—all within spitting distance of each other. Literally. Ethnic tensions run high in this little village. We are stopped by the local police who, upon hearing our intentions to photograph the local Mujahedeen, take my Serbian born partner's name, his mother's name, his father's name and his families' address.
"Just in case anything happens to you," they say. The anxiety dances in my belly.
We continue our walk toward the mosque. There is absolutely nothing that defines this unfinished, three story building as a mosque, to me. At least, not until I raise my eyes to the roof and see the black flag of Islam proudly waving and snapping in the wind. Through a series of gestures and whispers we calculate our plan of approach. We've been working closely together for the past six months and I feel as though I can read his mind. It mirrors what is happening in mine and I can feel the crescendo of anxiety building again. I tear myself out of his mind space.
I walk up, to what appears to be, a local merchant, selling his wares through the back of his white mini van and finger the materials with appreciation and attempt to make eye contact. Silly me. I have just entered a strict Muslim community. They don't make eye contact with women. Thankfully, my partner speaks up. I have absolutely no idea what he is saying but I listen with rapt attention to the tones of the voices around me trying to gauge our safety. I can hear my partner stepping up the verbal dance of persuasion with his increasingly rapid fire responses. He turns to me and says, "He wants to see our credentials."
A few moments later the merchant, who has identified himself to us as a former lieutenant in the Muslim Foreign Fighters Brigade, surprisingly gives us permission to take a few frames.
We begin weaving around taking our pics. Several men automatically shield their faces to avoid photos. From my right a bearded man leans in to me and says menacingly, "No pictures, or I'll break your fucking camera over your head." Perfect English. I duck my head in obeisance and lift my palms to indicate that I will comply.
I value my head. And my camera.
"Maybe we could find her some nice Mujahedeen husband," someone calls out from the crowd. My partner, thinking this was a nice ice breaker translated this to me with a smile. The Mujahedeen smiled too. I definitely didn't smile and threw back, "Tell them that I am already married." As he translated back, the mood changed abruptly. The jokes stopped and one man stepped forward to prevent another from following me. Then a voice called out, "If you were my wife, I wouldn't let you come alone to Bosnia." That's an understatement. They don't allow their wives to go anywhere alone, period. We sigh in relief as the men enter the mosque and we are left alone in the parking lot. I feel limp, energized, excited, exhausted all at once. We stroll back to our indomitable Molly and slip in to her inner sanctum. Safe, at last.
Yet to this day, we can't name our enemy, only "the war on terror."
Good luck winning a war on terror-terror is a technique - sort of like declaring a war on crime - it is unwinnable.
The presence of the foreign fighters, the so-called Mujahedeen, is not disputed. It is the article that seems to have been written in a hotel room far from Bocinja, Zenica, or even Sarajevo--or anywhere in Bosnia or the Balkans. This is the type of journalism that served to unleash the dogs against Yugoslavia during the wars. Now it attempts to serve what truth?
We should get a pool going on when that enemies name finally gets spoken on the public airwaves or from the mouth of a significant politician. Right now I'm kinda partial to "heat death of the universe" as my time frame though it might shorten a bit after a couple hundred thousand more Americans get killed by Isl... I mean terrorism...
Radical Islam is an insane murder cult, "moderate" Islam is its Trojan Horse in the West.
"ALLAHU AKBAR!" is the Muslim Call to Murder.
MEIN KAMPF = MEIN KORAN
ALLAHU AKBAR! = HEIL HITLER!
We're going to find out, sooner or later, if Abdul will pray, to a glowing crater.
So this story rings false because it does not read right to you? Once again Email the editor and see what they say - I don't have a problem with this article in both its style or believability.
BTTP
The Freeper Serboids need not post. I'll do it for them.
"Kill 'em all -- let God sort 'em out!"
There. That covers it. Everything else is simply exegesis.
Thank you.
You are sick and demented, aren't you? Name one instance where I have said those words on this forum or anyplace else. You need help, Joe.
You joined last week. Or did you? Go fly a kite.
Wait a sec, I don't even like flying kites. What the heck is ice cream boy babbling about this time.
Do you like flying kites? I thought he said we were the same person. I guess you must not since I don't, right?
About sums it up, doesn't it?
UN Soldier "Bosnians murdered their own people for PR"
http://www.FreeRepublic.com/forum/a3a8d701908d0.htm
Off of a cliff with all the other lemmings?
Gee, it almost appears that he is hoping for the deaths of more Serbs. I wonder if he'd care to clarify that to prevent the possibility of such an interpretation.
H,
the evil is still in Bosnia. Not for long.
Tom
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