Breza // Deeper Underground

© John Bills

“You can’t understand Bosnia and Herzegovina without visiting somewhere like Breza.”

What the hell does that mean, John? It sounded good at the time, but hindsight comes as advertised. Is it possible to confidently utter that opening sentence while also parroting the idea that, what is it, “the more I understand, the less I know”? Or, wait, was it that the more you know, the less you understand? You’ll never catch your tail. 

In a roundabout way, I think I stand by the phrase, even if it isn’t dripping in clarity. What do we know about Bosnia and Herzegovina? Pop quiz, hot shot! I never remember where that reference is from. Okay, what do we know? Medieval kingdom, multi-faith population, Ottomans, Yugoslavia, industrial expansion in the 20th century, a war in the ‘90s, a population exodus in the 21st, stunning nature, a past full of curiosities and a future full of questions. Oh, storytelling, don’t forget storytelling. With many things in Breza, you can replace the name of the town with the name of the country, and the point still rings true.

So the day starts with storytelling. We stopped briefly at the local middle school, named after Mak Dizdar (Mehmedalija Mak Dizdar, to be exact). Dizdar was a poet from Stolac, a 20th-century thinker who embraced the tumult of Bosnia and Herzegovina, marrying national suffering with human experience. Writing about writers makes me uneasy. The school was holding a workshop on cyberbullying, a subject that I often discuss with taxi drivers. What would Mak Dizdar make of cyberbullying? I dread to think. Lives are lived in Breza. The impact increased communication has had is difficult to judge. Remove Breza, insert Bosnia and Herzegovina.

© John Bills

From the school to the spirit, from the educational to the ethereal. The nearby Church of Saint Barbara, with a yellow exterior and practically neon-yellow interior. The Priest told us of its history, how the bell was built a decade before the church, and the importance of the church to workers. A small statue of Saint Barbara sits outside the church, itself above a monument to mining. The light always shines, kept bright by people of all religions. Muslims, Orthodox, Catholics, atheists, whatever. God is God, after all. 

Barbara had a rough go of it. The daughter of a businessman, she lived in Izmet but ran into bother with her father when she developed a thing for Christianity. Daddy wasn’t about to have this, so he held her captive in a tower with no light. The story goes in various directions from here; she may have tunnelled out, she may have hidden in a cliff, but everyone agrees that her dad eventually found her and personally beheaded her. 

He beheaded his own daughter. 

Naturally, he was struck by lightning after the event, but this was little consolation to Barbara. She had no head, after all. She eventually became the patron saint of things with explosives and of workers who face a sudden and violent death. 

If I’m rushing through this, I apologise. History doesn’t wait. Breza’s primary attraction is its antique basilica, but it seems only fair to talk about that another time. The remains of the basilica are on a side street in the centre of Breza, hidden in plain view, a sort of ‘oh, by the way’ position that rewards those who wander. The same can be said for the nearby mosque in Podgora. Many questions are asked about its age, but its beauty and tenderness are undeniable. No matter how old the mosque is, it is old. Breza has masses of history, but much of it gets overshadowed by more influential subjects. Remove Breza, insert Bosnia and Herzegovina.

© John Bills

Mention Breza to anyone in BiH, and they will likely think of mining. Heck, they might even think of Alija Sirotanović, the Hero of Socialist Labour from nearby Trtorići. The shining star in a family of miners, Alija walked the 6km from Trtorići to Breza to work, eventually helming a team that managed to mine a whopping 152 tons of coal in one shift. This was a record, and Tito himself paid the team a visit. He offered Alija the world, but all Alija wanted was a bigger shovel. He got it but eventually died in abject poverty. 

A bust of Alija sits outside the Breza mine today, and we stopped briefly for a chat with The Guy. That’s what I’m calling him, at least. He swaggered over, hands in pockets, aviator sunglasses doing most of the work, and he answered my nervous questions with all the confidence of a man with more important things to do. He wasn’t there to waste time on prematurely grey geeks from Wales. 

© John Bills

Before the mine, Breza was a small collection of houses surrounded by fields, meadows and forests. People went about their business, living day to day, getting by, oblivious to the fortunes that lay under their feet. Men have a habit of looking to the sky for hope and answers. The sky will not save you. The earth might.

The earth saved Breza. More accurately, the earth created Breza. Most of the village was owned by the Telalagić brothers, but it wasn’t until the Austro-Hungarians swaggered in that exploitation of the earth began. The new rulers accelerated the milking of the resources, sending in geologists to survey the situation. An 1879 report stated that Bosnia and Herzegovina had riches greater than most countries in Europe, particularly when it came to coal. With that in mind, it was time to open some mines, with Breza getting its turn in 1907. Salkan Frijak, a shepherd from Gornja Breza, was the first man to go down. His wage? One forint.

© Edin Avdukic

The discovery and exploitation of coal don’t magically lead to a town. Police came in from Vareš and Visoko. There was no cash register, so money came from Sarajevo every two weeks. There was no post office, so the post was dropped off at the railway station. The workforce was largely made up of unqualified farmers from the surrounding villages. World War I and the sequel did plenty of damage, raising prices, bringing famine and diseases. Strikes were common. The development of the mine brought its own problems; the larger the mine, the more electricity was needed. Horses can only go so deep. A dangerous job became even more dangerous.

But even the most dangerous jobs are fallible to the relentless process of time. Coal is out of fashion. The Guy told us about the mine’s attempts to diversify through biomass and other sustainable forms of energy. The future is uncertain. The earth built Breza, the earth saved Breza. Breza’s future is at the mercy of the earth. Remove Breza, insert Bosnia and Herzegovina.

© Edin Avdukic

What of that opening proclamation? What is it about Breza that personifies Bosnia and Herzegovina? For one, pull out a map and locate the town. Breza is 30km or so north of Sarajevo, a commutable distance that allows people to live in Breza but work in the capital. Great! Yeah, sort of. Young people have easy access to the capital, and that means an exodus of people. Breza also happens to be a part of the Zenica-Doboj Canton, so many of the administrative and functional elements of life are detailed from Zenica, 50km further north. Fewer hospital beds, less focus, less assistance. Breza has a great geographical position, but the problems it brings are as big as the advantages. Remove Breza, insert Bosnia and Herzegovina.

We briefly stopped at the Hrasno picnic spot to enjoy the stunning nature that surrounds Breza. The drive to Hrasno was packed with gorgeous views, stretching as far as the eye can see, beautiful vistas that are straight out of epic novels and legendary tales. Breza is known for its industry, but the forests and valleys that envelop it are the main events. Remove Breza, you get the point.