Bosanska Otoka // Meeting Džemaludin
Džemaludin’s house in Arapuša // © John Bills
“Would you like to go and see the house that Džemaludin Čaušević was born in?”
Oh, baby, you don’t need to ask me twice.
In the many years that I have been coming and going in and out of Bosnia and Herzegovina, I’d wager that this was my geekiest moment. Slobodan and I had been in Bosanska Krupa and thus Bosanska Otoka, ostensibly to check out both towns for the In Your Pocket guides, and somehow the conversation had turned to the story of Džemaludin Čaušević. Quite how, I’m not sure, but I’m going to assume that I had mentioned the guy, knowing that he was born in a little village not a million miles away from here.
“I know a relative of his, he lives in a small house in Bosanska Otoka. Would you like to have a coffee with him?”
Okay, maybe that was my geekiest moment. Seeing the memorial house of one of 20th century Bosnia’s great Islamic thinkers is one thing, but then the house is exactly that, a memorial house, specifically set up for people to visit. Having coffee with the great-nephew of Džemaludin Čaušević? Where do I sign?
We drove the short distance between Krupa and Otoka, a grand total of 12 kilometres north, as Slobodan organised the meet. The car eased its way over the functional bridge and down a small street before parking up outside a house that would accurately be described as nondescript, as if a house could be anything else. We bypassed the house and immediately went into the garden. Džemaludin Čaušević’s great-nephew, himself also called Džemaludin Čaušević, soon joined us, as his wife brought us a tray of coffees and sweet treats. I’m not much of a sweet-treat man, but I’m not going to turn down a sweet-treat offered by the wife of Džemaludin Čaušević’s great-nephew. Mrs Džemaludin Čaušević.
The idyllic island mosque in Bosanska Otoka // © Wikimedia Commons
Slobodan and Džemo discussed life while I tried to take stock of the entire situation. Bosanska Otoka is a gorgeous village, first mentioned in 1260 and settled on the banks of the Una, as alluring here as at every other point of its 215km. Otoka is home to one of Bosnia’s most picturesque mosques, the stunning Gradska Džamija (Town Mosque), delicately placed on a small island on the Una, a river that has so far resisted the temptation to flood this fragile spot. The first mosque here was constructed of wood in the 16th century, a structure that changed over time into the stunner we are faced with today. There is symbolism here, with 153 bulbs lighting the mosque's interior, and 153 steps leading from the ground to the top of the minaret. 153 people lost their lives in Bosanska Otoka during the war of the ‘90s.
Džemaludin Čaušević Jr’s house sat just across the river from the island, not quite perfect enough for a view of the mosque but perfect in every other way. Coffee finished, cakes devoured, it was time to hit the road and head into the hills, traversing the 25 or so kilometres between Bosanska Otoka and Arapuša, the small village where the great Džemaludin Čaušević was born.
The drive took a long time. Heading into the hills isn’t a swift venture at the best of times, but roadworks meant that we had to travel at a fraction of the pace that we might in simpler times. We passed disparate towns and makeshift cemeteries before Arapuša began to appear on signposts, informing us that we were headed in the right direction. We made it, although that was never in doubt.
Arapuša is a tiny village. According to the 2013 census, it has a population of 273, but if you’d told me that 73 people lived there today I would not be surprised. It isn’t ever respectful to call anywhere the middle of nowhere, nowhere being an abstract concept and all that, but Arapuša was doing its best in this audition. It was a world away from the buzz of Bosanska Krupa, a world away from Bosanska Otoka. It was a world away from anything.
Not that it mattered, because we were there to pay our respects to a great man. As the Ottoman Empire spluttered to its end with the climax of World War I, Džemaludin Čaušević was the most important Muslim leader in the Balkans. He was reis-ul-ulema, a position he held from 1914 until he resigned in 1930. Not only that, but Džemaludin was considered one of the leading Muslim intellectuals in the Islamic world, a progressive, intensely committed to dragging the Muslims of Europe from their slumber and into the modern world. His life and work took him far away from this tiny village in the hills above Krupa.
He was born in late December 1870 and homeschooled by his father before taking up formal studies in Bihać. Džemaludin was an exemplary student, the sort who attracts the attention of those in charge, and by the age of 17, he was on his way to further his understanding of Islam in Istanbul. It was here that Džemaludin Čaušević became addicted to improving the lot of his people, frequently returning to Bosnia in the summer to give talks on what he had learnt, establishing himself as a voice of ambition and optimism in the process. Džemaludin studied under Muhammad Abduh in Cairo, an experience that further convinced him of his purpose, before finishing his studies in 1901. To the surprise of everyone except himself, this shining light of Islamic thought decided to eschew waiting positions in big centres to move back home. Džemaludin Čaušević knew that the world was bigger than him. Success isn’t measured in personal terms. The job ladder is a crutch.
The house in which he was born was small but perfectly formed, a rebuilt structure that served as a homage to the life of Džemaludin Čaušević. It was full of books, documents, artefacts and furniture, all imbued with the hushed grandeur of a deep thinker on a different level.
Make no mistake about it, Čaušević was on a different level. The boy from Arapuša was keenly aware of the challenges facing the Muslims of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and he had the human capacity to approach it with the tender care found in those for whom the light comes first, no matter the darkness. Džemaludin was fond of reminding people that knowledge always triumphs over ignorance, and it is difficult to argue with him. After all, when Europe was drinking beer for breakfast and setting each other on fire, the Islamic world was changing the game in academia and innovation. By the early 20th century the roles had reversed, but all was not lost.
Džemaludin Čaušević believed that modernity was key. That meant embracing the printing press once more, while also increasing and enhancing the role of women in Islamic society, allowing them to explore educational endeavours without having to cover themselves up. This made Džemaludin an unpopular figure with Muslim intellectuals, but his focus was not on the winding discussions of the educated; it was on creating a world in which education was within reach of the many. Džemaludin won out, becoming reis-ul-ulema in 1914. Not the easiest time to take over, what with World War I kicking off and all that, but Džemaludin Čaušević was not the type to be overawed by circumstance.
Bosanska Krupa // © Ahmet27 // Shutterstock
I, however, am exactly the type to be overawed by circumstance. I made a hash of taking my shoes off when entering the house and was now making a bigger hash of things while leading. Wearing bright socks didn’t help my desperate thrashings for credibility.
Džemaludin resigned from his position in 1930 but stayed active in intellectual discourse afterwards, publishing a Bosnian translation of the Koran in 1937, one year before his passing. The world needed men like Džemaludin Čaušević in the first half of the 20th century. It still needs men like him today.
Visiting the house that Džemaludin Čaušević was born in represented the height of my Bosnia and Herzegovina geekery. I was a giddy schoolboy faced with something bigger than him, the life and times of a man for whom the individual was an integral part of that something bigger. The same roadworks delayed our return to Bosanska Krupa, but I was in too much of a wide-eyed stupor to really notice.
