Široki Brijeg // Stop Talking So Loud

© John Bills

Was it a grasshopper? My knowledge of insects is rudimentary at best, and that is a little disrespectful to the term ‘rudimentary’. What I mean to say is I don’t know shit about insects, but there was a green bug with an unsanctioned amount of legs glaring back at me, violence in its eyes. An unsanctioned number of eyes, obviously. For some reason, the creepy-crawly also had a hand with human-like fingers, the central of which was extended into the air. The grasshopper was giving me the bird.

It was hot in Široki Brijeg, but it wasn’t so hot that I began imagining uncouth grasshoppers. I like to think my imagination is a little better than that. It was graffiti! You know, street art! Silly you, I bet you figured I’d run into some sort of District 9-like situation here in the heart of West Herzegovina. No, I’m not touching that, not even with the bargiest of barge poles, a sentence that means nothing. Doesn’t matter, still not touching it.

West Herzegovina is weird. There, I said it. Is it for me to judge? On the grand scheme of existence, no, obviously not, but this isn’t the grand scheme of existence. This is John Bills Dot Com. I’ll judge as I please.

If I will find God anywhere, I will find him in West Herzegovina. Or her. Or it. Deducing the form taken by the ethereal is above my pay grade. Still, as we drove from Mostar into its neighbouring canton, towards lunch in Blidinje and then on through Posušje to Široki Brijeg, it was clear that God was hiding in plain sight. There were churches everywhere. Some big, some little, some cardboard box. The variety of designs was impressive, but should that be the point?

© John Bills

Question marks, everywhere. Stop asking questions, silly man. Stop talking so loud, I can hear what you’re saying.

But the churches and chapels were anywhere and everywhere. We commented on every one of them, albeit in a throwaway manner (“oh look, a church!”) that suggested that we aren’t ready for God. Is that how it works? Do I need to reach a point where not even salvation can save me? Why does rock bottom have to come into this? Didn’t we just agree to ask fewer questions? Can I find God if I don’t have the basic structure of trust that such a change is built on?

The answer (yes, there are answers) to that final question is no. The chances of me finding God died in her sleep on January 31, 2006, surrounded by a distraught mother and a 20-year-old boy trying to hold everyone together with only string and sellotape to hand. Yes, Job lost everything, but I didn’t have everything to lose. I only had her. The bottom is not the lowest we go. Hell is not a myth.

And then, the grasshopper. The sneering, judgemental grasshopper. We parked up in Široki Brijeg and stopped for coffee, although the coffee in this case looked strangely like a glass of white wine and a bottle of Ožujsko. Being a functioning alcoholic, I put away the Ožujsko and went off to explore Široki Brijeg while Aldina did whatever Aldina does. None of my business, quite frankly.

The history of Široki Brijeg follows the usual notes, but with its own special twist. There was a village here many centuries ago, a small village (the only type of village) called Mokriskik, but the arrival of the Ottomans in the 15th century left the area isolated. The population headed into the mountains, and a cursory understanding of the history of mountain people should point you in the direction of rebellion and defiance. Much the same here, I assure you.

That explains the uncouth grasshopper.

The Franciscans remained the centre of the disparate communities, and people rallied around the church. Those disparate communities were rebuilt in the 19th century, but it wasn’t until 1900 that the road to Mostar was built. A small town grew, shops, taverns, dormitories, schools, more taverns. Before the road, Široki Brijeg (‘Wide Hill’, if you were curious) was tobacco fields and Catholicism. The town grew, and the tobacco fields made way for modern commerce. Catholicism remained.

© John Bills

Why wouldn’t it? Christianity has been a factor here since the Romans, although it wasn’t until the second wave of Christianity arrived in the 7th century that things kicked on. The influence of Dalmatia was palpable, and Catholicism took control through architecture, liturgical language and law. Unfortunately, influence was more desirable than development, and regional neglect led to the Bosnian Church getting a little funky with its approach. Another story for another time? Absolutely, although don’t expect that one to be based too far from Široki Brijeg. Blagaj changed my life, after all.

Walking around Široki Brijeg, it was clear that my life was not going to be changed on this particular day. For one, it was too hot, the temperature claiming 38 but probably hiding a degree or two under its shirt. Walking in the heat is a fool’s game, and the salvation of shade wasn’t forthcoming. I considered a statue of Gojko Šušak, the Široki-born politician who served as Croatian Minister of Defence under Franjo Tuđman. A statue of Tuđman was nearby. The heat was turning my brain into cabbage.

You can’t find God with a cabbage brain, no matter how needed that might be. You can’t find God on a scorching hot day in Široki Brijeg, no matter how many churches you pass on the way there. You can’t find God. Full stop. God will find you, no matter how sinister that phrase feels.

We returned to the car. The grasshopper remained nearby, middle finger extended, a snarl in his eyes that stayed with me for days.