Ilidža // Give Me Skenderova’s Fate
© John Bills
It was the perfect day for it. Well, perfect doesn’t exist, it simply cannot, but allow me the lazy opening line. Perfect moments do exist around 8 in the morning while you are still asleep, but that old cliche about the impossibility of love rings true. Don’t try to make sense of it.
Still, we can run with the ‘perfect’ thing for now. The sun was shining, the weather temperate, the green as verdant as that overused word can get. The conversation with the taxi driver on the way out had been entertaining, focused on the many beautiful towns of Bosnia and Herzegovina. The driver was a fan of Jajce, although such things surely go without saying at this point. I made a mental note to return to Jajce as soon as possible, although I knew I’d be more likely to visit Novi Travnik, Posušje or Velika Kladuša instead. You have made your bed, young man. Don’t shit in it.
And there I was, finally, in Ilidža, at Vrelo Bosne. The spring of the Bosna river. A famous spot of serenity, from which the river that gives the country its name begins. An oasis of sparkling lakes and green islands. 603 hectares of utter tranquillity, just outside the bustle of Sarajevo. Water, everywhere, matched only by green. If I hadn’t used the battery of green on Goražde, it would be applicable here. After 13 years of visiting Bosnia and Herzegovina, I had finally made it to the source of it all.
And from Vrelo Bosne to the Velika Alejaa (Great Alley). A 3.5km long path, lined by blissful chestnut trees and extravagant villas, erected during BiH’s brief dalliance with the Austro-Hungarian Empire. More than 3,000 chestnut and plane trees provide constant shade and grace. Vrelo Bosne was stunning, predictably so, but I was primarily here to wander down the alley in search of peace. The gorgeousness of Vrelo Bosne transcends the sentences that I am capable of forming. There is no point in me trying to explain it. You simply have to see it for yourself. The walk was gorgeous, divine, beautiful, tremendous. Ilidža’s famous fiacres generated an extra layer of elegance to it all. In the right circumstances, it would be perfect.
© John Bills
But all of this was meaningless. It had no meaning or significance. It had no reason or purpose. I was walking down the alley, and the alley would end, and then I would be walking on the street. You just keep walking, walking, until one day you keel over and stop. I’ll walk until I can/cannot feel my legs. I’ve never walked so far to clear a headache, but maybe this is just what my head feels like now? The alley was packed with happy couples, joyful families, horse-drawn carts, romance. All smiling. All taunting me. In the centre of it all was me, a toxic, bitter wasteland. A rotten apple in a Christmas hamper. It was beautiful, but all I could do was will a horse to become startled, lose its cool and run me over. All I could do was pray for the fate of Staka Skenderova.
Staka Skenderova is a mighty figure in 19th-century Bosnia and Herzegovina. She was the country’s first published female author, its first social worker, the person who opened the first school for girls. Her home was essentially a social centre for young girls, where they could find advice, medicine, a place for socialising. How it all happened, I’m not entirely sure, but happen it did.
Skenderova was born in 1831, the daughter of a merchant who died soon after the birth of his daughter. For reasons beyond my research abilities, she was raised in an untraditional manner, more like a boy than a girl. She learned to read and write, an impressive achievement in a place with no girls’ schools and a literacy rate of 3%. She sang, she learned languages. Skenderova published a collection of folklore in 1859, one year after opening the aforementioned school for girls. You can affix many a first to her legacy.
© John Bills
But she was run over by a horse, dying from her injuries the next day. On her way home from a social event, a horse momentarily lost its cool and ran her down. As I aimlessly wandered down the Velika Aleja, I silently pled for a 21st-century horse to do the same.
Not really. That would be dramatic. There is a lot of living to do. This was all just a literary gimmick, a way to talk about Velika Aleja and Staka Skenderova without the link being too trivial. Again, it is a shame to have to explain that, but I’ve made my bed. I’ve shat in it. It is what it is. Plus, the juxtaposition of beauty and personal frustration is surely unique in travel writing. I have stumbled upon genius. One day, someone will dig this article up and showcase it as a brave voyage into the meaninglessness of beauty. Until they get to this part, of course, where I spoil it all. I didn’t promise perfection, and I keep all of my promises.
Ilidža’s Velika Aleja is stunning, Vrelo Bosne even more so. I just wanted to be asleep. It is difficult to conjure up enthusiasm for beauty when your mind is elsewhere. Beauty is meaningless unless it is shared. Learn to focus, and who knows what you will be capable of.
