Tamerla Kendall lived in Sarajevo during the 1992-1995 Bosnian War. Hers is a story of courage, chaos, death, and finding the strength to survive under horrible war zone conditions.
“Guilty Survivor” is a ghostwritten memoir of a Bosnian Croat, Tamerla Kendall, who lived in Sarajevo during the Bosnian War (1992-1995). Hers is a story of courage, fear, ingenuity, and survival, while experiencing the carnage and chaos around her. Difficult choices she was forced to make still disturb her peace of mind and daily living today. The book is written in first person.
Of special interest are her three trips out of Sarajevo, only to return to keep the family restaurant business operating. One trip was made to remove her daughter from the constant dangers of fighting to a safer place. This, however, led her daughter to feel abandoned and created a heartbreaking rift in their relationship. During one of these trips, Tamerla dressed in a Ukrainian UNPROFOR uniform (United Nations Protection Forces soldier). This uniform and travel assistance came from a Ukrainian general.
Tamerla’s second husband became immersed in a State Department job in Bosnia after the war. Upon meeting him in 1996, she was unaware that he’d been quoted by President George Bush in a speech on Operation Desert Storm in January, 1991 (http://www.historyplace.com/speeches/bush-war.htm) but knew of his travels and government/civilian work.
Tamerla, her husband, and son, now live in the United States and she has recently become a citizen. She describes living through the horrible nightmare of the war years, and how her hopes for a return to normalcy at war’s end diminished as corruption and religious zealots took control. The respect, tolerance, and social acceptance she’d known before the war never returned and slowly and completely dissipated. When her life was threatened at gunpoint, she had no choice but to leave the country in 2005 for her family’s safety.
Excerpt
I grasped Joana’s hand to keep her from being scared and instructed her not to speak as we left the restaurant. I took a baby stroller and put a doll in it. Under it, I hid Joana’s clothes and things she wanted to take with her. To anyone watching us, we were just a woman with a stroller and young girl walking through town. We walked five miles to a family friend, Rade Coric. Joana and I got in his car, and he put the stroller in the trunk. I held the doll. At the first checkpoint, they allowed us to drive away after soldiers scrutinized us.
We drove to the second checkpoint. Again, we were allowed to pass, and then met with a friend of Rade’s. We changed cars at this time. Rade stayed with his car and Joana and I went in the friend’s car. He drove us to the last checkpoint. Another family friend, Hrvoje Kristic, met us there.
I was warned not to go back to Sarajevo, but that wasn’t the plan Miro and I devised. With a heavy heart, I tried being brave as Joana and I separated at this point. She frantically tried holding my hand tightly and wanted me to go with her. I watched as they escorted her away from me. I’d hoped Miro would come to greet us, but he was too frightened, so he sent our friend instead.
Joana cried and I was devastated at leaving her. But, I knew she’d be safe. Leaving her was the hardest thing I’d ever done. My heart tore at the emptiness I’d suffer by her absence. Miro reminded me how only I could save the family’s livelihood and future for after the war. I accepted this and agreed with his reasoning. Concentrating on those thoughts made it a little easier to leave, although tears flowed freely down my face.
This trip proved easier than my next one, although danger existed both times. Little did I know what awaited me back in Sarajevo and that my next trip would prove to be a nightmare.
I went back the same way I’d taken Joana, stopping at Rade’s house for lunch. While I was eating, I looked outside and saw smoke in the area where my house stood. My heart plummeted. Although I knew my house was miles away, a sensation of dread overwhelmed me. I feared more sadness would come after my ten-hour trip to take Joana out of the nightmare of living in Sarajevo to the safety of her father and my family in Kiseljak.
I went to my restaurant and sent a waitress to the area where I’d seen the smoke coming from. She called me with the bad news. My house burned.
I rushed to the house and once again cried that day, but this time at the site of a blackened, burned out building. Nothing remained but a crumbled chimney, soot and ashes. All the furniture had apparently been stolen while I was gone and before the house was deliberately set on fire.
Disheartened and saddened by this loss, I trudged back to Restaurant Meli with a numbing sensation clouding my head. My daughter was safe but gone, my family and husband were safe but not with me, and my home was gone, all in the name of war.
The day held more bad news for me. While I was viewing what once was my house, robbers hit my restaurant. During my absence, soldiers came, beat my employees, and took all the food and money.
Now my despair and anger controlled my sanity. My husband, daughter, and family were relatively safe and away from Sarajevo, but my home was gone, and the army helped themselves to my business. I shrugged my shoulders, reached for an inner strength to bolster me, and decided to have my say at attempting to rectify the situation.
I called a Muslim friend and told him that just because my husband was a Serb didn’t mean that I was a traitor. I loved my city and people. I was scared someone would now want to kill me.
I needed to get my food and money back to survive. He made a call and told me to speak to army officer, General Enverlic.
The general listened to my plea, and as a compromising gesture of goodwill, I offered him half the food. He asked me to cook some meals for his troops, and I agreed. I baked for his unit, and in exchange, got most of my stuff back, and some form of “protection” evolved. My money returned immediately.
Sharing and compromising worked for me throughout the war. A woman asking for help and agreeing to share supplies impressed the general. That same night, the army delivered my supplies to the restaurant, providing a necessary morale boost and a positive surprise that allowed me to remain in business.
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