The Diary of Zlata Filipović (October 6, 1991–June 29, 1992)
The end of communist rule in the multiethnic state of Yugoslavia unleashed turmoil and violence unseen in Europe since World War II. Following the rise to power of nationalist leaders during the 1980s, the country fell into chaos when four of the six republics declared independence beginning in 1991. Serbian president Slobodan Milosevic opposed the independence movements and supported the military efforts of Serb nationals in the breakaway republics of Bosnia and Croatia. One of the deadliest conflicts occurred in a three-way war in Bosnia among Serb, Croat, and Muslim factions. Beginning in 1992, the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo was the focus of a four-year siege by Serb forces in which 12,000 people were killed, including 1,600 children. Zlata Filipović was eleven years old when fighting broke out in Sarajevo. The following entries recorded in her diary during that time provide a child’s perspective of life in a war-torn city. In 1993, Zlata and her family were allowed to leave Sarajevo for Paris after the publication of her diary gained her worldwide attention.
From Zlata’s Diary: A Child’s Life in Sarajevo by Zlata Filipović, translated by Christina Pribichevich-Zorić, Copyright © 1993 by Fixot et Editions Robert Laffont; translation Copyright © 1994 by Fixot et Editions Robert Laffont. Used by permission of Viking Books, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.
Sunday, October 6, 1991
I’m watching the American Top 20 on MTV. I don’t remember a thing, who’s in what place.
I feel great because I’ve just eaten a “Four Seasons” PIZZA with ham, cheese, ketchup and mushrooms. It was yummy. Daddy bought it for me at Galija’s (the pizzeria around the corner). Maybe that’s why I didn’t remember who took what place—I was too busy enjoying my pizza.
I’ve finished studying and tomorrow I can go to school BRAVELY, without being afraid of getting a bad grade. I deserve a good grade because I studied all weekend and I didn’t even go out to play with my friends in the park. The weather is nice and we usually play “monkey in the middle,” talk and go for walks. Basically, we have fun.
Wednesday, October 23, 1991
There’s a real war going on in Dubrovnik.1 It’s being badly shelled. People are in shelters, they have no water, no electricity, the phones aren’t working. We see horrible pictures on TV. Mommy and Daddy are worried. Is it possible that such a beautiful town is being destroyed? Mommy and Daddy are especially fond of it. It was there, in the Ducal Palace, that they picked up a quill and wrote “YES” to spending the rest of their lives together. Mommy says it’s the most beautiful town in the world and it mustn’t be destroyed!!!
We’re worried about Srdjan (my parents’ best friend who lives and works in Dubrovnik, but his family is still in Sarajevo) and his parents. How are they coping with everything that’s happening over there? Are they alive? We’re trying to talk to him with the help of a ham radio, but it’s not working. Bokica (Srdjan’s wife) is miserable. Every attempt to get some news ends in failure. Dubrovnik is cut off from the rest of the world.
Thursday, November 14, 1991
Daddy isn’t going to the reserves anymore. Hooray!!! . . . Now we’ll be able to go to Jahorina and Crnotina on weekends. But, gasoline has been a problem lately. Daddy often spends hours waiting in the line for gasoline, he goes outside of town to get it, and often comes home without getting the job done.
Together with Bokica we sent a package to Srdjan. We learned through the ham radio that they have nothing to eat. They have no water, Srdjan swapped a bottle of whisky for five liters of water. Eggs, apples, potatoes—the people of Dubrovnik can only dream about them.
War in Croatia, war in Dubrovnik, some reservists in Herzegovina. Mommy and Daddy keep watching the news on TV. They’re worried. Mommy often cries looking at the terrible pictures on TV. They talk mostly politics with their friends. What is politics? I haven’t got a clue. And I’m not really interested. I just finished watching Midnight Caller on TV.
Thursday, December 19, 1991
Sarajevo has launched an appeal (on TV) called “Sarajevo Helps the Children of Dubrovnik.” In Srdjan’s parcel we put a nice New Year’s present for him to give to some child in Dubrovnik. We made up a package of sweets, chocolates, vitamins, a doll, some books, pencils, notebooks—whatever we could manage, hoping to bring happiness to some innocent child who has been stopped by the war from going to school, playing, eating what he wants and enjoying his childhood. It’s a nice little package. I hope it makes whoever gets it happy. That’s the idea. I also wrote a New Year’s card saying I hoped the war in Dubrovnik would end soon.
Thursday, March 5, 1992
Oh, God! Things are heating up in Sarajevo. On Sunday (March 1), a small group of armed civilians (as they say on TV) killed a Serbian wedding guest and wounded the priest. On March 2 (Monday) the whole city was full of barricades. There were “1,000” barricades. We didn’t even have bread. At 6:00 people got fed up and went out into the streets. The procession set out from the cathedral. It went past the parliament building and made its way through the entire city. Several people were wounded at the Marshal Tito army barracks. People sang and cried “Bosnia, Bosnia,” “Sarajevo, Sarajevo,” “We’ll live together” and “Come outside.” Zdravko Grebo2 said on the radio that history was in the making.
At about 8:00 we heard the bell of a streetcar. The first streetcar had passed through town and life got back to normal. People poured out into the streets hoping that nothing like that would ever happen again. We joined the peace procession. When we got home we had a quiet night’s sleep. The next day everything was the same as before. Classes, music school . . . But in the evening, the news came that 3,000 Chetniks [Serbian nationalists] were coming from Pale [resort outside of Sarajevo] to attack Sarajevo, and first, Baščaršija [the old part of town]. Melica said that new barricades had been put up in front of her house and that they wouldn’t be sleeping at home tonight. They went to Uncle Nedjad’s place. Later there was a real fight on YUTEL TV. Radovan Karadžič [Bosnian Serb leader] and Alija Izetbegovič [president of Bosnia-Herzegovina] phoned in and started arguing. Then Goran Milič3 got angry and made them agree to meet with some General Kukanjac.4 Milič is great!!! Bravo!
On March 4 (Wednesday) the barricades were removed, the “kids” [a popular term for politicians] had come to some agreement. Great?!
That day our art teacher brought in a picture for our class-mistress (for March 8, Women’s Day). We gave her the present, but she told us to go home. Something was wrong again! There was a panic. The girls started screaming and the boys quietly blinked their eyes. Daddy came home from work early that day too. But everything turned out OK. It’s all too much!
Monday, March 30, 1992
Hey, Diary! You know what I think? Since Anne Frank called her diary Kitty, maybe I could give you a name too. What about:
ASFALTINA
ŠEFIKA
ŠEVALA
PIDŽEAMETA
HIKMETA
MIMMY
or something else???
I’m thinking, thinking . . .
I’ve decided! I’m going to call you
MIMMY
All right, then, let’s start.
Dear Mimmy,
It’s almost half-term. We’re all studying for our tests. Tomorrow we’re supposed to go to a classical music concert at the Skenderija Hall. Our teacher says we shouldn’t go because there will be 10,000 people, pardon me, children, there, and somebody might take us as hostages or plant a bomb in the concert hall. Mommy says I shouldn’t go. So I won’t.
Hey! You know who won the Yugovision Song Contest?! EXTRA NENA!!!???
I’m afraid to say this next thing. Melica says she heard at the hairdresser’s that on Saturday, April 4, 1992, there’s going to be BOOM—BOOM, BANG—BANG, CRASH Sarajevo. Translation: they’re going to bomb Sarajevo.
Love,
Zlata
Sunday, April 5, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
I’m trying to concentrate so I can do my homework (reading), but I simply can’t. Something is going on in town. You can hear gunfire from the hills. Columns of people are spreading out from Dobrinja. They’re trying to stop something, but they themselves don’t know what. You can simply feel that something is coming, something very bad. On TV I see people in front of the B-H parliament building. The radio keeps playing the same song: “Sarajevo, My Love.” That’s all very nice, but my stomach is still in knots and I can’t concentrate on my homework anymore.
Mimmy, I’m afraid of WAR!!!
Zlata
Thursday, April 9, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
I’m not going to school. All the schools in Sarajevo are closed. There’s danger hiding in these hills above Sarajevo. But I think things are slowly calming down. The heavy shelling and explosions have stopped. There’s occasional gunfire, but it quickly falls silent. Mommy and Daddy aren’t going to work. They’re buying food in huge quantities. Just in case, I guess. God forbid!
Still, it’s very tense. Mommy is beside herself, Daddy tries to calm her down. Mommy has long conversations on the phone. She calls, other people call, the phone is in constant use.
Zlata
Tuesday, April 14, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
People are leaving Sarajevo. The airport, train and bus stations are packed. I saw sad pictures on TV of people parting. Families, friends separating. Some are leaving, others staying. It’s so sad. Why? These people and children aren’t guilty of anything. Keka and Braco came early this morning. They’re in the kitchen with Mommy and Daddy, whispering. Keka and Mommy are crying. I don’t think they know what to do—whether to stay or to go. Neither way is good.
Zlata
Saturday, May 2, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Today was truly, absolutely the worst day ever in Sarajevo. The shooting started around noon. Mommy and I moved into the hall. Daddy was in his office, under our apartment, at the time. We told him on the intercom to run quickly to the downstairs lobby where we’d meet him. We brought Cicko [Zlata’s canary] with us. The gunfire was getting worse, and we couldn’t get over the wall to the Bobars’, so we ran down to our own cellar.
The cellar is ugly, dark, smelly. Mommy, who’s terrified of mice, had two fears to cope with. The three of us were in the same corner as the other day. We listened to the pounding shells, the shooting, the thundering noise overhead. We even heard planes. At one moment I realized that this awful cellar was the only place that could save our lives. Suddenly, it started to look almost warm and nice. It was the only way we could defend ourselves against all this terrible shooting. We heard glass shattering in our street. Horrible. I put my fingers in my ears to block out the terrible sounds. I was worried about Cicko. We had left him behind in the lobby. Would he catch cold there? Would something hit him? I was terribly hungry and thirsty. We had left our half-cooked lunch in the kitchen.
When the shooting died down a bit, Daddy ran over to our apartment and brought us back some sandwiches. He said he could smell something burning and that the phones weren’t working. He brought our TV set down to the cellar. That’s when we learned that the main post office (near us) was on fire and that they had kidnapped our President. At around 8:00 we went back up to our apartment. Almost every window in our street was broken. Ours were all right, thank God. I saw the post office in flames. A terrible sight. The fire-fighters battled with the raging fire. Daddy took a few photos of the post office being devoured by the flames. He said they wouldn’t come out because I had been fiddling with something on the camera. I was sorry. The whole apartment smelled of the burning fire. God, and I used to pass by there every day. It had just been done up. It was huge and beautiful, and now it was being swallowed up by the flames. It was disappearing. That’s what this neighborhood of mine looks like, my Mimmy. I wonder what it’s like in other parts of town? I heard on the radio that it was awful around the Eternal Flame.5 The place is knee-deep in glass. We’re worried about Grandma and Granddad. They live there. Tomorrow, if we can go out, we’ll see how they are. A terrible day.
This has been the worst, most awful day in my eleven-year-old life. I hope it will be the only one. Mommy and Daddy are very edgy. I have to go to bed.
Ciao!
Zlata
Wednesday, May 13, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
Life goes on. The past is cruel, and that’s exactly why we should forget it.
The present is cruel too and I can’t forget it. There’s no joking with war. My present reality is the cellar, fear, shells, fire.
Terrible shooting broke out the night before last. We were afraid that we might be hit by shrapnel or a bullet, so we ran over to the Bobars’. We spent all of that night, the next day and the next night in the cellar and in Nedo’s apartment. (Nedo is a refugee from Grbavica. He left his parents and came here to his sister’s empty apartment.) We saw terrible scenes on TV. The town in ruins, burning, people and children being killed. It’s unbelievable.
The phones aren’t working, we haven’t been able to find out anything about Grandma and Granddad, Melica, how people in other parts of town are doing. On TV we saw the place where Mommy works, Vodoprivreda, all in flames. It’s on the aggressor’s side of town (Grbavica). Mommy cried. She’s depressed. All her years of work and effort—up in flames. It’s really horrible. All around Vodoprivreda there were cars burning, people dying, and nobody could help them. God, why is this happening?
I’M SO MAD I WANT TO SCREAM AND BREAK EVERYTHING!
Your Zlata
Sunday, May 17, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
It’s now definite: there’s no more school. The war has interrupted our lessons, closed down the schools, sent children to cellars instead of classrooms. They’ll give us the grades we got at the end of last term. So I’ll get a report card saying I’ve finished fifth grade.
Ciao!
Zlata
Saturday, May 23, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
I’m not writing to you about me anymore. I’m writing to you about war, death, injuries, shells, sadness and sorrow. Almost all my friends have left. Even if they were here, who knows whether we’d be able to see one another. The phones aren’t working, we couldn’t even talk to one another. Vanja and Andrej have gone to join Srdjan in Dubrovnik. The war has stopped there. They’re lucky. I was so unhappy because of that war in Dubrovnik. I never dreamed it would move to Sarajevo.
Wednesday, May 27, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
SLAUGHTER! MASSACRE! HORROR! CRIME! BLOOD! SCREAMS! TEARS! DESPAIR!
That’s what Vaso Miškin Street looks like today. Two shells exploded in the street and one in the market. Mommy was nearby at the time. She ran to Grandma and Granddad’s. Daddy and I were beside ourselves because she hadn’t come home. I saw some of it on TV but I still can’t believe what I actually saw. It’s unbelievable. I’ve got a lump in my throat and a knot in my tummy. HORRIBLE. They’re taking the wounded to the hospital. It’s a madhouse. We kept going to the window hoping to see Mommy, but she wasn’t back. They released a list of the dead and wounded. Daddy and I were tearing our hair out. We didn’t know what had happened to her. Was she alive? At 4:00, Daddy decided to go and check the hospital. He got dressed, and I got ready to go to the Bobars’, so as not to stay at home alone. I looked out the window one more time and . . . I SAW MOMMY RUNNING ACROSS THE BRIDGE. As she came into the house she started shaking and crying. Through her tears she told us how she had seen dismembered bodies. All the neighbors came because they had been afraid for her. Thank God, Mommy is with us. Thank God.
A HORRIBLE DAY. UNFORGETTABLE.
HORRIBLE! HORRIBLE!
Your Zlata
Saturday, May 30, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
The City Maternity Hospital has burned down. I was born there. Hundreds of thousands of new babies, new residents of Sarajevo, won’t have the luck to be born in this maternity hospital now. It was new. The fire devoured everything. The mothers and babies were saved. When the fire broke out two women were giving birth. The babies are alive. God, people get killed here, they die here, they disappear, things go up in flames here, and out of the flames, new lives are born.
Your Zlata
Friday, June 5, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
There’s been no electricity for quite some time and we keep thinking about the food in the freezer. There’s not much left as it is. It would be a pity for all of it to go bad. There’s meat and vegetables and fruit. How can we save it?
Daddy found an old wood-burning stove in the attic. It’s so old it looks funny. In the cellar we found some wood, put the stove outside in the yard, lit it and are trying to save the food from the refrigerator. We cooked everything, and joining forces with the Bobars, enjoyed ourselves. There was veal and chicken, squid, cherry strudel, meat and potato pies. All sorts of things. It’s a pity, though, that we had to eat everything so quickly. We even overate. WE HAD A MEAT STROKE.
We washed down our refrigerators and freezers. Who knows when we’ll be able to cook like this again. Food is becoming a big problem in Sarajevo. There’s nothing to buy, and even cigarettes and coffee are becoming a problem for grown-ups. The last reserves are being used up. God, are we going to go hungry to boot???
Zlata
Monday, June 29, 1992
Dear Mimmy,
BOREDOM!!! SHOOTING!!! SHELLING!!! PEOPLE BEING KILLED!!! DESPAIR!!! HUNGER!!! MISERY!!! FEAR!!!
That’s my life! The life of an innocent eleven-year-old schoolgirl!! A schoolgirl without a school, without the fun and excitement of school. A child without games, without friends, without the sun, without birds, without nature, without fruit, without chocolate or sweets, with just a little powdered milk. In short, a child without a childhood. A wartime child. I now realize that I am really living through a war, I am witnessing an ugly, disgusting war. I and thousands of other children in this town that is being destroyed, that is crying, weeping, seeking help, but getting none. God, will this ever stop, will I ever be a schoolgirl again, will I ever enjoy my childhood again? I once heard that childhood is the most wonderful time of your life. And it is. I loved it, and now an ugly war is taking it all away from me. Why? I feel sad. I feel like crying. I am crying.
Your Zlata
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