Tales from the cryptic Coptic

Sretan Put!

This sign is everywhere in Bosnia. It means good journey. When I was there some years ago the war had just finished. The aftermath was a surreal event. A country without banks, financial infrastructure and any sense of normal living is quite a place to expand your mind.

I worked mostly on NATO peacekeeping camps. As a civilian employee I had the right to mingle with the populous. I could come and go to the camp whenever I pleased, within reason, of course. If an alert went up then tin hats and flak jackets were the fashion statement for the day, no matter how civil a civilian you were. Luckily this was not a regular occurrence.

I left camp one sunny day to play at crater dodging on the tarmac. The sad truth was that anywhere green could not be trusted underfoot due to a liberal sprinkling of uncharted mines. I was approached by an elderly gentleman who was begging in the politest of ways. He had a command of English grammar that is beyond most native English speakers these days. I offered him a small token for his efforts which he received with humble gratitude.

On return to my base within the camp I related this story. The person who was my boss listened intently then chastised me in more expletive terms than the elderly gentleman for encouraging him. As he saw it no one would get any peace now if for any reason they had to venture beyond the camp gates. I think he kind of missed the whole point of why we were there.

On the very next day bold fellow that I am I decided to wander into the land of Nod once more. Elderly gentleman and outstretched hand appeared once again. This time I said there would be nothing on offer without at least an introduction as to how and why he found himself posted on the wrong side of the barbed wired free world. He didn’t say much. With sadness in his eyes he showed me a tattoo on his forearm, a number from a bygone conflict. As if this was not enough merit for the price of a meal he then showed me a scar from head to toe and said one word. ‘Mengele’. Even today I cannot express how I felt. Hard to imagine that one human being could survive what he had to be left begging at the gates of insanity.

I re-entered the camp and punched the primordial sludge that oversaw my work.