Everyone I met in Sarajevo was exhausted. They had lived in a valley under continuous artillery and automatic-weapons fire for almost two years and were tired of trying to survive.
The road from the airport to the center of town is called Sniper's Alley. The modern high-rise apartments that line it have been shot up until they look like one rat's nest after another. Life without electricity and water makes Sarajevo's people feel like animals--they can't shower, use a stove, see indoors at night.
My household of five was jammed together in a three-room, 650 square-foot apartment meant for two. All were ordinary middle-class Europeans before the war; they owned stereos and TVs, took vacations in Italy, wore the latest fashions and makeup from America.
Now they are trapped in Sarajevo. Their balcony, where they grow vegetables, was hit by a shell in 1992 and the rooms inside are full of bullet holes--two bullets cut through the apartment in the week I was there. Because of her frail health and the constant sniper fire, Nafja (the grandmother) hadn't been outside for almost three years before I took the Big Picture. She was scared and didn't want to do it at first.
After I talked her into it, she put on her makeup and went out. And then she spent the whole afternoon outside, talking with her friends. At the end of the day her eyes were shining! For a couple of hours, at least, she forgot the war.
