Acceptance and integration

It was not until much later- we're talking months- that I discovered and witnessed for myself that many Arabs, above all other races, have settled down in Bosna since the day Dayton Accord was made effective. These Saudi Arabians, Palestinians, Jordanians, Sudanese, etc came during the war to help in military and charity organisations, not wanting to close an eye to the oppressions their brethrens in faith were suffering then. Many of them I met in Kralj Fahd Džamija (King Fahd Mosque) and Čaršijska Džamija (the mosque closest to Sebilj), all of them very nice and friendly. Most of them, though not all, felt themselves as Bosnian-Arabs, and spoke of Bosna with a sense of belonging, in the strongest meaning of the word.

Bosnian Muslims are arguably more integrated and multi-racial than the Malaysian Muslims. If it was easy to observe them mixing smoothly and in harmony, the situation in Malaysia differs. Islam is largely kept to the Malays, other Muslims are never truly accepted into the society. I realise this statement might invite some huge arguments but this is exactly what we can discern from the same atmosphere in many- thankfully not all- mosques even in large cities; universities excluded. It is difficult for a Bangladeshi, Pakistani, or Indonesian to pray in our mosques without being perceived as one from a lower strata of the society. They might be lucky to be able to squeeze unnoticed into the front-most row, but to play some role in the congregation will be out of question. Once in a blue moon, some freshly educated vigorous young men would go shake hands with them, ask about their well-being, make them feel important; accept and acknowledge their presence- a passing moment of rejoice for these 'sideliners', made so by the community.

In truth, without holding strongly to the teachings and spirit of alQuran (both equally important), a man can easily buy the tempting whispers of the devils. A man can be as proud and boastful as anyone, his thoughts malicious, and his actions evil- a perfect corruptor of the society. Is it not true that we always complain of the 'racist West'; that they are too proud, seldom listen to us, belittle our potential, and misprize our abilities? At the same time, we ourselves- knowingly or unknowingly- misuse every bit of superiority given to us. We generalise and stereotype other people, we see some as inferior, others as unworthy of attention. Shame on us, when we could have taken- and definitely still can do- a better turn, as advised in the Quran;

"O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise each other). Verily the most honoured of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous of you. And Allah has full knowledge and is well acquainted (with all things)."
(al-Hujurat ; 13)

Harun

If you're excited about Sebilj, which is world-famous as an important landmark in Sarajevo, it won't take one minute of your time to walk up from there to Harun's coffee shop. You would have to cross the almost-always-busy traffic and tram rail to reach a fast-selling 'pekara' (bakery) and continue walking 6 metres to your left. I'm the type that would never pass a bakery without getting anything, so personally I would stop there first- as it was then the coffee shop didn't serve anything not drinkable. My love for bread has been especially and directly trained by my loving Umi, helped by the daily demands of my younger brother who then ate nothing but bread.

The three of us walked into the coffee shop, and a fine handsome young man greeted us with unceasing smiles. He is brown-eyed, dark-haired, with a complexion only unnoticeably more tanned than the average Bosnians. Sanadin gave him a warm brotherly hug and for a while they spoke in the language I was yet to learn. Harun was quick not to let us feel unattended hence unimportant; he left from behind the counter to make sure that we were given the warmest welcome. I immediately noticed two things- he might not be a pure Bosnian; and his english was superb.

A few things about Harun marvelled me. First, he made us feel like we were old friends- at first sight. His greetings, his manners, his hospitability, and his interest in our details and journey were genuine and exceptional. We were like his royal guests, even his counter was not of bigger priority. During our stay, it must've been around half a dozen times that I heard him reiterating about how Islam regards it important to serve or at least help fellow travellers. We asked about his background and it turned out that he's a mixed Palestinian-Bosnian; fluent in Arabic, Bosnian, and English (how I wished to be born a polyglot). Meanwhile I looked around the medium-sized, four-tabled premise- it was fitted with a well kept toilet and a stairway to an underground room was hiding itself on the other side. I was all the more shocked- almost in an insulting manner- when told that the very coffee shop I was sitting in was only in its third day of operation.

The three of us sat down at a glass table, at about the knee's level, and began ordering our drinks. I can't remember what the others had, but I wanted to try an original Bosnian čaj (tea). We were then served- and joined- by the likeable shop owner himself, Harun, still unfinished in his making-us-warmed business.

Entering Baščaršija square

That night when I walked around in Baščaršija, I didn't know where to lay my eyes on. I looked at its shops, glanced at its people, glimpsed at its bright full moon, and stared hard at its mosques. The lights coming from everywhere along our path made the scene overwhelmingly pleasing. Putting pieces together, I can only conclude that if Rijeka Neretva in Mostar was the most beautiful, this old town was the most exotic.

Knowing that we would come here again tomorrow with Adnan, we didn't bother ourselves to look for any souvenirs. This walk tonight was intended to give us the opportunity to enjoy the beautiful night scene of Baščaršija- which we really did. However, being mortals, after a while we were overtaken by exhaustion, made worse by the oversized bagpacks we were carrying behind our backs. Sanadin had a plan, a 'final one' I secretly hoped- a stop at his friend's coffee shop.

At that time, I thought Sanadin wasn't acting in our interest- a thought that I would very soon regret and ashamed to have. First I wasn't a big fan of coffee, but that wasn't of too much concern. Neither Nubli nor myself had known him for long, we knew we should be prepared for anything slightly less preferable should it happen. I mean we should trust people because trust is nice and it holds us together firmly, but that shouldn't ease our vigilance and preparedness of unexpected, insidious circumstances when they develop. I didn't think too far as to being robbed or kidnapped, no those are too extreme and very much unachievable in the midst of the busy Baščaršija. The worst I had was,"Is he using us clueless tourists to enrich his own network of friends, while assuming all tourists are men of means?"

On our way there, we passed the Baščaršija square marked by Sebilj, a wooden-concrete fountain standing firmly and conspicuously in the middle of it. The structure was erected on a raised ground, giving it a slightly more majestic appearance. Water, as the word 'fountain' denotes, was flowing undisturbed from its two sides simply waiting for anyone to come for thirst-quenching. If my memory is correct, Nubli climbed the stairs to the Sebilj and drank from it, while I passed it thinking 'there is always tomorrow', if God so willed. Interestingly though, there is a legend behind this fountain. It is said that once you drink from it, you can never leave Bosna for too long- well let's see how Nubli copes with that!