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The place where I took the photo of the girl playing in a wrecked car behind the Holiday Inn was unrecognizable. The old ruined buildings had been demolished and new ones had taken their place. The whole environment had changed. I posted copies around the local area with a message that I was looking for the girl in the photo. The next day the girl’s mother called me and I did get to meet with Hana again. And I did not believe my eyes…
“I’m Hana Dapo. I’m surprised that you have managed to find me : just with this picture that my teacher saw. It’s true, I do not remember those moments but I remember that in times of cease-fire, I had fun in secret from my parents when I went to play with the carcasses of cars.   I just finished my studies at the Institute of Commercial Management, a business school. Now I want to specialize in marketing and hopefully I’ll become a great leader in the marketing industry. I am working hard to finish my studies and become the best in this area and find a job in a big company. But career is not everything in life: I want to wake up in the morning surrounded by people I love, have a family and my friends around me and help them realize their dreams.”

Topcagic, the marble mason never stopped carving graves during the war. After years at the Academy of Fine Arts, the demand for tombstones was much greater than that for his artwork. Today he continues to work in his studio, which is flooded with dust. His hair is white, maybe because of the marble dust, age, or perhaps because of his own worries… In any case his business seems to run well and now with a young assistant who will soon take over. Pessimistic about his own life, he meditates about his concerns for the future of young people…
“Sarajevo is fine for people who have jobs, but for the others? ……

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In 1994 a young girl rehearsed every day until the ballet school closed simply because it was too dangerous to dance just in front of snipers.
Exposed to direct shots, bullets and shells had crossed the windows of the rehearsal room in countless places. But while the young male dancers were marching off to the army, a young girl, “my” dancer, kept working at Swan Lake in solo, training almost every day…
…. In this dance of fate, today she has disappeared without a trace.

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I found Tijana almost by accident: I was at the music academy in search of the young musician I had photographed during the siege. Unfortunately none of them had continued their career in music. A girl recognized a photo of the Bosnian Cultural Centre Choir Club. Tijana was, at that time a singer in the girls’ choir of traditional Bosnian songs. Their original teacher had died, and now today she leads the same choir. Today she is fully engaged in music and cultural events of every kind.
“My name is Tijana Viknimic…

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In the spring of 1994, I went to the cemetery on the hill of the city. Surrounded by old Muslim graves, some children played at war, something kids all over the world do in the midst of a conflict. They imitated the snipers, who from the tops of hills shot at their targets, sometimes children like them. Among the photos I chose one where Jasmin and Dzenan were together and with surprise I now discover they did not really know each other at the time. They had been playing together just for a few days as their families had only recently moved near the cemetery.
I managed to get them back in the same place. The cemetery has changed since. The conversation started by them talking about the memories they had from that period in their lives…

Dzenan : My God, it’s been so long. …

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Aldin and Amel did not know each other during the conflict. Their families had been displaced to the district where I took the photo. They had played together occasionally with other children in the middle of wrecked cars. Then their families returned to their home areas. I was unable to find this place. Through the Havas newspaper series on the missing people I was looking for, Aldin’s mother recognized her son and his young friend next to him in the picture. Everything happened so fast and perhaps only now they will bind into a true friendship. After twelve years they met and talked:
Aldin : What are you doing ?
Amel : I ‘m finishing my studies. Railway studies. And you? …


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Anisa and Almedina. During times of ceasefire children were playing the tramway game in the square in front of the National Library. The real tram had ceased to function right at the beginning of the siege.
From my research I discovered that these children were from peripheral neighbourhoods, displaced by the shelling.
Through schools, colleges, universities, I was able to find out that Anisa studied medicine and Almedina, agriculture. I asked them to return to the place where twelve year before they had played together; their former playmates has been invited as well. At the reunion there were some surprises. This was the first time Anisa and Almedina had met again after so many years and immersed themselves in their memories and stories.
Anisa : This crazy photographer went through primary school, high school, and went back up to the medical school where I study. He toured the city, just to find me!
Almedina : “Not that crazy, you know ! After all, we are back together after all these years. Who would have ever imagined?… 

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Both twins Nadir and Faruk were very happy in 1 994 when, between curfews, they were allowed to go out with their grandmother. At the time, queuing for sugar and flour was an adventure for the two young boys, as it was for so many kids locked up at home by fearful parents. I walked around Bistrik Hill for one week before discovering that the two little boys are today teenagers. Aisha, their grandmother is gone, she had survived the bombing but has succumbed to age. The two boys are inseparable. Both are reserved, and they do not like to to speak about the past.
“My name is Faruk Telalovic. I study at the School of Medicine in the branch of physiotherapy. I remember my grandmother Aisha. She loved us, she cared for us, my twin brother, Nadir, and me. She took us outside between two bombings. I still remember the sound of bombs…..

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Namik no longer goes about with his sheep. Today, because of financial problems, Namik still lives with his parents and works as a taxi driver. He would like to change jobs. In spite of precariousness, he still has high morale and a sense of optimism.
“I graduated and afterwards I got a job as a taxi driver. You saw for yourself, people showed you where I live but it was hard to find me at home! I work twelve hours a day and within a month I can take only two days of rest…

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From the beginning of my research everyone reacted in front of the photo of the woman who, during the war, dressed in traditional costume and sold newspapers every day in front of the Mosque…
I was assured it would be very easy to meet her, especially in the morning in the pedestrian area.
But after three weeks of searching, she had four different names, was at five different places and more then that, some people thought she had died. By the fourth week of research, when this meeting seemed impossible and I lost the hope of finding her, a girl told me to come in the early morning before the distribution of bread and flour at an assistance centre for underprivileged families. Sevala was there. I had a problem in recognizing her: she was no longer in traditional dress, she was not wearing a headscarf, her skin was not as white as before, she was getting older but still beautiful and her eyes still shining bright. In a trembling voice and point of tears, she spoke to me:
“Thank you, thank you. My name is Sevala. You’re the first person in years who has asked my name, who is truly interested in me. I could disappear and nobody would have noticed.
I sold newspapers during and after the war for over fifteen years. I am the “stone” of Bascarsija (the old historic district). The whole city bought newspapers from me, but nobody cared about me. Nobody even asked me anything other than newspapers, nobody offered me a coffee. Everybody knows me but nobody can tell you who I am.”
I was moved by these words and I followed her to the small apartment in Novo Sarajevo. In an elevator which was falling apart, we slowly climbed until the sixteenth floor of a dilapidated tower.
”Welcome to Sarajevo, ” she exclaimed, pushing the door open to a small apartment still in ruins, which showing obvious signs of conflict. Without money, no water, no electricity!
“Come I’ll show you my Yugoslavia.”
I did not understand.
Sevala opened a big box from which she displayed her past : her degree in Arabic language, the pictures of her trip to Belgrade, photos of students, her “dear Tito”, the soccer club players of the former Yugoslavia but also her precious old Yugoslav passport.