National English Skills 7
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Diary<br />
Here are three diary entries in which Zlata Filipovic’ recounts her daily experiences in<br />
war-torn Sarajevo at the end of the twentieth century.<br />
•• Life in a war zone ••<br />
Friday, 3 July 1992<br />
Dear Mimmy,<br />
Mummy goes to work. She goes if there’s no<br />
shooting, but we never know when the shelling<br />
will start. It’s dangerous to walk around town. It’s<br />
especially dangerous to cross our bridge, because<br />
snipers shoot at you. You have to run across. Every<br />
time she goes out, Daddy and I go to the window to<br />
watch her run. Mummy says: ‘I didn’t know the<br />
Miljacka (our river) was so wide. You run, and you<br />
run, and you run, and there’s no end to the bridge.’<br />
That’s fear, Mimmy, fear that you’ll be hit by<br />
something.<br />
Daddy doesn’t go to work. The two of us stay at<br />
home, waiting for Mummy. When the sirens go off<br />
we worry about how and when and if she’ll get home.<br />
Oh, the relief when she walks in!<br />
Neda came for lunch today. Afterwards we played<br />
cards. Neda said something about going to Zagreb. It made Mummy sad, because<br />
they’ve been friends since childhood. They grew up together, spent their whole lives<br />
together. I was sad too because I love her and I know she loves me.<br />
Zlata<br />
Sunday, 5 July 1992<br />
Dear Mimmy,<br />
I don’t remember when I last left the house. It must be almost two months ago now. I<br />
really miss Grandma and Grandad. I used to go there every day, and now I haven’t<br />
seen them for such a long time.<br />
I spend my days in the house and in the cellar. That’s my wartime childhood.<br />
And it’s summer. Other children are holidaying at the seaside, in the mountains,<br />
swimming, sunbathing, enjoying themselves. God, what did I do to deserve being<br />
in a war, spending my days in a way that no child should. I feel caged. All I can<br />
see through the broken windows is the park in front of my house. Empty, deserted,<br />
no children, no joy. I hear the sound of shells, and everything around me smells of<br />
war. War is now my life. OOHHH, I can’t stand it any more! I want to scream and<br />
cry. I wish I could play the piano at least, but I can’t even do that because it’s in ‘the<br />
dangerous room’, where I’m not allowed. How long is this going to go on???<br />
Zlata<br />
4: Recounting<br />
33
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