My Determination!

As a kid of 11 years of age, I had always been working with my dad in the field hearing so many stories from my father related to the beginnings of World War 2, the events during WW2, and the happenings after WW2 from 1945 to the 1950’s.  In my young brain in my head, there was a lot of wonderings why all of this has to happen.  When I ask my dad some specific questions about the missing Croatians from my village always the answer was “You are too young to understand this, my son.  Once you’re a little bit older you will know a lot of those answers.  Now I cannot tell you too much because you would not understand.”

On Wednesday, May 31st, 1950, my father and I had been working in a vineyard called “Padina”. Around 6:30pm, with still a couple of hours of daytime left, three policemen came, passing through someone else’s land (trespassing on someone’s land), and walked straight to my father asking, “Are you Comrad Petar Boban?” As soon as my father answered, “Yes, I am Petar Boban”, they pulled out tie-wire from their belt and tied up my father’s hands behind his back.  When I asked those 3 policemen where are they taking my father, the answer was “You will find out.”

That evening, a score of Croatians from our village were arrested and were taken to the station of Posušje.  From that day on, the men’s job fell on my shoulders as an 11 year old boy.  My mom was pregnant.  My oldest brother, Jerko, was in school in Zenica while my oldest sister, Jakica, was in school in Sarajevo.  My mom did go as many times as it was permitted by the regime to visit my father in jail.  He was in jail as a “enemy of the state” and was released on Saturday, July 3rd, 1953.  During that time of 3 years, through my teenager’s head, went so many things and why’s; questions that I didn’t have the answer to.  During that time, I was working in the field, plowing and hoeing with men who were 25 years of age and on.  Maybe those 3 years did help me to sharpen my brain to be determined in my thinking.  During that time of 3 years, as a teenager, in my village going to church, going to the field, talking to the people, neighbors and friends, I became a rebel.  When I say “a rebel”, I did not mean to say “a rebel” to fight with the rifles against someone.  When I say, “a rebel”, with these words I try to say that I was not a “yes sir” man.  If I did not like something that is going around me caused by the communist regime of Yugoslavia, then I speak up my mind.  I knew very well that all those acts I did intentionally, boycotting the regime and its representatives (in this case, the police), I was not conscious, as a teenager, of the consequences of my behavior.  So, when I heard from my mom inside the house with closed doors, telling me about the Croats, our friends, relatives and neighbors, disappeared during WW2 and that we do not know their fate whether they’re alive or dead or missing.  And that the regime was particularly against any pronunciation of the word “Croats” and so on.  Then when I go out in the street in the evening or during the day when I work with the elders in the field, I feel very equipped and superior of them to talk about Croatia, Croatians, WW2, missing of 23 Croatians from my village of Bobanova Draga, then I start to talk about it.

One man by the name of Ikan Boban (born in 1917) Mišin told me “Milan, I’m going to tell you something.  I was a soldier of the Croatian armed forces during WW2 and I know for a fact that Croatians armed forces with the civilians surrendered to the English army in Austria in May 1945. Then, the English army surrendered the Croatians to Tito’s army of Yugoslavia which slaughtered a few hundred thousand Croatians in Slovenia.” Then Ikan Boban (Mišin was his nickname) told me one song which is: Slovenia puna si borića i kostiju hrvastki mladića” which translates to “Slovenia, you are as full of trees as you are of Croatian soldiers bones.”  Then again during the dinner, Ikan (Mišin) told me one other song: “Mene moja naučila mati, pjevaj sine živjeli Hrvati” which translates to “My mother taught me to sing long life to Croats”.  That song, with my cousin and friend, Ante Grubisic, Lukin we started to sing through the village and through the region without thinking that this song might cause us problems.  When I say problems, I have to explain this that Yugoslavian communist regime did not allow to Croats to express their nationalistic feelings through any means whatsoever (cultural, folkloric, historical, singing, talking, etc.). There were some people who did approach us telling us that we shouldn’t sing that; it was forbidden and the police might stop us.  Ante and I, as teenagers, we didn’t think that a simple song would hurt someone’s feelings. We were naïve.

So, on Friday, June 29th, 1956, in my village of Bobanova Draga there was a celebration of St. Peter and Paul holiday.  As tradition dictates, after the mass which started at 11am, we went home for lunch and after lunch, around 2pm, we go to the main road which is about a few hundred yards away to meet with friends and neighbors at traditional croatian called Dernek (sort of Fair) to walk, talk and sing.  We celebrate St. Peter and Paul every year in our village on June 29th.  This particular day, my cousin Ante and I, we sang that song “Mene moja naučila mati, pjevaj sine živjeli Hrvati.”  Suddenly, here are three policemen came to us and stop us in the middle of the road.  One was named Đuro (a typical Serbian name); he was a commander of the station. The other one was Milan Šorman (also a Serb) while the third one was Hassan, a Muslim, from Bugojno.  The purpose of stopping us was that we couldn’t sing nationalistic songs because that is a provocation to the Brastvo i Jedinsvo (which means “Fraternity and Unity”).

Then I told those 3 policemen “I think that my song would not hurt anybody and I am just looking for someone who is going to forbid me to sing this song.”  As soon as I said this, one of the policemen slapped me.  As soon as he slapped me above my forehead, mostly on my hair, I grabbed Milan Šorman and threw him onto the ground by the side of the road.  As I was struggling with him, Jerko Boban (nickname: Kebić, 1919-2009) and Franjo Boban (nickname: Tuka) jumped to help us, telling the police, “Do you know through which village you are passing through?”  (This comment was meant to highlight the fact that many distinguished WW2 Croatian generals (such as General Ranko Rafael Boban) and other soldiers came from this village and the Yugoslavian communist regime knew this and feared them.)  They continued, “This is not 1945 that you can come with your guns pointed to the people, pulling them from bed during the night and executing them behind the walls wherever you find it!”

The next day, Saturday, June 29th, I was working with my father on the field around 10am here two policemen come.  One was Milan Šorman, the other was Hassan, from Bugojno, the Muslim.  They want to escort me to Sovići, a town 6km away, to the police station.  I told them “You will not escort me on this beautiful day in front of our village for 6 km that my neighbors see me going with you as a thief.  You go over there and I will be there.”  They took my word for it and left and I left too.  But, I didn’t leave to follow them.  I left to exile.

Izvor: Otporaš

S/I

Žig

About Stric Ivan 2527 Articles
Rano jutro pola pet. Svaki dan putujem na poso kod gazde na poso. Gazda je dobar bio pa mi je poso dao, jer nemam ni za suvu kiflu. Doduše jogurt sam krao dok gazda nije sazno da sam krao. Ondak sam dobio "vaspitnu" tri, četiri od gazde jer je reko da sramotim obitelj gazdinu i moju. Inače gazda je iz sela. Ja sam isto. Al nismo iz istog. Neki dan je bio neki čoek koji se hvali kod gazde da je izumio prozor (windows) i da je zaradio milijarde na račun nas koji nemamo prozor. Mene ne bi preveslo jer mi Prozor imamo u Bosni. I tako... Bio je darežljiv. Ja nisam šćeo jedan taj prozor (windows) al mi je gazda rjeko da ne budem nagao i da uzmem jer bih inače u protuprotivnom trebao za pare kupiti prozor. Kaže ćoek da je iz Amerike i da od para ne zna šta će pa je počeo trovat ljude. Oto se mom gazdi nije dopalo..."Mali!"-ovamo dolazi zovne me gazda. "Idi po burek kod "Trifrtalj Mande" i reci joj da ga zasoli ko što su joj pretci (burekđžije) zasolili Borđžijama. "Za Dom!"-rekoh i odjurih po burek. Trifrtalj Manda je bila ugledni buregđžija, a zvali su ga Manda jer je za okladu pojeo 100 komada ćelapa i popio gajbu piva. A ono tri frtalj je dobio jer mu je još mjesta ostalo za pojest u drobu, pa je ošo kući i pojeo još lonac sarme od prošlog tjedna, jer burek ne jede iz buregđžinice, jer bi time kršio poslovnu politiku. I tako...Vratim se da kod gazde i donesem burek. "Evo gazda ja donio burek, još je vruć, kaže Manda da ga je osobno sam izgazao nogama!" "E takog te volim, kad si poduzetan, kad radiš, pereš suđe, čaše, prostoriju krćme i kada naplatiš." "Dobro gazda, al aj mi reci što nikad ne uzmeš pare kad naplatim?" "Jer svakom drpiš trostruko. Šta si radio onom Palestincu? Jaseru Arafatu? "Ništ..". Jesam ja 100 put rekao kako nije lijepo gledat tuđu ženu? "Pa dobro, ja to od milja..."Od Milja!? Kolko ja znadem ti voliš od milja plavuše a Jaserova je bila crnka i dala mi je onu sliku Alajbegove đamije. "Pa dobro mogu i ja nešto pogledat ako je lijepo". "Možeš ali joj ne moraš davat broj telefona krćme pa da me zivka i psuje tebe, jer onda ja moram objavljivat rat Jaserovim ratnicima". Dok je gazda tako gunđo i kudio me, kaže gospodin prozor( Bill Gates) da je burek famozan, i da nikad nije pojeo tako sladak burek.(!?) Baš je glup taj Bill...burek ne može biti sladak, več odmesa, odsira, i odzelja. Gazda je stajao iza šanka, i glancao čaše, a ja ko ja, imao sam svoju odoru. To mi je gazda kupio. Čizme, pantole, kožnu jaknu, bijelu košulju i crnu kravatu. Eh umalo zaboravih. Gazdina poslovna politika je bila da svi moramo pokrov imati na glavi. Kapu. Ja sam dobio isti ko i gazda, zbog ravnopravnosti, kako mi je gazda kasnije objasnio. I moja i njegova kapa se zvala fes. I došla je Fed Ex-om sa Bliskog Istoka. Ošišo sam se na nulu, a ostavio sam samo brkove za znak raspoznavanja. Jedan put kad se zaratilo, da mi nije brkova ne bih dobro prošao. Uperio čovjek pušku u mene: "Ausweis sofort!" Ja neimadoh osobnu kartu i viknuh: "Heil Hitler". Kamarad možeš ić, reče jedan do njega koji je razumio i kineski. Eto od tada gazdu poznam. Imali smo i slovo iz abecede na njoj, a gazda mi je i to objasnio, da su se to Hrvati pod tim slovom borili da bi posvojili Bosnu, Hercegovinu, Sanđžak komad Italije točnije Trst jer se tamo išlo u šverc riflama. Pa da i oni zarade malo od šverca. Kaže gazda jednom prilikom da su moje najbolje koje postoje i da su stare 501 godinu."Dobro je gazda!"- jać nastavit sa pranjem suđa, a ti idi sa gostom ćakulat. I tako dok sam ja prao suđe i glancao čaše, kod nas su tijekom mjeseci i godina dolazili raznorazni pjevači Halid, Guns n Roses, Mladen Grdović, Serverina, Jelena Rozga, Lidija Bačić i neka grupa Sex Pistols isto ali bez basiste jer se oženio i ostavio bend. Kasnije kada sam porastao sam saznao da je svoju hanumu ukiselio jer mu se nije dopao ruž. Taj basist Sida je bio nadrogerisan. Za to je to i napravio. Ne volim drogu. Ondak su dolazili Viktor Orban, Donald Trump, onda je dolazio čovjek raketa Donaldov najveći neprijatelj jer stalno prijeti Americi sa raketlama sa borbenim glavama. Onda je dolazila Gabriela Merkel, pa Berlusconi koji nije nikada bio sam. Vazda je sa njim bilo cura plavih i crnih i crvenih. Ali ne ovakih crvenih ko što je danas crvenih i vjeruju u savez komunista. Gazda je nosio crvenu maramu pa je dobio traumu. Nije volio crvene i UDBA-u. To su brate Berlusconijeve bile žene za oko za ruku i za pojas okačit. Tolko dobro. Pošto sam bio konobar prišao sam Berlusconijevim curama i rekao: "Felatio, felatio!" Cure su ozbiljno svatile posao i dale na mene. Šta je dalje bilo, mogu napisati u svojim memoarima. Berlusconi je bio šarmer, i volio je darivati manje od sebe. Valjda po parama. Ja sam para imo kolko je gazda davao. I bilo mi je dosta. I ondak ko je još ono dolazio? Ček da se sjetim? Znam da od Srba nije niko dolazio jer su se jako nešto naljutili jer ih je gazda tamanio ko muve kućne u ratu. Mog su gazdu zvali prijetalji Herojem, al on je bio običan mali čovjek. I volio je bliskoistočni smisao za humor. I ja sam isto volio posebno kad je Berlusconi doveo par sirijskih cura. Brisao sam ja čaše i sjećao se kako su me izfelatirale. U mene je sve moralo biti u redu. Šank, police, gosti nisu smjeli donositi oružje, drogu, bijelo roblje. Crno su smjeli ali na vlastitu odgovornost. Prijetila je revolucija nakon Donalda Trumpa u Ameriki pa je htio postati kandidat da bi smirio stanje. Donald je bio velik čovjek. Al sam ja gazdu volio više, jer sam sa njim stalno išao u akciju. Vremeplovom smo se vraćali u prošlost i ispravljali greške ako smo ih neđe napravili. Ae! Imali smo više posla sa bogatima nego sa siromašnima. Gazda je to razumio, i nije dao da mi se išta dogodi. A pošto su kod nas dolazili razni narodni pjevači i sastavi kao što sam već rekao Guns n Roses, Sex Pistols, Damned, Real Kids, MC5, i drugi koje ovim putem stavljam na popis onih koje sam umalo zaboravio. Jest vala. Perem ja čaše i brišem kad nešto puče. Ja se okrenu, a ono čovjek iz Prozora (Bill Gates) osta rumena lica. Aha! Gazda mu zveknuo šamar jer je upetljan u trovanje čovječanstva sa nekim virusom Covic 19. Ša je bilo jarane!? -upitam ja kad je počeo čovjek prozor počeo nešto govoriti. Jel ti znaš đe si došo? Ovo je...ponovi za mnom i tu me gledaj. OVO JE!...sad reci krćma. KRĆMA...kod Satana...JES I LIKE SATAN...ne pitam te to majmune već ponovi...KOD SATANA...Panonskog...PANONIA. E tako...sad si naučio važnu lekciju da se ne zajebava i ne fali sa zločinom na javnom mjestu. Jesi skonto? Du ju anderstud? Imaš vraga u Americi pa nek te on odgaja kad nisu ćaća i mater. Bil Gates počme plakat i klecajući ode vanka. Pazi na kanal!-sam još uspio viknuti za njim. Nisam uspio u namjeri, jer je upo u njega a u taj kanal su komšije bacale govna iz cisterni u koje su upumpavale govna i smeće. "Znači gazda on se ne če izvaditi iz njega dok ne okaje grijehe svoje? Tako je mali! "Gazda možemo li mi iz Bosne uvesti nargile. Ja sam vidio u prolazu kada smo bili u Palestini da su ljudi pušili nargile i pili čaj. Mogli bi to uvesti kao posebnu ponudu zagoste." Šta će im nargila?" "Jel imaju ašiša? Imaju...Pa neka puše brate mili kolko hoće". Ionako ispadne sa kamiona svaki mjesec drveni sanduk od 30kg ašiša. "Jest vala gazda, znaš poso al ga zna i vozač kamiona. Štas mu ono reko? Budem li te vidio da mladeži prodaješ drogu, ostaćeš bez noge idući put kad budeš sjeo u krćmu". "A jes vala jesi ga ustrašio..." Takva je poslovna politika bila u gazde. Gazda je volio čist račun i žene. Svak onaj koji je mislio da nije volio taj se zajebo. Ako se nije ženio, to ne znači da nije volio žene. Pa ni Isus se nije ženio, tako kaže glasnogovornik iz Vatikana. Da ne kažem nešto teže, pustit ću grupu neku da pjeva, bolje nego da kažem neku parabolu, pa ću još i veći glupost napraviti. "Ta ti je pametna!"-Zapiši za sutra. Lepog Maria zovni treba se pripremiti za novi rat. Golub pismonoša mi je javio da počinje. Su kim, tj. protiv koga? Ja gazda ne bi više u sanitet...pun mi fes zavoja i tableta. Gazda me pogleda, priđe i odigne fes sa moje glave. Od kad ovo nosiš?- prosuše se tablete, ispadoše dva prva zavoja, pincete i škare za zavoj. "Od 1991 nosim!-rekoh. Ne moraš više prvi zavoj nosat, od sada i od ovog trenutka si razdužen ko i ja, nas rat ne interesira jer se rat vodi na Zamlji, a do tamo ne možemo niti svemirskim brodom, al zato imamo besplatanu internetsku televiziju, i gledamo šta se događa onima koji su a jesu. A ovo je njihov san, ono što sanjaju. Gazda, sad znam! Mogli bi smo se nazvat: Dobar, loš, jao! Može...reče gazda i zapali cigaretu iz duvankese.