Nema problema

I am Rebecca, the little sister although I am not little anymore but that’s how I was called for a long time by my parents “la petite”! It’s taken the lessons of life to realize it’s just a matter of perspective. 

 When I moved to Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina, with my husband and 18 months old son, it was a great adventure. Back in 1999, the country was coming out of a terrible war. Buildings like people all showed scars and damage. Yet people remained open and welcoming. It was love at first sight on my part. I loved the humanity of the inhabitants, the mix of Western and Eastern culture, the dark humour, the lush nature, the mountains and since I came first in summer, the weather. 

What I saw as a laidback attitude to everything in life was more difficult to adjust to. If I would ask a tradesman if something could be done about say the water leaking in the kitchen he would repeatedly say “nema problema (no problem)” even though I could see there were indeed problems with all the parts of the drain laying on the floor and the water still dripping copiously. If you would make an appointment with someone they would say “I will come ako Bog da (God willing)” which I interpreted as them not being very committed. I struggled with learning Bosnian language having to rely on my toddler son as an interpreter, with lots lost in translation such as the long explanation from the plumber he translated into “he said it’s not possible”. 

In the first year I was still travelling back and forth to Amsterdam working my academic job. But then I wanted a second child, and the distance working was not great for that. So, I worked locally.  I delivered a beautiful daughter by breach in a Sarajevo hospital surrounded by people shouting to me to push in all the languages they could think of while I was completely panicked and overwhelmed by pain. Despite that in a corner of my brain I thought it was funny they thought that telling me to push in German would encourage me! Only exhaustion stopped me from punching the doctor in the face when I heard him telling my husband as he was sewing me up “don’t worry, she’ll be as good as new”. 

 Some months later my husband got a job in Travnik in Central Bosnia with an international organization. I found myself in a sleepy provincial small town with a toddler and a baby. Contrary to Sarajevo, hardly anyone could speak English or German. I was an object of curiosity for my neighbours who would observe my every move and of course comment on it. But I also had warm-hearted neighbours who, like Fahira brought me a plate of food the day I moved in. She had been a refugee in Germany and empathized with the feeling of being a foreigner in a new place and wanted to make me feel welcome. I soon had local children stream in and out of my house where I would organize crafts and arts activities, read books, teach one how to read or supervise homework, encourage them to pick up the litter surrounding my house. I planted flowers in my garden which would disappear overnight. I would sit with the neighbours drinking coffee and listen to them chatting about corruption, straying husbands, worries for their children, their favorite recipes and I gradually learned to speak Bosnian. 

I also had become a stay home mom, but I was really bad at it. I hated cleaning and cooking. My house was just chaos, and I was overwhelmed. I enrolled in an email programme to learn how to keep the house clean with a systematic approach. I identified simple yet healthy recipes that would appear on repeat on our table. But I missed the intellectual challenge of my job. I felt very lonely and isolated. To ward the dark mood off, I started painting and decorating every piece of furniture I could find: stools, shelves, tables. My neighbours brought me their old wooden furniture and would exhibit them as art once painted. It took all my will to hang to the last threads of sanity as I repeated to myself my new mantra “Nema problema”.

My sister came to visit from Australia and told me: “This place is so depressing, why are you doing this to yourself when you could live in Sarajevo?” It was the wakeup call I needed. There was indeed a problem: I was not happy! I moved back to Sarajevo, hired a housekeeper, and registered the children in school there. At the school pickup, I befriended a group of women who like me used to be professionals. We all oscillated between gratefulness for being able to spend time with our children and frustration of being reduced to that. Together we started organizing meaningful activities for our children and for ourselves. With two of them, we rented a small atelier and started selling painted furniture. We would laugh a lot, listen to music, organize parties where the others would come and discuss our art and we would feel so much joy from creating.

Discussion evening at "L'atelier de Sarajevo"

After a couple of months, we dared to paint on canvas and held an exhibition where our work was well received. With the energy I received through practicing creativity, I was able to start new projects, learn new skills and grow. Not the “petite” anymore! 

Even though they moved to other countries, this group of women are still my support group. We spend time together at least twice a year, share ideas, encourage each other, celebrate our achievements and visit art museums. To this day I know that it is friendship and art that have kept me sane.

If you feel you've lost your creative mojo, you can enroll to one of the retreats I organize with my friend Joelle Chassot.

Upcoming retreat in French: https://sites.google.com/view/sejourcreatifversailles/home 

Retreats in English will soon be announced

My co-creator of "L'atelier de Sarajevo": Joelle Chassot: https://joellechassot.com/

The system that helped me keep my house clean and somewhat organised:

http://www.flylady.net/