A Bird, A Bomb and a Blanket

In the waning months of the 1990s, I received an email one day from a stranger named Sasa. Like many others, Sasa had found my web site on the internet and spent quite a bit of time studying my lovebird page. Like hundreds of similar emails, Sasa’s email sought advice.


In a brief note, he said he had no access to pet stores or birdseed and was concerned that his pair of lovebirds, with newly hatched babies, had nothing to eat and would starve. He wanted to know what kind of replacements he could offer them.


I was very busy that particular day with schoolwork and the regular stuff of single-motherhood. So I typed out a quick reply suggesting he feed them Cheerios and gradually add chopped vegetables to the diet, as they probably would not transition to the veggies soon enough to save the lives of the babies. I clicked on the send button, and forgot about it, returning to my class preparations.


The next day I received a polite and apologetic email from Sasa. He was sorry to trouble me again, but needed to know what Cheerios were. It was then that I noticed that his English was a little awkward. I looked at his email address and noticed that it looked odd. It didn’t end in “.com” or “.net” or any of the familiar endings. It occurred to me that Sasa was obviously not American.


I wrote a quick note back explaining what Cheerios were and telling him that maybe he should try cooked rice with some veggies mixed in. The next day, no email from Sasa, I figured the problem was solved and forgot about it, concentrating instead on the unit I was going to teach about the war that we had joined in Kosovo.


A few days later I received yet another email from Sasa. He wanted to thank me profusely for the advice and to report that mamma, papa and babies were all eating once again. He had a few more questions to ask, and thanked me again for being so kind to take the time to help him with his dilemma.


I answered his questions and then told him I hated to be nosey, but I was curious about his email address. I told him its format was very foreign to me, and it was evident by his writing that English was not his first language. Where did he live? I told him if that was too personal, he need not answer.


A couple days passed and he responded. I found he lived in war-torn Yugoslavia. The reason his birds had been starving was because war had ravaged his city and very few supplies of any type were available.


Over the weeks and months Sasa and I developed a friendship. It pained me sometimes to get his emails. But it was an eye-opening experience for me. And yet, I was in awe of the fact that I could be in almost daily contact with a civilian in a country my country’s military was busy assaulting.


Sasa’s story was one of millions. He and his wife were raising a son and daughter they hoped would grow up to be caring, responsible citizens, like any parents. Sasa had been a lawyer. But there was no work for lawyers in Kosovo these days. He had not worked in months. He had arranged for his wife and children to sneak out of the country, and they were somewhere in Istanbul, where his multi-lingual wife had gotten a job teaching. Sasa stayed behind to protect his “flat” and took out for his mother who refused to leave the country, no matter how much he begged her.


One day he wrote that it had been a very good day. He had been very fortunate enough to find work for the day. He had spent the entire day stooping over picking strawberries. He felt blessed to have found a job – even if it was just for a day. But his back was so sore he could barely move the next morning.


Another day he wrote that he had been very fortunate. Someone he met had connections, and they were able to buy and butcher a cow! What a blessing it had been. The refrigerator was filled to overflowing with meat. There was no room for anything else. But that was okay, because they had no other food to put in it. This really made me ashamed that I had grumbled that the grocery store had only had a half dozen kinds of bread that day, and none was the kind I preferred.


Two days later, Sasa’s email said that our bombs had taken out their electrical plant and they had been without electricity for almost 48 hours now. All of the treasured beef in the refrigerator was in danger of rotting, so he and his mother and a few neighbors had been gorging themselves with as much meat as they could, not wanting it to go to waste. They were sick of the sight of meat and would probably have to throw the rest away soon anyway.


Another day he wrote that he had been able to talk to his family on the phone for the first time since they had fled the country. His son, Nick was very upset with his father when he said he had befriended an American woman overseas. How could he talk to the enemy?


Sasa calmly asked his son if he had started the war in Kosovo. Nick was puzzled. Of course not! He hated the war and he wished it would end and he could come back home and have a normal life with his family and friends. Sasa told him, well, Liz did not start this war either. And she is very sad about what is happening to us too. And she wants the war to end so you can come home and live a normal life with your friends and family too. Nick became very quiet. Sasa gently told him that you cannot judge everyone by the actions of some, and that it was an important lesson for him to remember.


Shortly after that, I got an email from Sasa saying that the bombing had been so close today that rubble had slammed up against the outer wall of his home. I was very worried for him and begged him to leave and go join his family in Turkey. He could not protect his home from bombs, and if looters were to ransack his home after he left, it would be nothing compared to losing his life. But he reminded me he had to stay on to look out for his mother. Besides, it would probably be impossible for him to leave the country at this late date.


A few days later, his letter was very short. He said something bad had happened. He did not have time to explain. But I might not hear from him for a while. Please keep him in my prayers. He would write again as soon as it was safe. And that was it.


For days I checked my email - several times a day - praying I would hear from him, and feeling very helpless. No emails from Serbia. I kept thinking the worst. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity I received an email from Sasa. He told me the police had come around looking for him. They were trying to force him to join the army, and he had had to go underground. He thought he was safe now, but he could not go back home. He was in hiding.


We continued to correspond regularly, sharing fears and hopes and the daily things of life. He told me he had lost contact with his family. His wife had lost her job and they had had to move, and he was no longer at home for them to contact him. My heart was so heavy for him. I wanted so badly to help him, but all I could do was to be his friend from afar, and try to lift his spirits with my emails, and lift him up in my prayers.


When the war ended, we were both so relieved. He told me he was going to go to Turkey to try to find his family and bring them back home to build a new life. I had a sense I would not hear from my friend Sasa again. But he promised me he would keep in touch with me and let me know when he found his wife and his kids.


Time passed. Weeks, months. I prayed for Sasa and his family daily, hoping they had found each other and were well, rebuilding a life together.




***********


More than a year passed. Then one day I received an email from an unfamiliar address. The heading was just “Hello!” But as I opened it, an inexplicable excitement came over me.


The letter was from Sasa. It was short. He said he didn’t know if I would even remember him, but that he had never forgotten me. I had been the one thing that had given him strength and courage during the war, and had brought daily sunshine into his uncertain world.


He said he knew the U.S. was a huge country, but his brother, Zeljko, (pronounced Zhel-ko) was coming to visit friends, and he wanted to send me a small gift to show his gratitude. Did I live by any chance live anywhere near Los Angeles?


I was thrilled, and yet very nervous, at the thought of meeting Sasa’s brother. I gave Sasa my cell phone number and told him to have his brother call me when he got here and I would come meet him.


I told my 5th grade students the story of Sasa and that his brother was coming to this country and was going to meet me. Their excitement matched my own. The call came from Zeljko during math class. I told the kids to go on with their assignment as I stepped out the door to better hear Zeljko, whose English was fairly good, but heavily accented.


One by one, the kids snuck out the door and gathered ‘round me, whispering at first, and then asking, “Can I talk to him?” “Does he speak English?” “Can he come to our class?!” I shushed them all affectionately, sent someone for a pen and paper, and wrote down an address and phone number in Marina del Rey where I was to meet him that evening.


Standing outside the upscale apartment door later that night, I was shaking like a leaf as I rang the doorbell. A beautiful woman answered the door, introduced herself as Marina, and invited me in. She apologized, saying Zeljko was not there yet. He’d gone to see friends, but had called and was now on his way.


Marina and I got to talking, as she gave me a tour of her apartment and I later helped her in the kitchen. Though she was not related to Zeljko and Sasa, she shared the same last name – Draskovic – which she said is a fairly common name in their home country. She said they had met on vacation in Paris a few years ago, and had become good friends.


She wanted to know where I had met Zeljko. When I told her I had never met him, she looked at first startled, and then confused. I quickly explained why I was here to meet him – how I had become friends with his brother via email during the war, had lost track of him, etc.


She looked at me funny and said she didn’t know he had a brother. I really began to get nervous then, and started trying to figure a way to get out of that apartment – quickly!


Just then, the doorbell rang. I followed her to the door – seriously considering pushing past her and running out the door when she answered it. When she opened the door, a handsome man stepped in, hugged her, and then looked over her shoulder to meet my eyes. He had a smile that went all the way to his eyes. In heavily accented English he said, “You must be Liz. Forgive me, my English is not good.”


Marina jumped into the conversation, saying I had just told her the most amazing story. She had no idea that he and I were total strangers. She had somehow been under the impression that he and I were old friends. And how come she never knew he had a brother? Sasa said he knew nothing of the story she was talking about – only that he was to bring a package to some woman in LA from his brother in Serbia. He and his brother had not been close for several years, and Sasa had not explained anything else to him.


We sat and had tea, and I again began to tell my story, this time telling Zeljko how my friendship with Sasa had begun over a simple question about lovebirds. Sasa smiled saying he remembered Sasa’s lovebirds well, and how they had been such a bright spot in his life.


Zeljko pulled a package from behind the couch, and handed it to me. I opened it to find a coffee mug from Sarajevo for me, and a T-shirt from the university in Sarajevo for my son, Nick. A note said, “Forgive me. It’s not much. But maybe you can remember me each time you drink coffee… May the warmth of your coffee remind you of the warmth you gave me in a very cold time in life.” As I read it, tears ran down my face. I felt so blessed.


Zeljko and Marina looked at me, and when I handed them the note, tears filled their eyes too. I quickly wiped my eyes, and pulled out a package I had brought. Inside I had gifts for both Sasa and Zeljko. I had Zeljko open his first. It was a crystal box with a bird carved on the top. I told him that since a bird is what brought us all together, I thought this would be a nice way to celebrate new friendship.


Then they wanted to know what I was sending Sasa. I told them it was a quilt I’d made. Something for him to hang on his wall of his new home to remind him that any place can be home, when love is there. Of course, they wanted to see it, so we carefully unwrapped it. I was surprised to see tears come to both of their eyes. They were very touched that I could do that for a man I had never met. I told them that I had indeed met him. I think maybe God had introduced us. I just had never seen him.


They said they were not surprised that I was a Christian. They were very glad to meet me. They each got up and hugged me tightly. I asked Zeljko what brought him to America, and he said it was business. Marina told him not to be shy and to tell me what really brought him here.


It turns out Zeljko had been somewhat of a playboy (maybe the black sheep?) of the family. He had lived for parties and pleasure. But after the war, he was having lunch one day with some of his buddies abroad, throwing down a lot of money at a very expensive restaurant. They began discussing the war and its effect on their country, and the discussion became very sober.


Zeljko was suddenly impressed to change his lifestyle and do something for those people they were discussing. He thought of all the children orphaned by the war. He told his friends then and there what had just come to him, and that if they all put the lavish amount of money they had just spent on this meal into a fund instead, they could put that money toward helping orphans and widows.


So they all decided to not having lunch once a month, and put the money toward the fund. Zelkjo told them that was not enough. They should each enlist at least 6 more friends to not have lunch with them. Eventually he went beyond that and started actively recruiting people to invest in this project, and adopt families. That is what had brought him to LA – and the large Serbian community (whose church happened to be just a mile from my house!) He was going to present a mission spotlight at the church to help them be aware of the need of the people in their homeland, and try to set up an American corporation which people could contribute to and still get a tax deduction.


We sat around and talked and had more tea. Finally I told them I really must leave, as I had to get up early for school. They begged me to go out to a club with them to meet some of their other friends, but I managed to politely excuse myself. The evening ended with warm good-byes and lots of hugs.


The next day, my students all wanted to hear about my evening with Zeljko. I showed them pictures of him and told them about his mission and the summer camp that he had established for orphaned kids. They were very excited. I asked what they thought we could do. We had made a couple of baby quilts – well, I had made them and they had watched – for special needs people during the previous semester. We decided it might be nice to make some baby quilts for the orphaned babies in Serbia.


So the planning began. Each child brought in a couple of dollars, and we took a trip to the local fabric store. The kids worked in teams of four, and learned about fabric, color coordination, sewing machines, etc. Their enthusiasm grew. They had to use math to figure the yardage and design the quilts. They were certainly incorporating geography and history, and art, and doing a mission project as well.


And the up side is that they could only work on quilts when their school work was done! So everyone was eager to knuckle down and get his or her work turned in. And those who finished early helped coach their slower partners with their work so they could get some sewing in too! Those were probably my happiest months in the classroom.


It took a while, but we finally ended up with six beautiful handmade baby quilts by May. And what a coincidence! Zeljko emailed me to say he was going to be back in LA in early June for a fundraiser he was organizing at the Serbian church down the road from me. Was there anyway I could join him as his guest? So I overcame my fear of crowds of strangers and noisy places and met him at the church.


It was kind of awkward at first, because most of the people were not speaking English. And everyone stared at me like I was a fish out of water! But it was a very enjoyable night with lots of music and folk dancing. And when I presented Zeljko with the quilts and told him the love and care the young students had put into them, he was overcome with emotion..


Who would ever imagine that such a wonderful experience could come from a simple answer to a question about how to feed hungry lovebirds. I think we were all “fed” and uplifted by this experience. God is so good…




Liz Carson Rosas
8 May 2009