Sandra Pasic - Life with the black demon

On one occasion, my half-brother happened to be with my grandmother in Cazin and I asked him to come with us to Bihac, to spend a few days together with us. However, every time I invited him, he refused. I wondered why he was like that and why he blamed mother for his misfortune. I also asked my mum why she left him before she married my father. She could take the child with her. My mother told me that it was not possible because she could not feed him, nor could her parents accept him as a family member in their own home. She told me that I would understand everything when I’m older and have my own children. There is no difference in the amount of love for your children. She repeated that she could not protect us from our father either, how could she protect him, who is nothing to him. Father does not pity or spare us, so why would he spare him even if there was a possibility to spare him. He often called our mother a whore because she was married once before. He punched her in the nose for having a child from the first marriage. We asked mum about her first marriage. My mother told us that her first husband died very young and that she had become a widow at the age of eighteen.

All that time while my father was in prison, his brother, our uncle, fed us, that is, he bought us food and he gave money to my mother to provide what we needed. I will never forget that. My uncle was a good man, different in every sense from my father, a police officer by profession. I can’t thank him enough, because such a gesture, especially in difficult moments of one’s life, can never be forgotten. He will forever remain in my fondest memory.

Since the father was absent, the mother fasted almost the whole of Ramadan. We wanted to know how to fast, and we wanted to know all about “sehur”, early portion of a day when people get up and start fasting. Ramadan, especially this one, is one of the most beautiful periods of my life.

The days I spent at school made me happy because I loved going there. I finished primary school with excellent marks. My mother would often say that she did not have any problems with me at school and that she didn’t have to make me study, because I fulfilled my obligations responsibly. I especially loved art and painting, which is still something I do nowadays.

Autumn is here. A wonderful autumn morning made us wish for a pleasant rest of the day. Mom woke up first, made breakfast and coffee with milk. When she had prepared everything, she came into the room and kissed us one by one. The morning began with my mother’s smile. We were sitting, eating out breakfast. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Mum got up and went to see who it was. Unfortunately, it was my father who was released from prison on probation. We also got up to welcome our father. Unexpectedly, our father was very calm and talked to us nicely, he even asked us kindly:

- Kids, how are you?

He talked nicely with our mum. He had breakfast with us, which our mother prepared with love and kindness. My God, how happy I was. Father is here, he doesn’t shout, he doesn’t swear and he talks to us in the most normal way. For about a month he was caring and was kind to us. He even found a job for mum, so the two of them talked about it nicely, which made me happy. I thought about how prison changed my father in a positive way and how we would have a father like every other child. Kindness, love and decency towards us lasted for a short time. Honestly, he was kind and humane to everyone, he helped people in need, and he also helped the poor. He was one splendid man, “a golden boy.” This is how some viewed him and for many he was considered a nice man.

Dad’s family was afraid of him, because he was a man who lost his temper easily, some situations made him angry quickly, so he would do something bad without thinking, and then soon he would always regret it.

He said he had given up alcohol and would not drink again. The next day he was not in the house all day, he went out in the morning and came home late in the evening.

We were all sleeping. I was awakened by strange voices and loud music from the living room. I got up to see what was going on. My father was sitting with some man. They were drinking. Mother was by the stove, cooking something. She prepared hors d’oeuvre and some food for my father and his friend. I sat down in the living room where it was cold, so I covered myself with a blanket. I watched them. Suddenly my father started a topic that I listened to carefully. He said that his childhood was difficult, that his father consumed a lot of alcohol, both his father and mother beat him. I often thought this was the rage he inflicted upon us. But how have we deserved it, and why was he punishing us for it? He grew up surrounded by violence that he himself began to inflict to others over time.

My father’s mother often used to say:

- As a boy, he was such trouble, not a day went by without him being beaten.

She told us that our father, when he was a boy, ran away from home and no one knew anything about him for three months, no one knew where he was or what he was doing. He was everywhere, from Bosnia all the way to Slovenia. She said that she beat him up once so hard that he got cuts on his skin, and she put salt on those cuts, as a warning not to make any more mistakes.

My father did not listen to anyone in the entire world and had always been his own man. He barely finished four years of primary school. Grandmother said he was a very bad student and that she had to force him to finish even those four years of primary school. He broke his father’s jaw with one punch. He also beat her, his brothers, relatives and sisters-in-law. On one occasion, he hit his sister in the head with an ashtray so hard that my aunt ended up in the intensive care unit. She recovered, thanks to God.

My father had a child from his first marriage (son), my second half-brother who was raised by his uncles rather than by his own father. While his first son was little, he would sometimes buy him something, but very rarely. He didn’t even call him father but used his real name. He abused his ex-wife, who was an Orthodox Christian, as well. When he went to serve his military service, he told her he didn’t want to see her there when he returned. Grandmother said his wife wanted to take her child with her who was only six months old at the time. They didn’t allow her to take him and thus she was forced to leave the house without her child. She went away in tears and said she would get in touch. She never did. She started a new family in Serbia, she has two children now, a son and a daughter, and her daughter’s name is the same as mine, Sandra. I don’t know why, but I had respect for that woman, even though I didn’t know her. I believe she suffered greatly.

Every day of my life was filled with fear and anxiety. I was afraid to do anything, because I would be punished for every single thing.

The days went by, but how I do not know.

Mum started working as a food service worker at a hospital on May 14, 2000. I remember she often brought bread and food leftovers from the hospital. To me, that food was delicious. Mum came back from work every other day at 5:30 p.m. She was never late, not even a minute. After finishing work, she immediately ran home, because if she didn’t arrive home on time, father would start shouting, posing a million questions and sub-questions as to why she was late and where she was, etc... Once the chaos ensued, because she was ten minutes late.

We could have an easier life thanks to my mother’s salary. To be truthful, we always had money for food, for everything we wanted to eat. Father would often take all the money from my mother, her salary she earned, and spent it on drinks.

Although he spent all the money on drinks, he often came home with even more money. I don’t know how he got the money and what he did, but we were never hungry. He didn’t buy us toys that often, so we took care of the “Nintendo” game we got as if our lives depended upon it.