A Week in the Serbian Countryside

DONJA TOPONICA, SERBIA

The young German swings his shovel wildly, stumbling over the pile of dirt which he is loading into a wheelbarrow one small shovel at a time. I cringe each time he turns, afraid he will clock one of the others working in the fairly small area, but they are aware of his erratic movements and give him a wide berth. Someone suggests that he take a break, but he replies "I just want to go home so I will work until its done." He is breathing heavily, and his cheeks are flushed so they match his sunburned shoulders. Only when he picks up a mattock and starts swinging a little too close to his own feet and those of others do I step in and insist that he is done and I will take over. He is tired and hungry and no longer focused or coordinated and its only a matter of time before someone gets hurt. A field trip to a Serbian hospital is not on the agenda for this week. 

I work alongside Alexander who has very particular preferences about the way one should work, though I secretly wonder if he isn't also slightly uncomfortable with a girl swinging a mattock. But we bicker a little all in good humor, he scolding me in Serbian, me answering in English. I stop to wipe the sweat from my brow and look at my watch. We have only been at this for 2 1/2 hours, and there is still plenty of light left in the day. If not for the mosquitoes, working at dusk would prove quite pleasant. Most of the other volunteers have stepped away from the project, swigging sugary fruit drinks or sitting cross-legged in the cool grass. Two other women half-heartedly pull rocks out of the dirt and sling them onto the growing pile, while the members of the local group work diligently. 

I arrived at this work camp unsure of what to expect, but assuming that the work would be steady. Perhaps not grueling, but good sweaty garden and trail work. Instead the week has so far been dotted with small projects, often with inadequate work for everyone in the group to participate. There have been more breaks than work, lots of siestas and lingering at meals, socializing in the afternoons and evenings along with a few meandering walks through the surrounding countryside and neighboring villages. Though initially frustrated, I have made peace with the pace, and am doing my best to enjoy the time. But when the others begrudge the work or complain about the difficulty, I am curious what brought them here. One South Korean fella left after one day, hopping on a bus with a muttered excuse about needing to run into the city and returning the next day. Of course he never returned, and I wonder if the story would not have been repeated with some of the others had the work been what was described to me- approximately 6 hours a day. 

So while "work" camp seems to be a bit of a misnomer, the week is providing a glimpse of life in Serbia, a place and culture that I previously knew very little about. I only knew of the country in the context of war criminals. The guide book I borrowed describes Serbia as an international pariah, and I think that's about right, and fairly unfortunate. There were certainly some Serbs who did terrible and horrible things, but the citizens here are no more supporters of war than any other individuals. Living through war is not a pleasant affair for any civilians, no matter what side of the battle on which they find themselves. But war is far from here. For now, this is a sleepy village in the south where every house no matter how basic or luxurious has a sizeable garden and at least a chicken or two scratching in the yard. The school is a bustling affair, more or less the same everywhere- middle school girls giggle and gossip across the yard from the boys. Younger boys laugh as they emerge from the washrooms with soaking wet shirts, clearly having found mischief without the watchful eye of the teacher. The hosts of this camp are an ambitious group of twenty-somethings who have good intentions to contribute to their community and preserve village life. (Like so many places, Serbian villages often watch their children leave for the big city, leaving the villages slowly aging and fading away.) The group has been amiable and welcoming, interested in what brings people here and what we think. They seem incredibly aware of their questionable reputation in the world, and are anxious to change it. There are two Germans here, and I think about the fact that at one time, Germany was the epitome of evil in the world, but 70 years later, Germans do not carry with them that connotation. I assume that it will be so with Serbia as well. Someday, barring further conflict, they will shake this part of their past, and the world may be able to see Serbia as another foreign land worth visiting, its people worth knowing.