"You must eat." Alija begged. "What good will you do me if you die? I am a young woman. I need you. I cannot take care of these children without you!"
For three days Aladin searched for wood for the fire. For three days Alija, her sister and mother, Muniba, had baked thin cakes of bread on a stove of two large stones and a sheet of metal. From a 110 pound bag of flour, some salt, little oil and a little water, they stirred up a stiff dough in the large pans Muniba had wisely placed in the trunk of her car -- just in case -- just because war is unpredictable and you don’t know when you might have to run.
Each day the three women patted and stretched the dough into 4-6 in. thin flat cakes of bread, quickly cooking them like tortillas over the charcoal fire, breaking them into pieces, and feeding them to their children and the stream of friends and acquaintances who begged for food through the chain link fence that protected the cooking area.
30,000 people had fled the approaching army. Running away from home. Running. In cars. On foot. Alone. With families. Escaping with barely a moment’s notice. Escaping without preparation. Most without food. Most with little or no clothing. Escaping first. Survival would come later.
Muniba, Alija’s mother, had had the wisdom to put the bag of flour, some salt, a big tent, and large, large pans in the trunk of her car. She had saved some precious gasoline -- just in case.
Three days earlier, she literally stacked her grandchildren and relatives’children into the car and, with the mothers running on foot behind, fled across the border.
The 30,000 had become broken into two groups. Alija’s, the smaller group, was diverted by helicopter and the police into an empty chicken farm/factory. The United Nations High Commission for Refugees had not yet discovered that they were there.
And now it was the night of the third day. The flour and salt were gone. They and those who begged through the fence had been lucky, but now there would be no more food. Alija, knowing her husband had refused to eat because so many "mammas" (old ladies) and children were hungry, had slipped one cake of bread into her pocket. He must eat. It had been three days. He must not die. She needed him.
"No!" Aladin said, "Save it for the children."
"You must eat." Alija begged. "What good will you do me if you die? I am a young woman. I need you. I cannot take care of these children without you!"
Aladin reluctantly lifted the folded bread cake to his mouth.
Even as he opened his mouth an old mamma came and peered into his face. She just looked at him.
"Mother," Aladin paused, the bread in front of his own face, "Are you hungry?"
She nodded.
"God bless you. God will save your life," she said. And He handed her the cake.
"Give and it shall be given unto you, good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over...." (Luke 6:38). I wonder, given the same circumstances, could I practice it? Do I really practice it now?
[Alija, one of our own Bosnian employees when I was at World Relief - Chicago, provided receptionist services, helped the Immigration Department with one of our citizenship projects, and spoke regularly on our behalf in the Christian churches to help them know that the supplies and funds they give mean much more than a material new beginning. They bring hope and new courage for life to Bosnian Muslim families.]
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