The country is scarred by hidden explosives ... and political pitfalls

As some of the worst fighting of the war raged near Sarajevo’s international airport in 1992, Bego Memisevic laced the area around his suburban home with mines. Serb attackers eventually overran the district and Bego did not return for four years. Poking through the devastation of his former residence he stepped on an explosive and blew away his right leg. “It was a mine I had planted myself,” he says today with almost a wry smile. “I guess I forgot where I had put it.”

Mines killed and maimed thousands of soldiers and civilians alike during the war and they remain a major deterrent today to efforts to resettle the homeless and kick start the country’s anemic economy.

One million explosives may still be buried in an estimated 30,000 minefields across Bosnia. Most of them mark the former frontlines and according to Tim Horner, technical adviser to UNHCR for mine action, an ambitious database has pinpointed perhaps 60 percent of the hidden ordnance.

“But it’s anyone’s guess where the other mines are,” says Horner, a former British Royal Navy specialist and one of only a few dozen experienced mine experts to be found anywhere in the world. Sarajevo alone has as many as 1,400 mined areas even in the busiest section of the city.

As trams and taxis rattle by on one of Sarajevo’s main thoroughfares, the former Sniper’s Alley, experts still diligently clear the grounds of the former downtown Tito Military Barracks.

Mines continue to claim as many as 10 victims each month, but this figure is down from 100 a month just a couple of years ago. Horner believes “we should be able to get on top of the problem within five years” by clearing the most important areas, but other experts talk about ‘two generations’ for a more extensive operation.

As part of its efforts to promote the return of refugees and displaced persons, UNHCR allocated $2.5 million in 1999 to help finance six mine clearance teams of around 40 people each as part of an international effort coordinated by the Mine Action Centre (MAC). Eventually, it is hoped that local groups and non-governmental organizations (NGOs) will take over these functions.

Mine clearing, Bosnia style, can be deadly dull, deadly slow and simply deadly. In 1997, experts painstakingly cleared a total of 6.8 sq kms (2.6 sq miles) of what officials call the ‘silent menace’ but even then at a high cost. Eleven mine clearers were killed that year. In October, 1998, two UNHCR mine clearers were killed in the Jajce area of the country. Experts say the work is so slow and deliberate clearers find it difficult to maintain concentration. One slip, for just one second, could cost a life.

There are many political pitfalls along the way, too. Municipal officials deliberately mislead international workers trying to promote the return of ‘minorities’ by claiming villages and regions are heavily mined and not suitable for settlement. Later investigations often prove the areas are ‘clean’ but at the very least return has been slowed down again. NATO troops in Bosnia have sophisticated mine clearing units, but though local commanders have been keen to help the civilian effort, sensitivities over just what troops can and cannot do have stymied any large scale assistance.

In Sarajevo, Bego Memisevic’s life is full of tragic irony. He blew himself up with his own mine just a few months after leaving the Bosnian army. If he had been a soldier at the time of the accident he would have received the equivalent of 300

Deutschmarks a month as a pension. As a civilian he gets just 38. He has to spend two-thirds of this, his only source of income, to dress his artificial leg each month.

Still, he considers himself a ‘lucky’ victim. He rebuilt part of his house with UNHCR assistance and lives there today with his wife and son. “What happened to me is God’s will,” he says. “But at least I am still alive.”

Source: Refugees Magazine issue 114 (1999)