{"id":6200,"date":"2019-08-23T07:24:02","date_gmt":"2019-08-23T11:24:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/?p=6200"},"modified":"2019-08-23T07:24:04","modified_gmt":"2019-08-23T11:24:04","slug":"chapter-13","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/?p=6200","title":{"rendered":"Chapter 13"},"content":{"rendered":"

Zagreb \u2013 Autumn, Winter, Spring 1995<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Back in Zagreb, we moved to the same tree-lined street we\u2019d lived on before. Our new apartment did not have the charm or fantastic view of our previous flat but nor did it have all those steps to climb with a baby carriage. We were within walking distance to the center of the city and my favorite open-air market. Zagreb\u2019s markets paled compared to Italy\u2019s where bouquets of herbs, varieties of basil, our favorite arugula and endless selection cheeses. Here potatoes and cabbages were piled unceremoniously onto cement slabs. Choice and charm were limited. But I was content to be at home with Molly and loved reconnecting with friends. Leah, a petite but tough nurse from New Zealand I\u2019d worked with out in the field, had also recently become a mom. We rendezvoused at the main square, our babies parked beside us as we sipped coffee in the afternoon sun, marveling at how completely our lives changed in the last 6 months.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Before giving birth to her daughter, Leah had worked with MSF (Medicin Sans Frontieres \u2013 Doctors Without Borders). We last met in a makeshift refugee camp on the outskirts of Zagreb filled with thousands of people fleeing conflict in the northern \u2018Bihac pocket\u2019 of Bosnia. The Croatian government would not allow yet another wave of refugees, (and this group \u2013 Muslim) to cross the border. As a result, the entire town\u2019s population was stranded in no-man\u2019s-land \u2013 a buffer patch of a few miles between the official Croatian border and the United Nations Protected Areas where the Serbs lived. Ancient looking men, haggard women and their children crowded together in filthy chicken coops and sodden fields with no running water and an inadequate number of portable toilets. Leah and I reminded each other guiltily of the miserable conditions of these mothers and babies as we sipped coffee in the sunny square with our warm girls sleeping in their carriages.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, Leah, I don\u2019t think I can do it anymore. I just can\u2019t imagine leaving Molly with someone and going back to work in the field. Could you?\u201d
\n\u201cNo way! Look at Sally – she\u2019s such a wee thing. I wouldn\u2019t leave her, not now. No, I\u2019m happy Dennis makes enough so I can care for this little one.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Leah\u2019s husband was a long-time United Nations staff member and they had traveled the world for years with Leah easily landing a job with whatever international organization needed her nursing skills.<\/p>\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t it amazing how powerful this mothering instinct is? I never thought I would be so happy spending all of my time doting on my baby. I mean eventually, I\u2019ll have to go back to work but for now I can\u2019t imagine anything else I would rather do. Luckily I\u2019ve been stashing away my salary for the past four years so I can subsidize my time at home. As an outside contractor for the UN, Neil doesn\u2019t make enough to support us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know it\u2019s really hard to make that jump from a contractor position to UN staff. I\u2019ve seen it before when we were with UNIFIL in Lebanon. Maybe if you go to New York and he re-applies directly with Field Service or Peacekeeping he might get something. It\u2019s worth a try,\u201d she suggested, sipping her tea.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s an idea. Neil\u2019s so miserable in his new job and before we went to Italy, he just loved being in charge at the Dispatch Office. He\u2019s really a very good manager and he got a kick out of having high-ranking staff sucking up to him when they needed a UN car. And the drivers were devoted to him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a shame. No chance he can get the job back?\u201d
\n\u201cIt seems unlikely. Besides, there\u2019s someone else in the position so he\u2019s stuck.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

These days, Neil usually came home from work despondent.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s so bloody dull! And the git that has my job is terrible. It really winds me up. All the drivers hate him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe you\u2019ll eventually get it back then,\u201d I encouraged.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo chance. With this new restructuring, all management spots have to be filled by someone who is full United Nations staff \u2013 no contractors. They\u2019re such idiots!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, talk to personnel about getting a different position. They like you. They\u2019ll try and help,\u201d I suggested.
\n\u201cThere\u2019s no bloody way. There\u2019s nothing in Zagreb. They\u2019d want to send me down to Knin or into Bosnia and I don\u2019t want to leave you and Molly.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The ordeal of Molly\u2019s premature birth still fresh, Neil and I guarded our time together. I didn\u2019t blame him for wanting to stay close to home \u2013 I wanted him here too. Weekends we pretended we were still in Italy, sharing long lunches and afternoon siestas as the snow piled up outside. We tried to forget Neil\u2019s dissatisfaction with work but I worried he would do something impetuous again – like quit his job.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Meanwhile NATO had taken action in Bosnia ending the longest siege in modern history with a few well-aimed air strikes, the guns bombarding Sarajevo were eliminated. In Croatia, while we were still in Italy, the Croatians had forcibly taken control of the UNPAs, driving out the Serbs from Krajina. Families who lived for generations in these small towns and villages, fled with their mattresses, refrigerators and any other possessions they could fit onto whatever truck, car or cart available to them. The UN protected areas in Croatia were no more. I wondered about my Serb friends and the family in Knin whose house I once lived in. Where had they gone?<\/p>\n

Even if I had wanted to go back to my job with UNICEF, my position as the Project Officer for the Serb populated part of Croatia had brutally been made redundant. The international community was now moving on to other wars in Rwanda and Liberia in a kind of macabre migration of relief workers.<\/p>\n

After years of negotiation and peacekeeping efforts, in the end it was violence that resolved the conflict and determined the borders formalized by the Dayton Agreement. For years, our \u2018mission\u2019 was to tread water in the hopeful sea of \u2018peacekeeping\u2019 but it seemed like all we managed to do was maintain a bizarre status quo. Aggression won and now it was time for us to leave.<\/p>\n

Many of our friends and colleagues had already left for Africa where even more terrifying battles were being fought. I was not made of such stuff. I would not venture into those brutal killing fields. It was never in my make-up, but especially not now I was a mother. I had enough of this place where people seemed shameless about hating each another \u2013 Serb hated Croat, Croat hated Serb, Bosnian \u2013 depending upon where they came from, what brutality had been endured or recounted to them by relatives. A common language, even years of intermarriage, were not enough to keep the ancient stories of hatred told and retold through generations from blistering up again, the flame fanned by politicians and gangsters. How strange and maybe ominous, that my family began amidst this tortured history and boiling hatred.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My UNICEF-provided tickets to New York were set to expire in June. We would build our life in the United States. Neil was thrilled, excited by what he imagined as a new world of opportunity. And I was ready to go home. I would miss the cobbled streets, markets, caf\u00e9 culture and other grace notes of European living but I couldn\u2019t wait to see friends and looked forward to the ease of navigating through day-to-day life in my own language. Even after four years, my language ability was only good for shopping and weather chats. I missed the impromptu connections possible with strangers, so much more likely if you share a language.<\/p>\n

We were to arrive in the United States a few days shy of Molly\u2019s first birthday and four years to the day since I\u2019d left. Neither of us had jobs waiting for us. Until Neil secured his Green Card, we\u2019d have to live off my savings since Neil had never managed to put anything away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe I\u2019ll try and get back into the film game. I hear there\u2019s a lot going on around New York right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure you could get into the film or television business there. You have some great connections \u2013 like the actor who you met for drinks in New York last January – Peter\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPeter Gallagher. Yeah. Maybe. Or I could drive a lorry. I\u2019d love to travel across the country. But of course, I wouldn\u2019t want to leave you two. Maybe you could come with me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think so, honey,\u201d I laughed. Molly was in her bassinet at the foot of our bed and we lay enjoying the morning light on a Saturday morning. I propped myself up on an elbow to look at him, his eyes still closed, one arm folded beneath his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on! I could just see you in the front seat beside me and Molly\u2019s little head poking out from the back cab \u2013 it would be fantastic!\u201d<\/p>\n

Neil\u2019s future career was a recurring conversation as we tried to imagine what lay ahead for us in America. He wondered out-loud about possibilities and I cheered him on, reassuring him and believing, he could do anything.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne of the exciting things about going to the States is there are all sorts of quirky, interesting jobs and with your experience, good looks and charm – you can do anything. A whole new world will open up for you there. It\u2019s exciting!\u201d I crawled beneath his heavy arm and lay my head against his chest.<\/p>\n

We spent hours speculating about our future alternately excited and nervous. I wanted to be home with Molly and hoped his Green Card and a job would happen quickly so he could support us. He was <\/em>so charming and Americans love an English accent. I\u2019d seen him in action – I knew what he was capable of. We\u2019d be fine.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Zagreb \u2013 Autumn, Winter, Spring 1995 Back in Zagreb, we moved to the same tree-lined street we\u2019d lived on before. Our new apartment did not have the charm or fantastic view of our previous flat but nor did it have all those steps to climb with a baby carriage. We were within walking distance to … Continue reading Chapter 13<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6200","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pPzTS-1C0","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6200","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6200"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6200\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6208,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6200\/revisions\/6208"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6200"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6200"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6200"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}