I can’t believe after six months of fundraising, I am actually going to Bosnia tomorrow.

I’ll be joining a team of five healers and therapists in Sarajevo working for the charity Healing Hands Network and providing treatments to the citizens of the Bosnian capital.  The charity asks its volunteers to raise £800.00 each. Mine was raised by giving Reiki sessions locally – this added  £300.00 to the kitty and the remaining £500.00 was raised during one fabulous quiz evening organised by Pat the landlady at our local Pub, the Crown at Giddeahall.

 Everything is packed - I probably put far too much in and my bulging suitcase is a challenge to fasten. I seem to have overdosed on underwear, slightly non-sensically I couldn’t resist packing my favourite, if – impractical, shoes just in case I ended up somewhere posh one evening.

 We were told the Bosnian weather at this time of the year can be rather capricious – we could be in for some balmy days with temperatures of around 30 degrees but also some very chilly nights; consequently I  couldn’t resist packing for all eventualities. And just to bump up the weight I added my favourite crystal which is about the size of a tennis ball (well a bit smaller but is so dense its weight is closer to a couple of bags of sugar). I also have to squeeze two couch rolls in; these are for laying on the therapy tables. 

I realise there is no turning back now, it’s fait accompli but departure day has come around very quickly.

My daughter Katie suggested we go to the pub for a meal to take my mind off things.  We have a lovely evening, my husband; daughter and her partner are with me and my sister who has come up from Dorset. With family and a few other close friends we’re a party of twelve – all those I cherish most are here.  It’s the perfect recipe to soothe my pre-trip nerves (that and a few glassed of red wine.) It’s touching, suddenly, realising they are all here for me, to wish me well.

I wake up feeling simultaneously eager and anxious with thoughts racing through my head at break neck speed.

I’ve heard the Mafia are thriving in Sarajevo.  Safety in general, is a natural pre-occupation and I wonder will I be kidnapped or held hostage? A couple of therapists a few years ago were taken hostage (not anyone from Healing Hands Network though.) I think in general the civilians feel safe as the UN is still very much present, so I guess I will be ok. The police are an obvious presence around the city and from what I’ve gathered, the citizens of Sarajevo don’t make their voices heard for fear of a reprisal of the awful violence that characterised so much of the last decade. Today they are all trying to live together again so no-one wants to be noticed or heard, they just want to get on with their lives.

My wilder imaginings of hostage scenarios mingle with more positive thoughts associated with this trip.  I  hope this fortnight will furnish me with a clearer understanding and appreciation of the trauma and pain so many Bosnians  endured between 1992 and 1995 –   I already feel privileged just thinking that my work may touch and help a few who are still undeservedly suffering.

The charity Healing Hands Network was borne in response to the Bosnian war in 1996 and was initially set up by Diane Hemmings and a group of Reiki therapists. The name changed from ‘Hands On’ to Healing Hands Network in 1996 and became a Charity. The first therapists were sent  out just after the war in 1996 and citizens of Sarajevo who had been arrested and survived incarceration in concentration camps came to receive treatments from a diverse range of therapy including reflexology; massage; Reiki;  and acupuncture.  When Healing Hands began their work in Sarajevo, treatments were often given in bombed out buildings, the city was without gas for cooking or heating.  Water was rationed and electricity was only switched on intermittently for short periods making work for the therapists in the bitter winter months especially challenging.

Continuing from the original band of therapists a continuous flow of wonderful healers have continued to grow and expand the original ideal of Healing Hands, coming forward to help it survive and move on. There are five therapists operating every week, three stay in the house and two go to outreach villages.  Therapists stay for a fortnight and operate on a roll-over basis so there’s always two or three able to show new arrivals the ropes.  The Charity is expanding and after researching a project in Kenya, hopes to send therapists who will do similar work helping women who are victims of multiple rape.

There’s no escaping the fear of the unknown and questions constantly pop into being. What will life be like during my stay, will I cope, and will I get on with my fellow therapists? I know I should stop all these busy thoughts, it is, after all, too late to back out; I take a few deep breaths to become still and give myself Reiki. 

After coffee and toast for breakfast and a quick last walk with the dogs, my husband Steve puts my case in the car and, as he always does, asks if I have my passport and other essentials.  It’s just as well because in all the last minute flurry I somehow left the crucial passport on the kitchen table – whoops!

Finally at Gatwick, having said my farewells to Steve I turn my attention to finding my fabulous companion Collette.

Collette comes from Provence in France. She has a lovely accent and a certain Je Ne Sais Quoi Frenchness  that is difficult to accurately define. She’s small, dark and has boobs which would put Jordon to shame. I nicknamed them ‘Magnificos’ and am certain they will cause a stir in Bosnia. 

I’ve known Collette for a year; we met when I noticed she was a member of Healing Hands Network and lived just eight miles away from me in Bradford on Avon.  

Collette is well travelled and is one of the most dynamic people I have ever met – she is always brimming with infectious energy and I’m looking forward to travelling with her.  

We meet up - It’s good to see her.  We go through passport control and grab a coffee whilst waiting for the tannoy to announce boarding. 

Soon we’re making our way to the plane which looks hopelessly small and as though it may need help to actually become airborne.   

It’s an awful aeroplane - we were supposed to fly Croatia Airlines but this changed and we are flying ‘Lot.’

 The flight is virtually empty and the cabin crew are very slack and unhelpful – we have had no food other than some dreadful sandwiches which are totally inedible - they contain a nauseating filling of something so indefinable it could be meat but is just as likely cheese.   The coffee is undrinkable it looks like coffee but tastes like Bisto gravy - ugh!. The plane is shaking constantly, it will be a miracle if we make it – I want to go home! 

We make it to Belgrade Airport in just under four hours which seemed

unlikely when we set off.  The airport is virtually empty and very depressing – it looks a bit like communist airports you see on films. There are long empty corridors, hardly anyone around and there’s nothing to do. Our connecting flight to Sarajevo is delayed and we have an interminable six hour wait.  We manage to lay our hands on a greasy omelette and some stale bread, but there is nowhere to get any correct money to buy anything like a nice piece of chocolate.  It seems a very long time ago since I left my nice cosy cottage in Wiltshire; I feel like we have already been away days.  When we eventually board our second plane, I’m horrified that it’s even worse than the first -  if this is possible. It is smaller  only seating about twenty people and appears to have trouble keeping balanced, probably because the deafeningly noisy propeller is having bother turning. 

After a flight of about an hour we thankfully land and are met by Salid, our driver, who will take us to the house which will be our home for the next two weeks.   Salid appears very young probably about late twenties, and has a lovely gentle face. Healing Hands employ him and his Taxi to ferry therapists to and from the airport and to ‘Outreach Villages’ His car is quite worrying, there are no seat belts and seems to be unbalanced, when we sat in the back, Collette was higher than me!   

We arrive at the house which is situated up a tiny street on a hill above the city. We walk up to some locked double doors which Salid unlocks before ushering us into an enclosed courtyard.  Its 11:00pm very quiet and dark – I’ve been travelling for fourteen hours but as we climb up the steps to the locked front door I note how tired and shabby the place looks.  It’s a large building and the paintwork is a dull grey colour, we can’t miss the big holes in its façade which Salid tells us are from mortars.  The previous owner was apparently a Serb who fled Sarajevo fearing for his safety during the war, he leases the house to Healing Hands Network for a small rent. It’s doubtful he will return to Sarajevo as his safety would be a prime concern. I understand that someone else has now bought the house and is leasing it to Healing Hands network who rent the house for the entire year.  

Three women are here to welcome us.  They have been in Bosnia for a week and they greet us warmly, bringing us some bread and cheese and reticently ask if we would like some wine.  Our enthusiastic chorus of “yes please,” is met with visible relief – apparently the outgoing practitioners disapproved of alcohol. 

They look very tired and tell us the work is hard but very rewarding.  

First we are introduced to Bjorn, a stunning tall Norwegian woman who lives in London with her husband and two children. She has short, spiky dark hair and is wearing an amazing colourful top and draped in a woollen shawl. Next to be introduced is Jane - a northerner, of about 30, she is also tall and very slim. Lastly there’s Helen who is in her late twenties and is a researcher at London University. She is small and a bit mousy -  someone I think that doesn’t like to be noticed much.   

They ask us if we would like to tour Sarajevo with them tomorrow as volunteers don’t work on a weekend.  

 

To be continued………….

 

 

Back to top of page