C'est le dernier Coran qu'il a de son grand-père

French 2:11

Guerre de BosniePerte familiale et déplacementTémoignage personnelTraumatismes intergénérationnelsCulture matérielle et mémoire

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Ce témoignage retrace l'expérience d'une famille de séparation et de perte pendant la guerre de Bosnie, en se concentrant sur un Coran qui appartenait au grand-père du narrateur. Le récit commence par l'importance de cet objet en tant qu'héritage familial et ancre personnelle à l'identité, puis raconte le parcours éprouvant à travers les forêts pour atteindre la sécurité à Tuzla pendant le conflit. Le narrateur décrit son père—alors adolescent—et son frère Gemma fuyant aux côtés de leur grand-père, mais Gemma se séparant et ne réapparaissant jamais. Lorsque le grand-père a réalisé que son fils n'avait pas survécu à la traversée, il a fait le choix dévastateur de retourner dans la forêt pour le chercher, laissant derrière lui seulement son Coran. Ni le grand-père ni l'oncle ne furent revus ; tous deux sont enterrés à Srebrenica. Le narrateur réfléchit à la manière dont cet objet incarne les racines et l'identité de sa famille, et partage un moment récent où son père—normalement réservé sur le plan émotionnel—s'est effondré en racontant la perte de son frère, révélant la profondeur persistante du chagrin à travers les générations.

Key Points

Article fallback: English article is shown while the page remains in French.

A family's personal account of loss during the Bosnian War, centred on a Qur'an left behind by a grandfather who disappeared while searching for his missing son in the forest. The artifact serves as a tangible connection to a family's trauma and the speaker's identity.

Summary

This testimony traces a family's experience of separation and loss during the Bosnian War, focusing on a Qur'an that belonged to the speaker's grandfather. The narrative begins with the object's significance as a family heirloom and a personal anchor to identity, then recounts the harrowing journey through forests to reach safety in Tuzla during the conflict. The speaker describes their father—then a teenager—and his brother Gemma fleeing alongside their grandfather, but Gemma becoming separated and never emerging from the forest. When the grandfather realised his son had not survived the crossing, he made the devastating choice to return into the forest to search for him, leaving behind only his Qur'an. Neither the grandfather nor uncle were seen again; both are buried in Srebrenica. The speaker reflects on how this object embodies their family's roots and identity, and shares a recent moment when their father—normally emotionally reserved—broke down while recounting the loss of his brother, revealing the enduring depth of grief across generations.

Key takeaways

During the Bosnian War, the speaker's father and uncle fled through the forest as teenagers; the uncle became separated and did not emerge from the crossing.
When the grandfather learned his son had not survived, he chose to return into the forest to search for him, leaving his Qur'an behind.
The grandfather was never seen again after his decision to go back; he and his son are buried together in Srebrenica.
The Qur'an serves as the speaker's only tangible connection to their grandfather and functions as a symbol of family identity and roots.
Decades later, the speaker's father—who had suppressed his grief—experienced a vivid dream of his missing brother on his birthday and broke down emotionally while recounting the loss to his child.
The speaker uses the family testimony to reflect on how historical trauma and loss are transmitted across generations through objects and memory.

Full article

A Family Treasure

My grandfather was holding this Qur'an with him when he went back into the forest to search for my uncle. To many people, this might just be a historical artifact or a connection to a place, but to me it serves as my roots and it defines who I am as a person. Last year was one of the big moments where I felt this resonate with me deeply. My father, for example, woke up from a dream on his birthday where he saw his brother Gemma. My family still says that I look like him and resemble him. Gemma was 17 at the time of his death, but my father had this vivid dream of him. When my father woke up, I had never seen him cry before. I had never seen him shed a tear. Not because he didn't have the capability to, but because he was strong enough to hide that from me. But that day, he couldn't hide it anymore. He was telling me how much he misses his brother, and he told me the stories of how he lost him.

The Flight Through the Forest

The story goes that during the war, my father was 14 or 15 years old, and his brother Gemma was 16. They had to flee through the forest to reach safety in Tuzla. It was my father, my great grandfather, my grandfather, and my uncle Gemma making the journey together. My father and my grandfather made it through the forest safely, but my uncle Gemma, who was only 16, was separated from them and did not come through with the rest of the family.

The Final Sacrifice

When my grandfather realized that his son had not made it through the forest with them, he made a decision that would define the end of his life. He said that he would not go on and live his life if his son did not come with him. So my grandfather left his Qur'an with my grandmother or my father—I believe it was one of them—and he went back into the forest to find my uncle. He was never seen after that. His body is buried in Srebrenica next to his son. This Qur'an is the only thing I have left from my grandfather.

Topics#Bosnian War#Family loss and displacement#Personal testimony#Intergenerational trauma#Material culture and memory#Srebrenica#Refugee experience

Transcript (French)

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0:00 Mon grand-père tenait ce Coran avec lui.

0:02 Il n'a jamais été vu après ça.

0:04 Et pour beaucoup, je peux juste le voir comme une ville ou une histoire ou un lieu, mais pour moi cela sert de racines et il définit qui je suis en tant que personne.

0:15 L'année dernière a été l'un des grands moments où j'ai senti résonner avec moi.

0:19 Mon père, par exemple, s'est réveillé l'année dernière d'un rêve qu'il avait eu de son frère à son anniversaire.

0:24 Jamal, que ma famille dit encore que je lui ressemble.

0:28 Il avait alors 17 ans.

0:34 Mon père a rêvé de lui.

0:35 I'm sorry.

0:39 Il s'est réveillé et je n'ai jamais vu mon père pleurer.

0:41 Je ne l'ai jamais vu verser une larme.

0:43 Pas parce qu'il n'avait pas la capacité de le faire, mais parce qu'il était assez fort pour me cacher ça.

0:48 Il a dit que ça n'a pas eu d'impact sur moi comme pour lui.

0:50 Et il me disait à quel point son frère lui manque.

0:54 Et il me raconte comment il l'a perdu.

0:59 L'histoire raconte que pendant la guerre, mon père avait, je pense, 14 ou 15 ans, et son frère Jamal en avait 16.

1:07 Et ils ont dû fuir à travers la forêt jusqu'aux lieux sûrs de Tuzla.

1:11 Et c'étaient mon père, mon arrière-grand-père, mon grand-père et mon oncle Jamal.

1:18 Ils traversaient la forêt et mon père et mon grand-père ont dit qu'ils y étaient arrivés.

1:22 Et mon oncle Jamal, qui avait 16 ans, était seul.

1:26 Et mon grand-père tenait ce Coran avec lui.

1:28 Et c'est la seule ressemblance que j'ai de mon grand-père.

1:32 Et parce que mon oncle n'est pas venu dans la forêt avec eux, mon grand-père a dit qu'il n'irait pas vivre sa vie si son fils ne venait pas avec lui.

1:41 Mon père a donc quitté son Coran avec, je crois, ma grand-mère ou mon père.

1:46 Et il est retourné dans la forêt pour trouver mon oncle.

1:49 Il n'a jamais été vu après ça.

1:50 Et son corps est enterré à Srebrenica près de son fils.

2:00 C'est la seule chose qui me reste de mon grand-père.

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