From the Banja Luka Angle
Dragan Bursać: Why I Hate the Federal Protests?
Published: 02/10/2014 10:58 am
I was thankful to Him. To Him and to Republic of Srpska. Just for existing. Fuck the Federation and their protests, it’s all shit over there. Over there you can’t even order nothing for one convertible mark.
Walking around that Krajina Beauty – Banjaluka, my calm breathing-in of the February air is disturbed by the unpleasant buzzing coming from the speakers. In other words, when I hear the speaker, I can’t breathe deeply, with my abdomen. And see, that’s doctor’s orders.
– Only with the abdomen, breathe in strongly. Breathe in with your nose; breathe out with your mouth. No getting worked up!
That’s what he is saying, speaking through the nose – he, my family doctor. And to top it off, he tells me to relax, while he takes my last 10 KM for the service. It didn’t help, that, like a madman, I was waving my medical insurance card at him.
– You can take that card and stuff it! Leave the payment with the folks up front. And don’t forget your receipt – my family doctor was screaming at me. – Relax!
One couldn’t have better relaxation and rest than in Republic of Srpska. No stress, no biznis, no work… No sex, if you will. Everything’s no, no, no. That is my Republic of Srpska! I have unbelievable luck and honor to live in Republic of Srpska. And then, there is the commuting issue. I saved up a lot on commuting. I don’t have to travel anywhere to find my happiness. More precisely, I just open up my door and go out. To the central Banja Luka park “Petar Kočić.”
It’s a foggy and glum day. Well, I’ll just imagine the sun, then. Oh, the sun, all imagined and stuff, was caressing my face and shining all over Srpska. The birds were chirping, not too loud, not to disturb the pensioners’ chi ritual walking around the trash bins and spiritually uniting with the last election cycle’s poster of the Great Leader.
Anyway, I’m walking through the park and suddenly I hear a person from the park speakers droning on about something, about some Tuzla. He was going through a list of some other towns, some facts; but my ear was already irritated and I was getting beyond upset. For goodness sake, I just wanted a walk in the park. Last night they announced that today we’ll be hearing Whitney Houston in the park. Who the fuck knows why, but it seemed interesting to me to hear Vitni instead of the guy who was boring me to death with some protests in the hated Federation.
– Nothing will ruin this day – I said to myself, well-practiced; and added, Fuck the fucking hajjis all together.
I guess I was upset, so I stopped and mulled. Besides ruining my day, those Tuzlans and the rest of that crowd were not terribly irritating. The poor bastards have nothing so they’re complaining; that’s OK. I mean, the guy in the park shouldn’t be boring me with those audio images, but hey, it’s all right. And then, I start reflecting, how happy I am to live in Republic of Srpska. Let’s be clear, I have no idea who, where, what is going on in that Tuzla or Sarajevo, but here, it is almost fabulous. Mom is killing it with 300 KM pension. Brother and his wife have, both put together, for sure, at least 900 KM. Nobody’s complaining. Everyone is having a ball.
The ones who have four or more kids say that the government gave them 50 KM for their fourth child. What, it’s not enough?! We don’t have medicines all the time, but don’t tell me they have them over there in the Federation?!? See, a human being adapts, adapts and becomes stronger.
A whole bunch of my buddies do nothing for about 1,000 KM a month in state/public owned companies. Just remember, whenever I say state/public, I mean the Republic of Srpska, just so we’re clear. And that’s something you can’t get anywhere else in the world. That’s our Srpska.
Professors can lecture at an infinite number of colleges, students can graduate the moment they pay off their last tuition installment. We have more graduates per capita than Yale.
I hear also that the pensioners will get an increase in their pensions for a grand total of 3 KM. The workers are working… more or less. And even when they don’t work, who cares? They entertain themselves asking and searching for their 20 months of unpaid salaries. Nice hobby.
And no one, not one single one of them is rebelling, protesting or demonstrating. That’s ‘cause we are a very patient and calm kind of people. Reasonable above all else. The people get it, they get how much our politicians are fighting for our progress. These people will not be provoked. We will be hungry, but just to spite the Federation, we won’t go out onto the streets. Serbian Bushido! Not like those over there in some place called Tuzla.
Contemplating some such protests over there overly upset me, as it would upset any proper RepublicSerb. So, I sat down in the park café, just to recover my spirit.
– What are you having? – the waiter interrupted my contemplation.
– Nothing, thanks. – I barked at the dull man.
A few minutes passed, and my contemplating idyll was yet again interrupted by the said waiter, having brought me a bill.
-Nothing, thanks. 1 KM
And so, I was hunting down the 20 pfenings somewhere down in my pocket that mother gave me, just out of habit, not to jinx myself walking penny-less, a bit that remained from her pension, and that’s when I broke out in cold sweat. I don’t have what Mile had allocated from me.
– Comrade, sir, would 20 pfenings do?
– Sure, but now fuck off, Mile said in a superior tone.
I was grateful to Him. To Him and to Republic of Srpska. Just for existing. Fuck the Federation and their protests, it’s all shit over there. Over there you can’t even order ‘nothing, thanks’ for one convertible mark.
From the radio you could still hear Vitni screeching. I headed for home quite impertinently, where mother was waiting for me. She’d been rolling tobacco since this morning. The neighbor lady lent her 3 KM from the pension increase, so she got the rolling papers. Tobacco was provided by my brother. Ah, you always find resources for the primary vices.
Just then, I was interrupted by “Justice, oh Lord.” From my phone. I was surprised as nobody had called me in days. And I haven’t called anyone in at least 6 months; I don’t have enough to buy minutes. But our good-natured MTEL still didn’t cut off service. Nice people, you know.
– Hey, wanna go fuck with the protesters? – Ogi was yelling at me from the other end.
Ogi, you see, works in a public company and has a business phone. He’s a bit active in the parties, but he also tries and does his best. Soon, he tells me, he’ll graduate from some college, some organization, and he’ll become a regional boss. If his side wins in October, that is.
– What’s up Ogi? – I rejoined loudly.
– Let’s go fuck with some fag gays. In front of the theater, there’s like a dozen of ‘em, pathetic, I guess they’re showing support for those hajjis in the Federation. There’ll be beer, our folks will get it – said my friend-who-checks-out happily.
– I see. Beer’ll be free?
– Yea, sure, Mile worked it out.
– Wait, he charged me a mark for just sitting there!
– Mile, of course.
– Not that Mile, Ogi said sharply. Hurry up.
Friends, I have it just fine in Republic of Srpska, and here, finally, I even found a purpose to my day. I’ll be fucking with those gay fags that wanna help Tuzla.
And all of you, mice, not men, if you don’t like it here, git! To the Federation with you!