The Mostar kid

Mostar, Bosnia, September 1994.

The Mostar kid

In September 1994, Mostar, the city of which nothing remains, is still being hit by five Serb shells a day, on top of some “rakya shooting”, named after the local brandy. The kid in the center of the photo must be about twelve or thirteen years old. He and his friends are hanging out around the Unprofor armoured personnel carrier, taking the mickey out of the Blue Helmets, calling them “the Smurfs”. It’s true that they look dumb, conscious of their uselessness and embarrassed for their lack of action. I take my photo and climb out of the carrier. There, with the cockiness of a young gang-leader, the kid from Mostar asks me for a cigarette. I ask him if his mother knows that he smokes. He answers, “My mother, she’s dead, asshole.”