The small road leading to Ušivak, the family camp on the outskirts of Sarajevo, has an air of sleepiness as usual. Collective Aid volunteers are attempting to shelter themselves from the sweltering afternoon sun and waiting for people to come and collect their non-food item (NFI) orders.

Three teenage boys with shy smiles soon arrive to pick up their clothes, which were packed by our volunteers that morning at the warehouse. They accept our offer of hot, sugary tea and walk unhurriedly back to the camp.

A couple more camp residents pass by, and we inform them about our distribution service. Then it is time to head to the much busier men’s camp, Blažuj, which is just a short drive away.

*People picking up their orders near the family camp. Photos: Guillaume Flament.*

*People having lemon squash being served near the family camp. Photos: Guillaume Flament.*

As we turn our van and car onto the dirt road leading to the men’s camp, groups of men are already waiting for us, seeking shade under the shrubs and waving at us as we drive past them to make a U-turn before parking on the side of the road.

Men with orders queue up at the van to collect their clothes while a group of ‘regulars’, all from Afghanistan, rush to the car to help our advocacy team set up the picnic tables and chairs. A pack of playing cards and a chessboard are dug out from the depths of the cluttered car boot. An Afghan man with piercing blue eyes has taken up the role of serving our tea and lemon squash to his fellow camp residents.

*NFI distribution near the men’s camp. Photos: Guillaume Flament.*

The afternoon is now in full swing. An intense chess game is going on at one of the tables between a very focused Afghan man and a volunteer. Onlookers sit silently around the table.

At the adjacent table, another volunteer is engaged in a lively card game with a group of young Afghans with cigarettes dangling from their lips. Although the language barrier has left us somewhat puzzled about the rules of the game, we grin along as the guys exchange playful banter and accuse one another of cheating:

“You! Ali Baba!”

*Games being played near the men’s camp. Photos: Guillaume Flament.*

Amid the NFI distribution and games, many conversations are had.

A Moroccan man translates the testimony of his young Algerian friend who has experienced multiple violent ‘pushbacks’ - an illegal practice where migrants and refugees are forced back across a border they have crossed without due process. As he listens to his friend’s distressing story, tears unwillingly start streaming down his cheeks. He quietly remarks:

“Arab men aren’t supposed to cry.”

An older Iraqi man, in turn, details his experience of being violently pushed back from Hungary to Serbia and detained in a Serbian prison for months. He tells us he was beaten repeatedly and allowed outdoors for only 5 minutes a week.

Unfortunately these two testimonies are far from being exceptional. They form part of an alarming and ever increasing pattern of systematic pushbacks and border violence along the Balkan Route. Working on the ground, we regularly hear stories involving terrible combinations of violent and humiliating practices, including beatings, electric shocks, dog attacks, forced undressing, theft or destruction of personal belongings, and arbitrary detention.

After a while, an Afghan man arrives to collect his order and sits down to have a chat with us. In between sips of lemon squash, he explains why he had to flee his country.

As a journalist who had publicly criticised the Taliban, he had been threatened by the group multiple times. Journalists are among those at particular risk of persecution and serious human rights violations since the Taliban takeover in 2021. Like so many others, he felt he had no other option but to leave:

“I feel ashamed of having come here ‘illegally’, but there was no other choice. I had a job, an office, a home, a good life. But now, we have to struggle.”

And like most of the people we meet, he wishes to return to his home country one day:

“Bosnia is a beautiful country, but it is not my country. One day I would like to go back and fight for my country.”

A Palestinian teenager with perfect English and endless amounts of energy similarly tells us about his wish to return to Palestine one day and reunite with his family who are currently living in Saudi Arabia – a wish likely to be shared by many of the 7 million Palestinians living in the global diaspora today. He seems optimistic about this. But first, he plans to travel to Germany, Greenland and the US.

The conversations and games are interrupted by the loud whistle of a fast-approaching train. One of the men loudly responds with “Wa-alaikum as-salam!”, eliciting a burst of laughter from the group, including us volunteers. A joke simple enough to transcend the language barrier.

As the afternoon progresses, the scene slowly starts to quiet down. In a touching moment of connection, a lone Syrian man walks up to us and enquires about our religious beliefs. When he learns that none of us are Muslim, he responds:

“We may have different religions, but our humanity is what connects us.”

At this point, only a few orders are left unclaimed on the van floor and the time is nearing 5pm. It is time to pack up.

Tomorrow is another day of distributions and testimonies, games and laughter. Some of our ‘regulars’ will have left, continuing their perilous journey to the Croatian border where illegal pushbacks and police violence are commonplace.

Though the work can be demanding, both physically and emotionally, everyday life as a field volunteer feels varied and meaningful.

Words by Advocacy and Communications Officer, Lukia Nomikos.

“Our humanity is what connects us.” – Conversations on the ground in Sarajevo