Like a flock of migratory birds, Bosnians all over the world look forward to summertime with great yearning. It means the smell of cevapi and lamb over coals, the sight of family and friends that were only available over phone and computer monitors for most of the year, and the sounds of the mosque’s call to prayer mingled with church bells. It means the sight of ancient stone bridges, rolling green landscapes, and roaring waterfalls breaking the silence of the day. It means a return home. It means a return to Bosnia and Herzegovina.
One of the earliest and most potent memories in my mind is the wafting of cigarette smoke, the smell of Turkish (or Bosnian) coffee and rakija at my grandfather’s house.