The strange phenomena of this world baffle me. How can a caterpillar turn into a butterfly overnight? How can a tadpole become a frog? There’s simply no resemblance between the two. That’s exactly how I felt after I came back to Sarajevo from my nine-year absence abroad. Sarajevo, the town of my childhood, had undergone a complete metamorphosis during that time.

I had left for Libya in 1987 with my parents after my father was transferred there. Only six years old then, I clearly remember Sarajevo as it was. I believed it to be the most beautiful place on earth for its four seasons that continually decorated the city with all shades of color: the flame red of fallen leaves, the blinding white of the first snow, the fresh green of dewy grass, the soft purple of dusk. Everything had looked vivid and lively to me.

Despite the processes of urbanization and industrialization, Sarajevo still had its natural spark, its parks filled with chirping birds and sweet-scented rivers. Sarajevo had been a safe city, always bustling with children, teenagers, and grown-ups.

On my way home from Tripoli after the end of the war, I was preparing myself to see that city that I most loved, in which I hadn’t been for so long. Though I had watched the war on CNN and anguished over the violence it showed, I was nonetheless numb with shock when I finally arrived. The once bright atmosphere now was dull and gray. Nothing was left intact. Everything, from the wide roads to the trees in the park bore marks of torture and pain. Many once erect buildings were slumped over and disintegrating. The glass that used to mirror the sky didn’t exist. It was replaced by plastic sheets. The rippling, emerald river, Miljacka, that had been our pride, vanished. A swamp had taken its place. Garbage floated down on its brown waters that gave off a stench. The once cheerful streets were now full of beggars, people who had lost all. Before there was freedom of movement. Now we were restricted by a 10 p.m. curfew. Sarajevo had become a minefield, both literally and metaphorically, despite the ceasefire.

Compared to 1996, Sarajevo today in the year 2000 is recovering. The curfew is long over. New trees are being planted. However, I will never forget my disbelief at my reunion with Sarajevo. It’s almost as if I had missed a turn and came to the wrong town. Yet, here is where I have always most wanted to be.