October 26, 2006

Life at Bosfam has taken on a new tenor this week; Ramadan, or Ramazan as it is called in Bosnian, is over. This means our daily coffee-drinking and lunch-eating activities are now in full swing.

The celebration at the end of Ramadan is called Bajram in Bosnia and Hercegovina. It marks the end of a month of daily fasting, and is celebrated with a three-day hiatus from work. Nearly all the women at Bosfam are Muslim, so the unfortunate effect of this celebration for me personally was that I spent three days all by myself wandering around Tuzla while everyone else went to visit their families. I quickly recovered from my loneliness, though, when the women returned and I discovered that the focal point of the Bajram celebration is one of my favorite foods: baklava.

When I first discovered baklava I began to wonder if my parents had not been entirely forthcoming about my provenance. My attachment to it was so immediate and profound I thought it unlikely I could have really been born in the upper Midwest, and must instead have come from somewhere much further east or south. Thank goodness for the Ottoman Empire’s influence on Bosnia and Hercegovina, that’s all I have to say.

Making baklava is an art form. In fact, the women approach baklava in the same way they construct their carpets. Each one has her own style, her own preferred ingredients, her own variation on the standard theme. I really felt duty-bound to understand and appreciate them all. That is how I came to eat five large pieces of baklava in one sitting the day after Bajram. This was an extremely good idea at the time, less so later that evening. But I have no regrets.

Now that Bajram is over, I have also discovered some new information about my friends at Bosfam. I was aware that being hospitable is a defining characteristic of people in these parts. What I did not know is just how accomplished you have to be in order to exercise this hospitality. I am speaking about the coffee and food radar.

When we sit around to drink coffee or eat lunch, there are often a dozen or more of us at the table. And despite all the laughing and talking, these ladies don’t miss a beat. In general, the woman who has prepared the coffee or food takes the initiative to replenish the servings. To a person, they are capable of simultaneously engaging in animated conversation at one end of the table and sensing, without even turning their heads, the very second someone at the other end of the table finishes the last sip of her coffee, or last piece of bread. I have conducted a couple of surreptitious experiments to see if I can foil the radar, and can now report it to be infallible. Oh, and good luck trying to refuse if you think it’s impolite to take more, or if you’re getting full. The only thing that works is to shake your head, hold your stomach with one hand, hold up your other hand in a “stop” gesture, and say “ne mogu,” which means I can’t. A simple “no thank you” will get you nowhere. And trust me, whatever it is they’re offering, you do want more, so just give in.