View accross Branko Bridge towards the CK building |
“Ready to cross a bridge?” I reply. “What’s the big deal?”
She stops dead in her tracks, looks at me from under a indignant frown, palms turned upwards. “This is Branko’s Bridge!”
“Okay,” I say slowly, “Who’s Branko?”
“Where were you in April 1999?”
“Panama, if I remember correctly. South America somewhere.” She starts walking again. “I was right here, together with hundreds of others, preventing NATO from bombing our main bridge.”
CK building on fire during the NATO attacks of 1999 |
“It’s a hell of a thing to have your town bombed,” I say.
“And it wasn’t Milosevic’ town, or NATO’s town. It’s our town. This city is us,” she says slowly. “That’s why I was on this bridge. I had a sign on my back with a bull’s eye painted on it. It said I’M THE TARGET.”
The allied forces shot 12 missiles at the CK building but the bastard wouldn’t budge. Though heavily damaged, it stood as proud that day as the Serbian citizens on Branko’s Bridge. Suddenly I’m filled with pride, as one of this city’s many white angels leads me across the Sava.
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