Text and Pictures

Text and Pictures: Neil Newitt

What makes a man want to leave his comfortable job in an investment bank to drive through thick snow, miserable border posts and minefields to war-torn Bosnia? A desire to help others, particularly children, towards a better life in the future.

So you might ask why I chose to retire from my position at said bank, to travel, by Land Rover, to the war torn Bosnia Herzegovina, one part of the former Yugoslavia. I was part of a convoy run by a small charity, Balkan Aid Relief Foundation, which I founded in 1999, transporting some 13 tonnes of aid to Bosnia Hercegovina.

The journey didn't pass without incident. During our third day en route, while driving along a German autobahn in my 90, with an ancient box trailer on the back, I suddenly felt the back of the vehicle wobbling from side to side, and despite my determined attempts to counter this, the trailer became more and more unstable, swinging more violently the tail was wagging the dog! There was no hiding from the fact, we were out of control. The trailer had smashed against both sides of the rear of the 90 and was starting to disintegrate. I fought desperately to bring the unit to a halt as quickly as possible as we were on a fast-moving, very busy three-lane autobahn with non-stop traffic mainly huge articulated trucks thundering by in all lanes. The 90 hit the Armco safety barrier on the front passenger side, which meant we were temporarily facing back the way we had come. At one stage we were leaning over at an angle of approximately 60', but the remnants of the trailer, which by now had completely shed its body, flipped upside down in the opposite direction, thereby putting us back on an even keel.

Miraculously, neither my son nor I were hurt in anyway; my indomitable Land Rover was battered but not beaten, and once we had cleared the scattered contents of the trailer from the autobahn, we were able to continue on our journey.



Mechanical problems, blow-outs and 24 hour delays became a regular event on the journey.	A reason for the kids to smile at last

Five Land Rovers, one Vauxhall Frontera and five assorted trailers containing around 13 tonnes of aid had set off from Lincoln to drive to Mrkonic Grad and Sipovo in Bosnia. Day One had seen a less than well maintained 110 get stuck in Brussels for 24 hours due to mechanical problems; on Day Two there was a blow-out on a trailer the tyre was an ancient Land Rover type and thus there was another 24 hour delay while a similar one was tracked down; Day Three witnessed the incident described above, and on Day Four another trailer shredded its tyre in Slovenia, inevitably causing further delays.

Wild West frontier town

On the fifth day, we finally arrived at a remote border crossing between Croatia and Bosnia Hercegovina in a very heavy snow storm. Bihac seemed more like a Wild West frontier town, with just a few Portakabin 'buildings' and nothing else. On a previous trip we had been waved through this post with few formalities. However, much to our chagrin, on this occasion we were stopped by a large, unsmiling Bosnian policeman and directed to a snow-filled parking lot. We were told that we would need papers to pass through the border post. In what used to be Yugoslavia, nothing seems to be able to transit without mounds of expensive and bureaucratic sheaves of documents. Here we were, well and truly incommunicado (even mobile phones don't work there), without papers, unable to enter Bosnia. Eventually the police/customs officials lost their patience and told us to leave and go back to Croatia. However, before we could do so, we had to have official documentation to leave the country! Here was a Kafka-esque situation: we had not entered Bosnia officially, yet we needed documents to be able to leave!

We eventually managed to obtain the necessary papers after yet more expense and frustration, and wended our weary way back to the Croatian border in an even heavier snow storm. The convoy drew up at the Croatian side of the border, handed over the papers and began to cautiously drive up the very steep ramp to the temporary Bailey Bridge. Three of the convoy were over when we heard a frantic cry over the CB the last three members of the convoy had been turned back, and they were contacting us with a warning that the Croatian customs officials were coming to call us back. Despite pleading, begging and explaining that we were bringing aid, the customs official was adamant we would have to return to the Slovenian/Croatian border, obtain new documents and try again. It was 9pm on our seventh day, it was cold, and all around was freezing fog. We were not happy. Also, one trailer had grounded on the steep access ramp at the border and ripped its brake lever off. Nonetheless, off we set back to Slovenia where, after much wheedling and persuasion, we obtained new documents and drove through the night back to Stara Gradiska. This time we were permitted to cross into Bosnia, and then had to obtain yet more papers to 'officially' enter the country. It was most upsetting to realise that officialdom was so difficult and unhelpful to people bringing aid to their fellow countrymen. Here we were, a bunch of Land Rover enthusiasts, giving up a lot of our own time and money, hauling tonnes of assorted aid all the way from Britain to Bosnia in our own vehicles, only to be met by a brick wall, and a miserable one at that.



Thousands of families in Bosnia have been torn apart by the war atrocities. Part of the charity's mission was to provide warm clothes and bedding to help some of these people.

Our anticipated journey of three days had finally ended eight days after we left Lincolnshire and later that day we arrived in Mrkonic Grad in the Serbian Republic (Republic Srpska). We were accommodated in the Old Shoe Factory which had become a base for the British Army as part of SFOR. This base was manned by the Worcestershire and Sherwood Foresters, who made us very welcome. It was very comforting to know that we, and our Land Rovers and trailers full of aid, would be safe and secure in the base.

Living conditions for the troops were quite basic - the toilets and showers necessitated a brisk walk from the accommodation block in the open air. With temperatures as low as -25 Celsius, this was bracing first thing in the morning.

The journey over, we could now get on with our mission delivering aid. We had equipment for four primary schools, one secondary school, and a blacksmith in the mountains, along with warm clothing, bedding and sporting acces- sories. Mrkonic Grad and Sipovo were right on the front line when the Dayton Peace Accord was signed in 1995, and were in the thick of the fighting. It had been 80% Serbian and 20% Moslem, then the Croat/Moslem coalition captured it, but the Serbs recaptured it just before the war ended. Consequently the area was heavily mined, and we were briefed by the Army never to venture off the designated SFOR routes we weren't even to stand on the side of the road.

When you first arrive in Bosnia, despite the television coverage, it is still a shock to see the unbelievable damage and destruction every- where. First you might see a row of houses, roof- less, empty and burned out, then you'll realise the whole village is like it, then the whole valley. Some of the houses which seem abandoned, on closer inspection are actually occupied. The windows are boarded up to keep out the bitter cold air. Inside there is probably only one room, sparsely scattered with makeshift furniture.



	Working with any conviction wasn't easy in Bosnia, as the convoy discovered, as temperatures were now as low as -25ºC, and there was the risk of treading on a mine.

'Sleep in a ditch'

The blacksmith we had met on the last trip had lost everything, and thus was unable to make tools for the small- holders and farmers. We took him an anvil, a forge, welding equipment and various tools to get him going again. He was overcome that we had kept our promise and come back after a year with materials for him. To show his gratitude he made us suffer. He introduced us to an old Bosnian custom, handing out glasses of Slivovic: a local, high-octane spirit made from plums. It is known as 'sleep in a ditch' by the Army not without reason.

Our last port of call was at the behest of the Army. They were working with the local secondary school in Sipovo to refurbish and re-equip their Vocational and Technical Department. The school was attended by some 1500 children, and was important to the future of the area. The Department, like everywhere else, had been stripped clean. We have begun to obtain and supply a good proportion of the metal- and wood-working equipment required by the school, and will take it down on our next trip.

We're going back to do more convoys. In a strange kind of way, it beats working at an investment bank.

The Three day trip from Lincoln took eight days - but the convoy felt it was worth it.

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