Trebevic Mountain After School

The afternoon sun tried to break through the fog as Iris and I made our way down from Trebević Mountain, the rooftops of Sarajevo hazy far below, finally at last visible after descending from the cloudy mountain. The air was crisp, filled with that peculiar quiet that lingers at the edges of city sounds. As we descended the winding path, we passed a few school kids trudging up the steep hill, backpacks swaying behind them, their laughter trailing in the stillness.

Just ahead, a boy—maybe twelve, wiry with a shock of blond hair—paused at the top of the patio stairs in front of a small house. He was halfway through opening the door when he spotted us. He froze, squinting at Iris’s scarf, the bold colors of the Palestinian flag draped over her shoulders like it belonged there.

“Hi!” he called out suddenly, his voice clear and ringing.

Before we could reply, he stepped toward us and, with the kind of confidence only children seem to master, began to sing.

“Palestine, Palestine, free Palestine!”

His voice carried, rising like a song that shouldn’t belong to someone so young. He sang in perfect English, the words unfurling in the cool mountain air. Iris and I turned to each other, eyebrows raised in startled delight.

We laughed, smiling at him in disbelief, and he grinned back, triumphant.

“Where are you from?” he asked, his tone casual, making more of a statement than asking a question. 

“Denmark,” Iris replied, her voice matter-of-fact but pleasant, matching the boy’s youthful aura. Before I could open my mouth to add my own answer, he interrupted with the enthusiasm of a seasoned host.

“Ooh, Denmark! Cool. Welcome to Bosnia!”

His words tumbled out with such warmth, it caught me off guard. He didn’t sound like a twelve-year-old. He sounded like someone far older, someone who knew the value of hospitality, someone who cared.

“I hope you have a nice time here,” he added with a small nod, his tone so earnest it softened the edges of the day.

“Thank you! Ciao!” we called after him, still smiling as he slipped inside, the wooden door clicking shut behind him.

And just like that, this small encounter—a boy’s song, his bright eyes, his unabashed kindness—became one of the unexpected treasures of the day.