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“Food is for sharing”

“As a little girl, I loved food. After mealtimes I was allowed to go outside and play. But before long, my mother would find me at the neighbours’, being fed all over again.” Pamela Habibović, born in Tuzla and raised in Srebrenica, talks about the importance of food in Bosnian culture. “After breakfast and a good cup of coffee, the first question is always: what shall we eat today?”

Srebrenica is now mainly associated with the genocide that took place there in 1995. One of the victims was her father: he was killed while fleeing, his body never found. Pamela Habibović, along with her mother and sister, had escaped to the Netherlands three years earlier. 

But she recalls an earlier Srebrenica, from her childhood. Autumn, for her, is forever linked with the smell of plum jam. “I’d walk home from school—it was already getting dark—and I’d smell the plum jam simmering in large pans over an open fire in the garden. Srebrenica is in the mountains. I still love harsh winters with snow, and the mountains.” 

Religious holidays

Habibović’s parents both worked as engineers in the mining industry. They met while studying in Tuzla. “My mother always worked full time, that was normal. In the Netherlands I was shocked by the prejudices that still exist around working mothers.”

Her mother came from a Catholic background, her father from a Muslim one. “In Srebrenica there was an Orthodox church right next to the mosque, and Tuzla had a Catholic church as well. I wasn’t raised religiously, but we celebrated the religious holidays. There were plenty of them, and food was always a part of it. We spent Christmas with my mother’s eldest sister, which involved four entire days of feasting. Huge amounts of food were made, from cakes to stuffed sauerkraut leaves. There was always enough to go around. In Bosnia, food is meant to be shared. Even now, I always cook for more than the four people in our family. In the Netherlands I had to get used to the question, ‘will you eat with us?’ That’s taken for granted in Bosnia. I have a Turkish neighbour and it’s the same there; we recognise that in each other. Recently I brought back a box of pastéis de nata from Lisbon. My son Pep took a bite and said, ‘Oh yum—can we keep these just for us?’”

Pamela food on plate

Identity

Bosnian cuisine is not complicated. “It’s very pure cooking, using what the seasons offer. Big bowls of food, cooked with care. Stews of vegetables and meat, with Mediterranean herbs like bay leaf, parsley and basil. Comfort food.” 

Her mother was an excellent cook, and still makes pita, one of Habibović’s favourites. “Unlike me, she’s very good with dough. Pita is made from very thin pastry, stretched over the whole table, then filled, rolled up and baked. The filling can be anything: spinach, feta, meat. Tricky to make, but I want to learn, because it’s so delicious. Whenever she knows we’re coming, my mother asks a week in advance what we’d like to eat. Then she’ll spend at least two days preparing a proper Bosnian feast. She’s in a wheelchair now because of MS, so everything takes longer—but make no mistake, there will be food. It’s part of our identity.” 

Self-care

Cooking is a way of unwinding. Habibović enjoys nothing more than a morning trip to the market to buy ingredients, then spending the day in the kitchen. Her busy job means this is a rare occurrence. Still, good food has to be eaten. Habibović can put a decent meal on the table in 15 minutes. “I don’t know what people mean by ‘easy cooking.’ What is that? I just cook, with good products and with care.” 

Every Sunday afternoon she cooks for the three days she spends in Maastricht (she lives in Utrecht). “My husband loves food, but he can’t cook. And I don’t want them eating from packets or jars.” 

Pamela cooking

For Habibović, cooking is also a form of self-care. Even during her studies and when living abroad, she always cooked for herself. “Some people don’t think it’s worth it, but I’ve never felt like that. Even when I lived alone, I wouldn’t just grab a sandwich; I’d set the table and have a proper meal. I once rented a room in Boston from an elderly lady. Whenever I wanted to use the oven, I first had to clear out a stack of books. She almost always ate out, and when she did eat at home, it was always the same thing: a frozen tilapia fillet with a sauce from a jar, heated in the microwave. I couldn’t live like that.” 

Passing it on

Her children may not speak the language, but they know all about Bosnian food culture. “We’re going to visit my aunt in Croatia soon. My daughter Mia and I are already excited about the stewed peppers. They’re thinner than the ones here, and you stew them with onions, tomatoes and salt. Very simple, but so tasty. We plan to make them every day for lunch.” 

Her family has visited Bosnia several times, but not specifically Srebrenica. “It’s not exactly a tourist attraction,” she says with some understatement, “and we don’t know anyone there anymore. But we’ll go one day. They’re familiar with my father’s story and of course they find it tragic, but—and this is important to me—it doesn’t define who we are. We talk more about how the culture I grew up in shaped me than about the war. I like cultural differences. You can plop me down anywhere, I’ll find my way. As long as people try to understand each other—that’s what it’s all about.” 

This year marks the 30th anniversary of the Srebrenica massacre. It is being commemorated with the multimedia project De 11 stemmen van Srebrenica (The 11 voices of Srebrenica), in which Habibović also shares her story.

Text: Annelotte Huiskes
Photography: Hannah Lipowsky

Pamela showing how to prepare a dish

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