Žuč hill overlooks Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina. The word Žuč means “gold bladder,” and it was where the fiercest fights for the control over the city took place. The story says that the bodies of the fallen soldiers on both sides couldn’t fit on the patch of the land they were fighting for on Žuč hill.

The Hope I Found in Post-War Bosnia

20 years since the last bombs fell on Bosnia-Herzegovina, I go looking for signs of hope in my damaged but resilient homeland.

There’s a new saying in the Bosnian vernacular: “Thank goodness they are not shooting.”

This sentence sounds ironic, but really, it’s fatalistic. What it really means is that one can take anything, as long as no one is shooting.

It’s been 20 years since the last shells landed on Sarajevo and other Bosnian cities. There have only been two cases of postwar revenge since.

But I refuse to accept peace as merely an absence of violence. There must be more to it. In postwar Bosnia, the media took the place of heavy artillery and became a weapon of mass intimidation. The image it disseminates is so narrow-minded and bleak that it makes one wonder if war ever stopped.

That’s not to say our patch of land is doing great. Far from it. Privatization of public companies is as dodgy as it gets, unemployment is rampant, nepotism is the norm.

But I need to see it for myself. I need to see where we are as a nation, two decades since the cessation of hostilities. So I decided to take road less traveled, visit places I’ve only heard of, and try to create a visual mosaic of what’s left of my homeland. I’m in the middle of a road trip — seeking closure, seeking peace by documenting the aftermath of war.

This is what I’ve found so far: normal people making it against all odds.

Two boys from my neighborhood, with their terriers.

Lake Zero (Nula in Bosnian) is a former iron ore mine. Behind it is the city of Vareš in Central Bosnia. It used to be one of the oldest iron ore mines in the country. It was closed before the war, and the water filled the crater. Now it is filled with clean, potable water. On the right is the scene from the National Museum of BiH. It was founded during the Austria-Hungary Empire and survived both world wars. During the Bosnian war, it was on the front line — and survived. Nearly three years ago, employees decided to close it as state funding was slashed to 30% of previous funding. They continue to work on the collection and are volunteering to guard the museum, as there is no money for security guards. The national museum is home to the Sarajevo Haggadah, an illuminated manuscript that contains the illustrated traditional text of the Passover Haggadah that accompanies the Passover Seder. It is one of the oldest Sephardic Haggadot in the world, originating in Barcelona around 1350.

Two sisters playing on the former front line in the hills above Sarajevo.

Wild horses passing the Partisan Memorial in Sutjeska National Park (left). The monument was erected to commemorate the greatest engagement of the Yugoslav Partisan War — the Battle of Sutjeska in 1943. Road vendors on the road between Foča and Sarajevo (right).

People gathering on the so-called Pyramid of the Sun (site of medieval Bosnian city Visoko) to celebrate summer solstice (left). The pyramid was “discovered” by self-proclaimed scientist Semir Osmanagć, who claims it is the largest and the oldest pyramid in the world. A typical Central Bosnian landscape with a Fićo, a Yugoslav version of the Fiat 500, a legendary car from the socialist era (right).

A mother washes her son’s face during hot summer day in Sarajevo (left). Bosnia is plagued by roses in concrete (right). They are scars left by mortar shells, where shrapnel bounced from the hard surfaces.

Room with a view. Abandoned and destroyed public housing for school teachers near Srebrenica.

Bosnian photojournalist Ziyah Gafić photographs the aftermath of conflict. A child when the Bosnian War began, the Sarajevo native turns his lens on conflicts around the world as a way of coming to terms with the tragedy of his homeland. His book, Quest for Identity, catalogs the belongings of Bosnia’s genocide victims. In partnership with the Citizen’s Association Pravo Ljudski — devoted to the promotion of human rights and social justice through powerful storytelling — Gafić is currently traveling across the visual and human landscapes of his homeland.

This report is made possible by the generous support of the American people through the United States Department of State. The contents are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Department of State or the United States Government.

To see this project unfold, follow Gafić on Instagram.

The TED Fellows program hand-picks young innovators from around the world to raise international awareness of their work and maximize their impact.