Hurshid Celebi
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As bombs rained down on Sarajevo, Serb snipers hid in the hills while Serb tanks blocked every road leading out of the city. The people of Sarajevo were trapped and starving, living in their basements and rationing their last cans of food. The city would have fallen if not for one man—Bajro Kolar.
Kolar was a typical middle-class family man living in Butmir, a tiny community in the Sarajevo suburb of Ilidca. His house had the strategic advantages of being beyond Serb lines, as well as being close to the Sarajevo airport, which made it perfect for hoarding fresh supplies. When the Bosnian army approached him with the idea of building a tunnel from his cellar into a garage in Sarajevo, Kolar didn't hesitate to say yes.
In early 1993, Kolar, his wife, his son, and about 200 soldiers began burrowing through nearly 2,500 feet of soil—digging every inch by hand. The tunnel was less than 5 feet high, so miners had to crouch low with their picks and shovels. They reinforced the walls with wood and steel beams, like an old-fashioned coal mine, and even laid a railway track on the floor. Working in eight-hour shifts, the diggers completed the tunnel that July.
SAVING A CITY
The Sarajevo Tunnel was the Trojan Horse of the Bosnian War. Historians estimate that more than 1 million trips were taken through the shaft, allowing the import of about 20 million tons of food. Machine guns and crates of ammunition also flowed through the Tunnel, helping the Bosnian army defend itself against the well-armed Serbs.
There was nothing romantic about the Tunnel, though. Dark, dirty, and cold, the passage was so narrow and crowded that a one-way trip could take as long as two hours. And the constant explosions outside vibrated through the walls and threatened the support beams. It was miraculous that no part of the passage ever collapsed.
Among those who passed through the tunnel was Alija Izetbegović, then-president of Bosnia. For the sake of his country, Izetbegovic needed to make appearances on both sides of the Serb lines, and the Tunnel was the only dependable route. But it wasn't easy. At one point, Izzetbegovic was wheelchair-bound, and he had to roll through the corridor on its primitive railway tracks.
When the war ended, the Tunnel's story became international news, and the Kolars were showered with honors. Today, the house serves as a museum, and it's easy to find. The locals eagerly give directions, and taxis and tour buses make regular visits. While the Western press has given the landmark many names—the Tunnel of Life, the Tunnel of Hope—in Bosnia, all you have to say is Tunnel (pronounced TOO-nell), and everyone knows what you're talking about.
Kolar was a typical middle-class family man living in Butmir, a tiny community in the Sarajevo suburb of Ilidca. His house had the strategic advantages of being beyond Serb lines, as well as being close to the Sarajevo airport, which made it perfect for hoarding fresh supplies. When the Bosnian army approached him with the idea of building a tunnel from his cellar into a garage in Sarajevo, Kolar didn't hesitate to say yes.
In early 1993, Kolar, his wife, his son, and about 200 soldiers began burrowing through nearly 2,500 feet of soil—digging every inch by hand. The tunnel was less than 5 feet high, so miners had to crouch low with their picks and shovels. They reinforced the walls with wood and steel beams, like an old-fashioned coal mine, and even laid a railway track on the floor. Working in eight-hour shifts, the diggers completed the tunnel that July.
SAVING A CITY
The Sarajevo Tunnel was the Trojan Horse of the Bosnian War. Historians estimate that more than 1 million trips were taken through the shaft, allowing the import of about 20 million tons of food. Machine guns and crates of ammunition also flowed through the Tunnel, helping the Bosnian army defend itself against the well-armed Serbs.
There was nothing romantic about the Tunnel, though. Dark, dirty, and cold, the passage was so narrow and crowded that a one-way trip could take as long as two hours. And the constant explosions outside vibrated through the walls and threatened the support beams. It was miraculous that no part of the passage ever collapsed.
Among those who passed through the tunnel was Alija Izetbegović, then-president of Bosnia. For the sake of his country, Izetbegovic needed to make appearances on both sides of the Serb lines, and the Tunnel was the only dependable route. But it wasn't easy. At one point, Izzetbegovic was wheelchair-bound, and he had to roll through the corridor on its primitive railway tracks.
When the war ended, the Tunnel's story became international news, and the Kolars were showered with honors. Today, the house serves as a museum, and it's easy to find. The locals eagerly give directions, and taxis and tour buses make regular visits. While the Western press has given the landmark many names—the Tunnel of Life, the Tunnel of Hope—in Bosnia, all you have to say is Tunnel (pronounced TOO-nell), and everyone knows what you're talking about.
