Amid Jubilation, Bobsledders Train Eyes On Sarajevo

LILLEHAMMER, Norway - Crowded inside their light green rickety borrowed bobsled, Zoran Sokolovic, Izet Haracic, Nizar Zaciragic and Igor Boras rumble down the run at Hunderfossen.

Four Bosnians. Two Muslims, one Croat, one Serb, racing in one machine, under one flag. No anger. No thought about their ethnic diversity. No politics.

These four men are a symbol to the Olympics, to the world, to their country, that different people can live, compete and love together. They are the defiant, courgeous answer to the cowardly ethnic cleansing happening in Bosnia.

They are the heroes of these Games.

"We try to symbolize our country," Boras, a Croat, says. "We try to show the people of Bosnia-Herzegovina first that we must and we can live together.

"And we want to show the world that we can live together. We need hearts full of love, not hearts full of hate and we try to show that. Look at these guys. We're all different, but I love these guys."

Nizar Zaciragic's eyes are dark, as if they haven't smiled in years, as if they've seen hell.

His voice is choked with emotion, a mixture of anger and sadness.

Less than a month ago he left his home in Sarajevo to compete for Bosnia-Herzegovina in the Winter Olympics, in the four-man bobsled that begins tomorrow. One by one he was joined by his teammates. The last, Boras, arrived only a week ago.

"I left the day before the market massacre," Boras says in the early afternoon cold outside the shed that houses their loaner bobsled. "That's how we measure days in Sarajevo. From one massacre to another."

These days should be wondrous, full of anticipation and joy. These young men are realizing a dream, competing in the Winter Olympics.

A decade ago, in Sarajevo, they watched as the world came and played in their city. They hoped the day would come when they could play in some other city in another Olympics.

"I remember the Olympics were really fantastic," Zaciragic says. "I worked on the bobsled track during the luge competition. I almost didn't sleep. Every night we were in a different disco. We had fun. It was really beautiful. It seems so long ago now."

Ten years later, the fun has died with the massacres in their city. Bosnia is being torn apart by the Serbian army. Indiscriminate shells drop on homes and market places. Snipers fire without conscience, killing mothers and grandfathers and children. Tens of thousands have died. More than two million have lost their homes.

The Bosnian bobsled team has seen it all.

"It is impossible to be happy here. Really impossible," Zaciragic says. "The whole of my life I dream of participating in Winter Olympic Games. When you think about the Olympic Games, you don't think about the competition. You think about opening ceremonies.

"The whole world are together. Especially the moment you walk around the stadium and you wave to all the cameras and you know that somewhere your parents are watching you on television. But this year we are not happy because we are aware that nobody was watching us. We had nobody to wave to."

Driver Zoran Sokolovic's brother died in the war. All of the bobsledders have lost close friends. Some friends are buried just outside Sarajevo's Olympic Stadium.

So many scars crowded into one bobsled. So much pain in these four men's faces.

"Athletes from other countries invite us to go to restaurants and pubs," Zaciragic says. "Maybe you won't believe me, but nobody from our team goes to these restaurants or pubs.

"It's not really because of financial reasons. We just don't have interest. Maybe two years ago I wouldn't have slept if I came here. I would have spent every night in a pub or a disco. But now we can't. Our feelings are really destroyed."

Zaciragic looks drawn and tired, much older than his 25 years. He says each member of the team has lost an average of 15 pounds in the past several months because of poor food and little training.

Their push times are disppointing. Their strength is sapped.

"In the past two months I don't think I've had meat more than twice," he said. "I've had milk here for the first time in two months and cheese.

"We've just had food from United Nations aid that I've never seen before in my life. I think it is food they feed cattle. I can't believe human beings should take nutrition like this for two months. Some people are so weak they can't even walk."

They finish 24th in both of their final two training runs. They have no hope for a medal, but losing isn't a tragedy to them. Getting to this hill at Hunderfossen and riding a bob down this icy run is their victory.

They are an example of what the human spirit can accomplish. They came here without a bobsled. After much searching, they found the Dutch, who did not qualify.

Members of Holland's bobsledding association donated a bob and drove 29 hours to Lillehammer. It arrived at 2 a.m. last Saturday.

"It is old, old model. I think from museum, but that doesn't matter. For us, for the time being, our results are not important to us," says Zaciragic, a Muslim. "We would like to return the hospitality, but right now we can't. Because our feelings are destroyed and there are so many holes in our pockets.

"We are happy to have this bob, but I am sad that we don't have a better bobsled. We don't have a chance to even take second place for our people. I feel our people from Bosnia won't understand why we didn't do better."

Zaciragic speaks with a poet's heart. You can't see the tragedies he has seen without feeling them in your soul.

"We must talk about this," he says. "We are ambassadors of our country. I want to inform people about our disasters, about our tragedy, about the brutality in Bosnia-Herzegovina. I think it is natural now that everybody knows the United States will never go through with the air strikes we need.

"Our only weapon now is world public opinion. With public opinion on our side maybe we can attempt to liberate all of Bosnia-Herzegovina. But I don't think war will stop in Bosnia for ages."

Zaciragic is asked to describe how if feels to live with the daily terror in Sarajevo. He begins to tell a story and his eyes well with tears.

"Tomorrow we have a meeting with a 12-year-old boy," he says. "He was evacuated from Sarajevo after a mortar shell destroyed his eyes and his face.

"He was evacuated from the United States and his wish was to come here and have his picture taken with us. When I was told that I cried."

What happens to these athletes after Sunday, when the Games end and Lillehammer is evacuated and the bobsled is returned to Holland?

Zaciragic says he is going back to Sarajevo, to his family and his girlfriend. He wants to bring food.

"I have to," he shrugs.

Others probably will go to cramped refugee camps in Denmark, Norway or Germany. Boras wants to go to the United States.

"My star will shine only until these Games are over," Boras says. "Then, who knows? I don't want to sit and wait in a camp. There you have to take whatever they give you and just say thank you. I would like to come to United States and continue my education. Maybe my motto should be: `America or bust.' "

We shake hands and I wish them luck.

"Not good luck for me, please," Boras says. "Not here. Good luck for the people of Sarajevo. The courageous people of Sarajevo."