Moving to Bosnia: I’m Probably the Wrong Person to Ask

People have started asking me something increasingly often.

“What’s it actually like to move to Bosnia and Herzegovina?”

After living here for more than 25 years, you might think I’d be exactly the right person to ask.

I’ve realised I’m probably not.

I Didn’t Move Here in the Usual Way

I first arrived in Bosnia towards the end of 1998 with NATO. That meant I arrived with a reason for being here, colleagues around me and an organisation that provided structure.

I wasn’t sitting in Britain looking at photographs of mountains and wondering whether I should sell everything and start a new life in Bosnia.

Then, in 2002, I met Tamara.

Without really noticing it happening, I made the transition from being a foreigner working in Bosnia to being a rather confused Englishman inside a Bosnian family.

And that changed everything.

The Network I Didn’t Realise I Had

Because Tamara didn’t just give me a relationship. Through her, I became part of a network.

Family. Friends. Neighbours.

People who knew which office to visit, which document somebody was actually asking for and who might be able to help when something went wrong.

And, rather importantly, people who spoke the language.

I’ve had that safety net around me for more than two decades.

So now I find myself wondering what would happen if I arrived here today knowing absolutely nobody.

What Happens After You Decide to Stay?

Imagine somebody from Britain, Germany, America or Australia who has visited Bosnia a few times and fallen in love with the place.

They’ve walked beside the Vrbas, sat drinking coffee, looked at property prices and thought: I could live here.

So they move.

What happens next?

Not necessarily with residency permits, insurance or banking. Those things can eventually be worked out.

I’m thinking about a wet Tuesday afternoon in November when the heating stops working.

Who do you telephone?

What happens when an official letter arrives that you cannot read?

How do you make genuine friends?

And who do you call at eleven o’clock at night when something has really gone wrong?

Residency Is Not the Same as Belonging

Those are the things that interest me most.

A residency permit allows you to live somewhere.

It doesn’t necessarily make that place home.

Home is knowing who to call when the boiler breaks. It is understanding the rhythm of a place. It is having people around you who notice when something is wrong.

And that takes much longer than filling in forms.

Apparently I’m Still the Same Englishman

I recently asked Tamara whether she thought I had integrated after all these years.

Her answer was wonderfully straightforward.

I was, apparently, “partially integrated”.

But otherwise I was still the same Englishman I had always been.

And I think she’s right.

I’ve accepted plenty of things about life here. There are customs and habits that once seemed strange and now feel completely normal.

But I haven’t become Bosnian.

Nor am I trying to.

Perhaps Integration Means Something Else

Perhaps integration isn’t about eventually becoming indistinguishable from the people around you.

Perhaps it means learning how to live comfortably among them while still remaining yourself.

I wasn’t born here. I didn’t go to school here. I didn’t grow up with the language, the television, the food, the family stories or all those tiny cultural references people absorb without ever thinking about them.

There are things Tamara understands instinctively that I probably never will.

And there are things about me that will probably remain unmistakably English.

That seems perfectly all right.

Could I Have Built This Life Alone?

There is one question I genuinely cannot answer.

Could I have built this life without Tamara and her family?

I honestly don’t know.

I can’t think of a foreigner I personally know who simply chose Bosnia, arrived here alone and built an entire life from scratch without a Bosnian partner, family connection or employer providing some sort of structure.

I’m sure those people are here.

I just haven’t met them yet.

So I’d Like to Hear From You

If that describes you, I’d genuinely like to hear your story.

Why Bosnia?

What was harder than you expected?

What turned out to be surprisingly easy?

How did you make friends?

How did you cope with the language?

And was there a particular moment when Bosnia stopped being somewhere you had moved to and simply became home?

Because perhaps the most truthful answer I can now give when somebody asks me what it’s like to move to Bosnia is this:

I know what it’s like to live here.

I’m just not sure I know what it’s like to move here.