Two years ago, our trip to Lukomir left unforgettable memories for everyone involved. Here’s how the trip was experienced by Belma Mujezinović, director of the "Second" Foundation.

Lukomir is quiet on Mondays. It rests after the weekend when tourists visit on quads, motorcycles, and the occasional car that often ends up with a broken oil pan and weakened shock absorbers. Most often, it is visited by hikers on the established circular route over the Obalj peak or from Umoljani, across the Studeni stream... They usually come in groups to this, as they say, "the highest and most isolated inhabited place in Bosnia and Herzegovina." A place discovered only after the war. A place known only to have existed since the time of the Bogomils and whose inhabitants engaged in livestock farming and never descended from the mountain.

Yesterday, Lukomir woke up a little earlier. It was awakened by three buses. Two full of children from the Sarajevo Orphanage and one full of tourists from France. Some were eagerly waiting to meet the wonderful people I had told them about, while others couldn’t wait to play with the children, carry them, hug them, and stroke their heads... To hear their stories and give them a day they would cherish in the chest of memories.

And just a few minutes after the buses parked, the older ones were talking to the French in English, and some even in a bit of French, joking, hugging, and laughing, while the younger ones occupied the improvised children’s park where they slid down the slide and seesawed. The youngest were pulled by the French on a rope attached to small plastic cars, sometimes tumbling onto the soft grass and laughingly sitting back in... Soon the older ones brought out footballs, and the grassy areas of this Bjelasnica village became a field for passing, tossing, and "sheva."

"Don't touch, tell her don't touch," said one girl playing ball with the boys, and I told her to call over a Frenchwoman wearing a hijab who was dribbling the ball like a real professional.

That very Frenchwoman is the reason we gathered. She wanted to visit. Because she had also been in the orphanage until she was four years old when she was adopted.

"I want to go to France to meet Mbappé," one boy told me as he approached the table with sweets.

He lives in the Small Family Home in Blagovac, together with his sister and brothers.

Before lunch, we walked to a peak to take group photos, and the children were taking selfies, pictures with me and the French.

"Please, can you tell me what he wants?" one Frenchwoman asked, pointing to a boy who was wandering around her legs.

I looked, and it was the boy I had carried during a recent visit to the Orphanage while we were taking photos for my first Facebook post.

"Lift me," he extended his arms, and I took him in my arms.

"He just wants this," I told the Frenchwoman, and she extended her arms towards him so he could move into her embrace.

We went down for lunch, which the owners of a small restaurant barely managed to prepare for the large group, and for more sweets brought by the Frenchwoman.

"Can I get those candies? I’ve never eaten those," one boy extended his right hand while holding another bag of Haribo gummy bears in his left.

In the big bag of sweets were also some board games, balloons, and they brought them hats and aprons for cooking workshops in the Day Center at the Orphange.

I spent most of the time with the older children who had long since tied me to themselves with their stories of growing up too fast, of fears and hope. The hope that somewhere out there, there is a place for them. In the hearts of others.

Time passed too quickly, and in the middle of the game, the children had to leave. They said goodbye to the French for almost half an hour. Hugging, crying, waving from the bus, then getting out again for one more hug, farewell, and photo.

The children left, and the French remained, crying and standing there for a while, looking at the spot where their buses had been parked.

They no longer wanted to stay. Lukomir became quiet again, too quiet for them.

We returned to the city, bumping along the dirt road, each lost in their thoughts, occasionally broken by the guide's quizzes in French.

>>>

Tomorrow, the group of French people is coming again, but this time we will meet on Mount Igman. We expect the same amount of joy, laughter, and unforgettable moments. We look forward to welcoming our French friends again and creating new memories that we will carry with us forever. May Igman greet us with the same warmth and beauty we experienced in Lukomir, because such encounters enrich our lives and remind us of the power of friendship and togetherness.