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A few days after our arrival, I was walking with my interpreter—a young Serb refugee from Sarajevo—in the former Muslim part of the city taking pictures. An individual suddenly appeared out of a little cafe where he had obviously been drinking and ordered me to stop taking pictures. At the same time, he demanded in a threatening manner to see my identity document. All this happened in the presence of two local Bosnian Serb policemen, who nodded approvingly. Assuming by his demeanor that he was a local official, I obeyed. What was striking about him was that both his hands were covered by snake tattoos. When he saw my Greek passport his mood changed completely. A smile lit up his face and he said, “Greeks and Serbs are brothers!” He then embraced me and began pulling me toward the cafe where he had been sitting to offer me a drink. “Together we will fuck the Muslims!” he said gleefully.
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