Tuzla’s lungs breathe carbon: a massive thermoelectric power plant stands in front of the city, contaminating the air of one of the most polluted zones of Europe. In Tuzla what catches the eye is the melancholic contrast between the decaying socialist buildings and the just built glittering shopping center, containing the most stylish occidental brands. Bosnia struggles to forget about its past, Sarajevo’s buildings are still covered with bullet holes, as if the capital didn’t want the nation to move forward. The temporary Dayton Accords were never implemented as the parties involved had promised to do in the future: people live in an everlasting deadlock that exacerbates social conflict and forces young people to emigrate. Youth unemployment is at 54 per cent; everyone hopes to leave. “The news still discusses the war everyday, after 25 years”, Irfanka, the woman I’m smoking a cigarette with, is in charge of the association I’m volunteering for. Born during the Bosnian War to assist women who were victims of systematical ethnic rapes, now the association collaborates with the refugee center and the Tuzla’s orphanage, providing assistance and financing initiatives. Irfanka is one of the thousands of refugees that, between 6th and 25th July 1995, desperately ran away to Tuzla from Srebrenica, where the Serbian fascists slaughtered more than 8000 muslims. Today a memorial stands on that blood-soaked land: a stretch of thousands of marble gravestones covers a broad flowery meadow. There is one for each victim, the grave's pale white seems to extend for kilometers. While heading to the place of the genocide with the other volunteers, I was staring at the local forests where the frightened inhabitants of Srebrenica had been hiding. Suddenly the car driver of the association turned off the radio and said: “Ne slušaš muziku u Srebrenici” [No one listens to music in Srebrenica]. After 25 years corpses are still found in the woods. “War creates decades of problems ”, in Irfanka’s eyes pain and pride coexist like water and fire, “Orphans have never been an issue before, but after the conflict we had to face multiple tragedies. At the beginning lots of children remained alone as a result of the deaths of their parents and then, with the passing of time, the alcohol abuse by the traumatized survivors caused an exponential increase in domestic violence, destroying hundreds of communities. And that’s how a three-year war generates a spiral of ruthlessness compromising several generations, wrecking family after family”. During the 20 days I spent in Tuzla, every morning we met orphans at the association to play and do educational activities, while in the afternoon we used to reach them at the orphanage. “The problem is that”, continues Irfanka while putting out her cigarette, “the current orphans actually have parents, but either the social services were obliged to take them away from their homes, or the parents don’t have enough money to sustain their growth. They have to accept they are not desired and no one sincerely cares about them, what they undergo is emotional anesthesia.” The orphanage presented itself as a large and austere building made of grey concrete, standing on a football field where children of every age were constantly running in every direction. While I was playing with them, I felt like I was brought back to one of the many summer camps where I spent my childhood: everywhere children were chasing each other screaming and laughing; the boys playing football, the girls braiding each other’s hair. Suddenly I saw a kid, alone on the gravel, sitting in the dirt. With a mechanical and unconscious gesture, he was pouring pebbles and dust on his hair, staring blankly. Who could tell him to stop? Once the light faded, who would come to take these children home? No one. I have never been able to conceive what it means for a child to live in an eternal expectation of an arrival that will never come. “What did you say you are studying?”, she asks me, “Philosophy”, “Philosophers are useless”, she says frankly, “they can change people, but to save this country you don’t have to change people, you have to change the politicians.” We went back into the association’s building.