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Border stories

Updated: Jun 21, 2021



On the return journey from Bosnia I was forced to stop at the Rača border crossing for two hours. Two hours is not too bad, taken into account that next to me an infinite row of trucks was waiting, stretching all over the bridge, all the way to Bosnia. The truck drivers informed me that they had been waiting for God knows how long already, for a doctor to come.


The doctor was in fact a healthcare inspector and from the moment he came, he issued everyone who crossed a paper which stated that they are directed to self-isolation, confined to their own home and have to report on the given telephone etc. That slow process lasted for two hours like I said. In my case at least, the truckers might be still waiting. When it was my turn, I approached, gave my data. Doc, with mask and gloves inside the border booth filled out the paper and then handed me the pen in order to sign.


- It’s ok, you can scribble it for me – I said.


Masked doc looked at me bewildered, then stretched out his arm, holding the pen towards me, one more time.

- Sign it, please. –


I took the pen and signed the paper.


- How many grabbed that pen before me exactly? -


Doc looked like I caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, and immediately countered:

- Well you don’t have your own pen, do you? Or gloves?. –


- I didn’t need them till now. –


I wanted to add that I was under no obligation to wear gloves and also that I couldn’t wear them if there is nowhere to buy them.


In fact as soon I managed to get across, I remembered that back in Laktaši, I bought ten pairs for my mother, after she’d complained that she couldn’t find any in Serbia. I felt rather stupid as it would have been rather advantageous for me if only I had remembered of that at the border. It would certainly have been an awesome scene if I had gone back to the trunk and theatrically slipped the gloves on before signing.


- Next time bring your own pen. –


Said the doc as I was leaving.


- When they tell me to, I will. –


I responded and continued my travel into my self-isolation.



So the moral of the story is, from now on, throughout the rest of this crisis, for border crossings, beside IDs and passports, you also need… well… a pen of course. What can you do, one can’t figure out everything. And you brothers in pens , all fifty of you who grabbed that same ball point… hope you washed your hands.




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