On Thursday, Sara, Matt, Alisa and I went to the Ilidza police station so that we could give our side of the story. Alisa did some research and found out that the police were legally required to provide Sara and I with a translator. When she called the police station and asked for one, they said they were not obligated to provide one, so Sara and I privately hired an official translator to come with us. Alisa reassured us that later the Sarajevo Philharmonic could sue the police for not providing a translator.
Fortunately, when we got to the police station, they read Sara her rights, including the right to a translator. So, the police made a phone call or two, and it was agreed that the police would pay for our translator after all. It ended up working out to our benefit, since we wound up with the translator we chose (one recommended by the embassy) rather than one chosen for us.
The policeman who interviewed us was pleasant and professional. He had Sara, Matt, and I come into his office one at a time and give our accounts of what happened. (There are no charges filed against Matt, but he chose to make a report as a witness, since he was watching TV with Sara and I last Saturday evening and knows we were quiet and went to bed early.)
It took forever. Three hours, in fact. First, the police had to read us our right and then have them translated to English. After that, we had to give our report and have it translated to Bosnian. The policeman typed very slowly, so it took Sara a good hour and a half to give her report. Fortunately, Matt and I could simply confirm what Sara said, and add a couple additional details, so it didn’t take us quite as long.
While Sara was giving her report, Matt and I had to wait in the hallway of the police station, which was pretty entertaining. Fortunately, a nice woman felt sorry for us, and brought us some chairs so we could sit. While we were waiting, we saw a police officer escort a pretty skuzzy guy into his office, and much yelling ensued. Hmmm. Later, the guy (a suspect, I guess?) and his friends stood smoking in the hallway until the officer came out and chased them off. Besides this, there wasn’t very much excitement. It seems like the police spend a lot of time carrying paperwork from one room to another. Oh, bureaucracy…
I felt reassured once our trip to the police station was over. While Sara was being interviewed, I heard some laughter. It sounds like the policeman who interviewed us thought that our accuser was wasting everyone’s time. Which is so true! There are so many “real” problems in our neighborhood, and it seems silly to be wasting government resources on investigating this case. The policeman also told us, as we were leaving, that if our neighbor bothers us again, we can call the police in Ilidza and they will be there to protect us. I was glad that we were treated kindly and professionally. (Our accuser apparently works for the police himself, and I was worried that his colleagues would show bias against us.) Alisa also seemed reassured that (hopefully!) nothing more would come of this, and that no prosecutor would take up this frivolous case against us. So, now we just have to wait and see what happens…
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