Srpski Zet: To Be Or Not To Be... a Zet!

About the author: Sale celebrates twenty years of being married to a Belgrade girl in the twentieth issue of SAN.

What a great thing it is to be a srpski zet! To be a Canadian man whose heart found a Serbian girl, to discover the culture that existed during Tito’s Yugoslavia, and to learn all about Serbia, in so many historical, contemporary, cultural, and culinary senses... and through the senses themselves: the colours, the flavours, the sounds, and the scents. I have been, and remain, completely enthralled.

Naturally, I had no hint of what was to come when I chatted at a party with a woman whose name I could only recall by associating it with the capital of the Northwest Territories (to my drunken ears, “Jelena” sounded like “Yellowknife”). Nor that, shortly after we moved in together, my own nation would participate in the bombing and dismantling of what remained of her country, awakening my political consciousness in the process. And especially not that our multiple visits to Serbia would have the effect of seducing me, such that the richness of Serbia’s cultural heritage would completely captivate my mind, and that my own life would become a part of that culture as I adopted many of its customs. How the hell did I become a “son-in-law of Serbia”?

I remember when a friend from Belgrade was visiting us at the turn of the century, and at his request we visited our Sveti Trojica church. Our priest, when I was introduced, smiled warmly and told me, “You are zet.” It didn’t mean much to me back then, but as my journey to the heart of the Balkans unfolded, the idea that zet would come to be a part of my identity proved to be prescient on his part. I recently spoke with him at our Srpski Dan festival last summer (see SAN 18, Fall 2019, page 22 for my exposé) and delighted him with the knowledge that the nickname he gave me had not only become important to me, but was a name I give to both my articles for SAN and the expression of my Serbian odyssey.

Now, if I am a zet, it is of course firstly in the traditional sense of being wed to a Serbian woman. And with this particular girl I eventually married, by virtue of the similarities between the quality of life in the nation of her youth and the one she had chosen to move to, I found myself relating easily. I learned about her home and then watched it being pummeled on television for seventy-eight straight nights. Those sorts of things took their toll on a couple, with one feeling helpless from afar and the other feeling helpless right beside.

But the darkness lifted and our life together moved along, bringing us a child and then Serbia as a summer holiday destination. When we first met, Jelena was newly arrived and on an implicit journey, like many immigrants, towards becoming a Canadian.  Unexpected was the fact that our union put me on a similar path towards Serbia and Serbian culture. And for both of these journeys, my gratitude is truly endless.

Looking back on the last twenty years, and the last twenty issues of SAN, it is clear to me that this voyage and the opportunity to share it with you in this column are cherished gifts. The beauty and wonder revealed by the many layers of Serbia’s history colour my summers and inspire my heart with curiosity. I have my wife to thank: what wonderful rewards have sprung from my coupling with that Belgrade girl! And if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Ja sam srpski zet.