12/06/2026
This.
I am from Bosnia - The Misunderstood World Cup Song
by IVANA DRAGICEVIC
My son wanted to bring Dubioza Kolektiv to Canada. It was a perfect Balkan plan. After Bosnia and Herzegovina defeated Italy and qualified for the World Cup, an old Dubioza song became the anthem of the national team. Tens of thousands flooded streets of Sarajevo, celebrating and chanting: “I am from Bosnia, take me to America”. It was the chorus that resonated with the country and the tournament before the World Cup had even begun.
“Give me their number, we have to organize their concert in Toronto at the tournament opening, it would be a blast!” My son’s enterpreneurial spirit possesed our living room, with the social media euphoria and the knowledge that I’m the friend of the band. But his business oriented mindset and overconfidence, together with the long standing affection for their music, was soon faced with reality. Dubioza Kolektiv, itself a travelling republic, noisy embassy of people who spread joy around the world on stadiums in front of large crowds, with the lyrics that hit hard and are sometimes wrapped in seductive brass section, dissect the world from the Balkan perspective. Often in their career, they have been told to wait: for peace, dignity. This time, like many times before, for visas or working permits. This was, in a way, their story too. They can be global success. But, at the end, they do come from the Balkans.
I am from Bosnia, take me to America
I really want to see Statue of Liberty
I can no longer wait, take me to United States
Take me to Golden Gate, I will assimilate…
Soon after the Bosnia and Herzegovina qualified for the World Cup, TikTok picked-upt the song, originally named “U.S.A.” People who could not find the country on a map found the chorus through alghoritms. International media, from BBC to Fox News picked it up and treated it as a comic Balkan football chant, betting it will outperform Shakira, funny because the English was broken. But the song was never a joke, more of a self-reflection, or a quest for self-respect. Of all the Balkan people in this world. Who think the grass is greener on the other side, who have to migrate, to surive. Just to find out at the end… Well, let’s reinterpret the song, for the sake of geopolitics . And the World Cup, of course.
Balkan instinct that the future is always somewhere else, to me always sounded like the overall tragedy of a region where mothers more and more raise children to first - love the homeland and then quietly help them pack.
The grass is always greener in neighbour’s courtyard
I wish to leave this nightmare, go to the promised land
Please, take me to your leader, I want my green card
I want to fly over like a rocket from the Balkans
I want to start all over, and turn a new page
Forget this dreadful story, escape the Stone Age
I’m waiting for a chance to get out of the cage
I feel like a slave on a minimal wage
There are many reasons for people leaving the countries of the region. But, talking about the context, when you hear this song today, there are many more meanings and interpretations. Tomorrow, BiH plays Canada in Toronto. Officially it is Group B, Match 3. Unofficially it is the most perfect migration essay FIFA never intended to commission: Bosnia and Herzegovina, the country lot of people left, Canada, the country many dreamed of reaching, U.S.A. the dream country in the song, which at the end is not like a dream at all, Mexico, the other co-host, living forever next to the American dream, “promised land” and its fences.
There are many stories that will run on the pitch tomorrow, but for me, one of the most beautiful sport stories is the one of Esmir Bajraktarevic. One year older than my son, born in Wisconsin, formed in the United States. A young footballer who could have belonged neatly to the country of his birth, if history ever allowed Balkan children to belong neatly anywhere. His parents fled Srebrenica. He played in the American national team. Then he chose Bosnia.
“I carry it in my blood.” He once said.
The world likes football because football makes complicated lives legible. A shirt does what a passport cannot. A boy born in Appleton can carry Srebrenica into Toronto. A team can include Muslims, Catholics, Orthodox, diaspora children, domestic league survivors, men whose grandparents would not have stood together in the same political sentence. Then the whistle blows and, for ninety minutes, the map finally behaves.
Meanwhile, the World Cup of unity has met the other borders.
Somali referee Omar Abdulkadir Artan, selected for the tournament, was denied entry into the United States despite reportedly holding a valid visa. Reuters reported that he had been set to become the first Somali to officiate at a World Cup; U.S. authorities cited security concerns, while FIFA said it does not control immigration decisions.
Gianni Infantino, standing before the world on the eve of the opener, reached for the language of the tired parent and the careful bureaucrat. FIFA, he said, was “not kings of the world.” People should “chill, relax.”
Tell that to a Somali referee at Miami airport. Tell that to fans from countries whose teams qualified but whose passports now arrive carrying suspicion. In the U.S. State Department’s FY2025 B-visa refusal table, Bosnia and Herzegovina stood at 14.89 percent. Iran was 62.44 percent. Ghana was 64.34 percent. Senegal was 73.96 percent. Somalia, not a team in this story, but the one from Minneapolis, and the recent ICE battle, was 83.52 percent.
That promise has always been double. Come. Do not come. Work. Do not ask for belonging. Entertain us. Score goals. Cook food. Drive taxis. Build hospitals. Win medals. Referee our matches. But at the border, please explain yourself.
The Balkans know this script. It lived for decades inside the grammar of conditional welcome.
Europe says: reform first. Rule of law first. Institutions first. France and others speak of conditionality, gradual integration, absorption capacity. The European Commission’s Growth Plan for the Western Balkans promises access to parts of the single market, deeper reform, regional cooperation, and more pre-accession funding before full membership. Policy people call this pragmatic. Balkan people hear: not yet. Internal EU crisis are more and more caused by its own cowardice.
The OECD says about one-fifth of the population born in the Western Balkan lives abroad. That is not only brain drain. It is heart drain. Nurse drain. Engineer drain. Goalkeeper drain. It is the quiet export of Sunday lunches, jokes and future taxpayers. And then the same Europe wonders why nationalism always becomes a cheap substitute for dignity. When the future is delayed long enough, someone will always sell you a fake story.
Dubioza understands the region better than Brussels. The song about the absurdity of a world in which departure becomes more credible than hope. Its pidgin English maybe makes people laugh, because if it was understood correctly it would make them scream.
At the same time, home can be corrupt, poor, cruel, exhausted and full of men and ideas who have been in charge since last century, but home is also the smell of coffee, the aunt who overfeeds you, the stadium, the curse word that no other language can translate properly. You can leave a country and still carry its weather in your bones. To migrate is not easy, and it is never to steal from someone else, it is to find your chance under this Sun. While there is still this big lie, that we all really do have the same chance.
I hoped I′d find what I need, I’ll be free like a bird
Now we’re pushed in a ghetto like a sheep in a herd
All the promises I heard became empty words
Completely disconnected from the rest of the world
The grass is never greener in neighbor′s courtyard
I want to start all over, return to no man′s land
Send greetings to your leader, don’t want your green card
I want to fly back like a rocket to the Balkans…
On the same day Bosnia plays Canada, the EU’s new Pact on Migration and Asylum enters into application. The EU says the pact is meant to manage migration and update the common asylum system. So while Bosnian fans sing in Toronto, a Somali referee is not allowed in the USA, while Europe tightens procedures, while Balkan youth keep leaving, while politicians say “values” and nothing changes, football will again try to do the impossible – be, at its best the opposite of the border.
A young man from Wisconsin whose parents fled Srebrenica puts on a Bosnia and Herzegovina jersey. Maybe there won’t be a Dubioza concert in Toronto, but a song everyone thinks is funny, will erupt on the stadium. And this will become a history lesson with trumpets.
Damn it. I’ll cry.
One day, when you reach the end
One day, you will understand
One day, back to roots my friend
No place like a motherland…
