In the first century BCE, the Greek geographer Strabo noted that the inhabitants of the Balkan interior were both poor and tattooed, “as other Illyrian tribes.” The remark is among the earliest written references to a practice that would later take on particular meaning in what is now Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Known locally as sicanje (or bocanje), literally meaning “to prick,” the tattooing tradition gained prominence during the often brutal Ottoman rule (1463–1878). Over time it developed a distinctive role among the region’s predominantly ethnically Croatian Roman Catholic population.

For the autochthonous Croats of Bosnia, what may once have been a tribal ornament evolved into a visible testament to suffering, resilience and survival through four centuries of Ottoman domination.

Crosses, circles, dots and comb-like bands were pricked into the hands, arms and sometimes chests of children in rituals blending devotion, protection and communal identity. The tattoos were most commonly applied to young girls — though sometimes to boys as well — beginning as early as six years old. Skin became a portable archive, proof of belonging carried into uncertainty.

Girls were marked more frequently. Parents hoped that visible Christian symbols might deter abduction or forced marriage. Whether such hopes were fulfilled remains doubtful; historical evidence is sparse. Yet the intention is legible in the designs themselves. Each mark was less an embellishment than a declaration.

By the early twentieth century, ethnographers were documenting what they described as “common tattooing.”

Croatian historian Ćiro Truhelka and physician-anthropologist Leopold Glück observed that while tattooing as a marker of affiliation existed elsewhere, it was especially prevalent among Catholic women in central Bosnia — around Sarajevo, Travnik, Fojnica and neighboring towns.

Both hands were typically marked, often with the left more densely tattooed than the right. Arms bore patterns above and below the elbow; some women carried fine lines along the sternum or a small sign on the forehead. In extreme cases, the blue-green tracery grew so dense that the natural colour of the skin nearly disappeared.

After the Second World War, when Bosnia became part of socialist Yugoslavia, the social climate shifted. The new communist state promoted a secular, supra-ethnic identity, and conspicuous rural religious customs were discouraged.

The practice of sicanje declined sharply. By the latter half of the century it survived mostly on the hands of elderly women, their faded markings resembling maps to an earlier social order.

Yet the lines endured — thin, bluish, stubborn. They recall Strabo’s ancient observation and underline a broader truth: in Bosnia’s layered history, identity was often inscribed not only in archives and borders but in skin, where belief, fear and belonging were once pricked into permanence.

Fast forward to today. The Croatian ethno band Lelek, Croatia’s entry in the 2026 Eurovision contest with the song “Andromeda,” has revived debate about the practice of sicanje — quite literally by wearing the tattoo motifs across their bodies, including their faces.

When the all-female members of Lelek speak about their Eurovision entry, they describe it as more than a competition song. For them, “Andromeda” represents a meeting point between music, memory and identity.

The group says the song resonated immediately because it reflects both their artistic direction and the story they want to share with audiences.

Blending contemporary ethno-pop with traditional influences, “Andromeda” brings elements of heritage closer to modern listeners while opening space for a historical and social narrative that is rarely discussed.

The melody, harmonies and lyrics, they say, felt like a natural bridge to that story. Very quickly, the members realized the song was not just a Eurovision entry but an expression of what the Lelek project stands for.

For each of the five members — Inka Večerina Perušić, Judita Štorga, Korina Olivia Rogić, Lara Brtan and Marina Ramljak — the song carries personal meaning. They describe it as a reflection of their desire to speak about women and women’s history through music, while addressing the strength required to preserve identity despite social pressures.

In Greek mythology, the prophecy of Andromeda decreed that Princess Andromeda must be sacrificed to the sea monster Cetus to appease Poseidon after her mother, Queen Cassiopeia, boasted her beauty exceeded that of the Nereids. Chained to a coastal rock, she was saved by the hero Perseus, who used Medusa’s head to slay the monster.

Beyond mythology, Andromeda is also the nearest major galaxy to the Milky Way — one that scientists say will eventually collide with our own in roughly a billion years.

Lelek says this cosmic image reflects the theme of continuity and stories passed down through generations: stories of pain and resilience, but also of courage and self-determination. Each member says she has found moments of reflection in the song, as well as inspiration to encourage others.

Graphically represented by the tattoo imagery, “Andromeda” honours and celebrates the strength of women — a strength that ensured not only their own survival but also that of their communities.

The song also echoes themes found in other musical traditions. One can hear faint parallels to Gloria Gaynor’s 1978 hit “I Will Survive,” though on a broader national rather than personal scale, or Nina Simone’s “Four Women” (1966), albeit with a Slavic rather than African inflection.

Closer comparisons exist as well. The 1997 song “You can have my body but not my soul” by the Bosnian cult band Zabranjeno pušenje similarly explores dispossession, though at a simpler economic level.

Against that backdrop, the line from “Andromeda” — “Take me for yourself, Queen Earth. The soul is yours, to them I’m a body” — forms a striking counterpoint to the earlier refrain “You can have my body but not my soul.”

Lelek says one of the central ideas behind the song is using tradition to speak about what has long been silenced — fear, pain and resistance passed from mother to daughter, what some today call “trans generational trauma.”

One lyric captures this duality: “As you light a candle, ask your grandmother why her daughter gave birth in fear.”

For the band, the line represents both fragility and strength. It reflects the fear and suffering many women have experienced across generations, but also their resilience and determination to preserve identity and values.

This tension between vulnerability and endurance forms the core of the story they want to tell. In their view, “Andromeda” ultimately speaks about the weight of history — and the remarkable ability to carry that weight with dignity and courage.

Although rooted in a specific historical and cultural context, the band believes the song’s message can resonate far beyond Croatia. Themes of identity, resilience and the struggle for freedom, they say, are universal.

Women and marginalized communities around the world may recognize their own experiences within the narrative, while Croatian listeners can connect with its cultural and historical framework.

While the title references the princess chained to a rock for decisions she neither made nor could control, the band says their interpretation draws even more heavily from the symbolism of the Andromeda galaxy itself.

In the songwriter’s vision, Andromeda represents women’s and minority rights — something vast and powerful, steadily approaching like a galaxy moving through space. Eventually it collides with reality and demands recognition.

The myth of the chained princess reinforces the metaphor: both myth and reality contain moments when individuals face circumstances beyond their control. Yet the symbol of Andromeda, like the galaxy itself, continues moving forward and expanding, unstoppable.

Another lyric reflects on the recurring nature of injustice: “Many tears have flowed like a river, why is history written from scratch?”

The group says the line does not reference any single historical moment. Instead, it reflects a broader human pattern: societies recognize injustice and suffering, yet repeatedly allow similar mistakes to recur. The lyric becomes a metaphor for both the cycle of injustice and the resilience required to endure it.

Through their performance, Lelek also hopes to highlight lesser-known cultural traditions, including the visual use of sicanje. The band believes presenting such traditions through music can spark curiosity among audiences unfamiliar with them.

They also hope listeners may become interested in other aspects of Croatian heritage, including the ancient Glagolitic characters, Croatia’s historical sagas, or the Arvatica script — also known as “Croatian Cyrillic” or “Bosančica.”

For Lelek, the project is not simply entertainment but an attempt to bridge contemporary artistic expression with deep cultural roots.

Symbols play an important role in the song’s imagery as well. The star — a central motif in both the song and sicanje — has long been associated with rebirth and guidance across cultures.

For Bosnia’s increasingly marginialised Croats, this is more than just tokenistic imagery.

In “Andromeda,” the band sees the star as a universal symbol pointing forward. It is not tied to a single community or identity but offers direction to anyone seeking freedom, belonging or self-expression. In that sense, the message deliberately transcends borders — and even, in a way, time and space.

Given the tense political climate in Europe today, the group acknowledges that audiences may interpret the song in different ways. But they stress that “Andromeda” is not intended as a criticism of any religion or culture.

Instead, it focuses on personal and collective identity and the experiences that shape it over time. The members believe audiences across Eurovision countries will recognize universal emotions within the story: the desire for rights, freedom and belonging.

Their aim, they say, is not to provoke controversy but to encourage empathy and reflection.

While Eurovision inevitably brings hopes of success, Lelek says its ambitions extend beyond the competition. The contest is an opportunity to strengthen what they call the “Lelek project” and expand interest in contemporary ethno music.

More importantly, they hope their performance will spark conversations about history, tradition and identity — and inspire young artists to explore their cultural roots through music.

Ultimately, they want to build a bridge between audiences and heritage, leaving behind inspiration for future generations of performers.

The myth of Andromeda carries several lessons: the consequences of injustice, the power of courage and deliverance, and the triumph of love over destruction.

In the myth, Perseus and Andromeda marry, and after her death the goddess Athena places her in the sky as a constellation.

Lelek’s “Andromeda,” whatever its final Eurovision result, will certainly take its place in the contest’s constellation, and will be remembered alongside the cultural tradition of sicanje long after this year’s competition has ended.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)