Memories flow in and out. The good, the bad, all of it. As a young girl in a family of seven, what I wanted didn’t matter. Although I had my own personal desires, the majority of the things I wanted were for my family not for me. Actually, I remember wanting to buy this black jacket for myself. It was one of the few things I actually wanted. My father gave me money to buy it for myself but my oldest brother told me he would give me his jacket so that I could spend that money on something else. What brought me the greatest joy was going into this little store a mile or two away from my house. It was a poor, little store with the smallest aisles. There was dust practically everywhere, but this old lady worked behind the counter and was so sweet that I felt obligated to come back. She would always ask how my family was doing and how school was going. The woman didn’t have much family of her own. When holidays came, I invited her over to my house so that she would have someone to spend it with. The people in my community also felt bad for her, so we usually switched on and off between turns of inviting her to our family gatherings.  Most of the items were on racks and shelves. Instead of buying clothes like the rest of the female population, I bought a ton of junk food for my brother and me. I ended up sharing it with all of my siblings and that didn’t end well..Since all of them were older than me, they took the majority of the food. However, seeing them happy was the best thing I could “buy”.

School was in session and I was hurrying to get ready and pack my things. It was about eight in the morning and I had woken up late. I usually woke up around five thirty in order to feed the animals but my mother told me that she and some of my older siblings would do that today so that I could sleep in. On any given day, I would wake up before the sun rise, go to the field and greet the animals. I had to feed them and make sure they were safe. Every once in awhile, a bad storm would come by and scare the animals. Some of them break loose every now and then so I usually check the fence to make sure it’s still intact. At school, I would be expected to recite the teacher’s lecture back to her in order to prove that I was paying attention. When I went to school, physical punishment was allowed. Oh how things have changed...I remember this boy getting in trouble for not being able to afford a notebook. The teacher specifically ordered students to have one notebook primarily for his class not to be used for another class as well. Now I understand why he would want that. However, he should’ve known that some people couldn’t afford a book let alone a different notebook for every class. The boy’s family lived on the poor side of town. His family was exceptionally sweet; they would make you feel as if you were one of their own. Although he didn’t have much to offer, his personality and manners were like no other’s. I am still in shock; how did the teacher have the audacity to call him out? We’ve been with the same teacher for a couple of years now. He should’ve known that the boy couldn’t afford it. Many of us at this time couldn’t afford it but our parents managed to scrape some money together to buy us supplies. What surprised me even more was the boy’s reaction. The young boy didn’t argue with the teacher instead he just bowed his head down, ashamed and didn’t know what to say. It was that moment in which I realized those who don’t have much, often end up being the most sincere. It’s funny how several years later we still remember memories such as these. These memories that show us who we really are.

As I now tell my children, back then when I was a child we had to walk miles and miles to get to school in all kinds of weather. I find it funny how they complain about a foot of snow and having to ride the school bus and yet when I was their age, the snow was almost as tall as me. It would usually take me about forty minutes to get home if I took a shortcut through the woods. However, this one day I decided to go into town and visit that little store I was in love with. I remember this day vividly. As I was walking down the street, there was not a single person to be seen. This is particularly strange, ominous even. I was wearing my brother’s jacket that I adored, loose jeans, and some old shoes handed down to me from my aunt.
All of a sudden, the ground started shaking and rumbling. I could see about a mile ahead when I saw something in the distance. It was huge. Something I hadn’t seen before but I instantly figured out what it was. In English, you would call it a tank. I immediately hid behind a trash can by the side of a building hoping not to be seen. As it was coming down the street, I saw armed soldiers following it. The tank knocked everything down in its path. Stray dogs sensed danger was approaching and started barking and growling. A man came off of the tank. That’s when the soldier in the back pulled out his sniper rifle. The tank kept rolling but he stayed behind and strayed from the other soldiers. He stopped in his tracks and lifted up the rifle keeping it level to the ground beneath him. Booom By the time I figured out what he was doing, it was too late. The shot had been fired and the dog fell to the ground, blood coming out of his abdomen. The remaining dogs quickly ran to the bleeding dog, barking in order to get someone’s attention. They started licking him and trying to pick him up. The amount of effort they put in was tremendous. Instead of feeling guilty, the soldier lifted his head back laughing at the dogs for trying to help. How could the soldier do that? Was he not human? I stopped thinking about him, scared I would accidentally say something aloud.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. If he and his men could kill thousands of innocent human beings, then they had no soul. They had no emotions. They couldn’t feel guilty. That was impossible for them. It was as if they had no sense of judgement. The war stories I hear of today are a thousand times worse than I thought of at that time.

Once the tank moved past me, I continued walking by the side of the building hoping to get to the woods close by. I had completely forgotten about the store. All I wanted to do was go home and make sure my family was safe. As I approached the woods, the sky darkened and an eerie gloom appeared. Going through the woods may not have been the best decision for a seventeen year old girl, but it was better than being stuck with a tank. I sprinted for my life in there, afraid that something or someone would jump up at me. Leaves rustled and twigs snapped as I ran. I felt as if there was somebody behind me, but I was too scared to look. I just hoped to come home and find my family safe.

When I got home, everything was quiet. No one was outside. The animals were nowhere to be seen. I hurried inside to see where everyone was. When I opened the door, I didn’t see anyone. I decided to check all the rooms but I had no luck in finding them. When I realized that they were gone, I went into my room to put my jacket in my closet. As I opened the closet door, I saw something inside. I quickly opened the door and jumped back hoping that it would not jump out. It wasn’t a stranger like I assumed, instead my brothers jumped out. They both instantly hugged me and were crying. When I asked what happened, they explained to me that the war had started and the enemies were searching all of the houses. After about fifteen minutes of explaining what was going on, I decided to ask where my sisters and parents were. I wanted to ask earlier but I was afraid of the response. Then they started laughing. I was so confused. Why were they laughing? I was being serious. When they realized I was serious, they said that they were in my parents’ room. Then I realized that I had completely forgotten to check my parent's room. I quickly ran into their room and hugged them, not letting go until they forced me to stop hugging them. Streams of tears rolled down my face. No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t stop. It was no use. I was just so happy that my family was safe. They immediately questioned me regarding my whereabouts and if I saw anything. I told them about the tank and the dog. They knew what was coming. However, I did not. I was in for a huge surprise, and it was definitely not the good kind.
The next few months dragged on. As the war progressed, there was no power. More importantly, there was no heat, or food, or water. People learned how to share and care for each other. During war times, it’s important to share food and water with those who don’t have any. People were risking their lives to save others. Those who were hurt could not be taken to the hospital personally. Family and friends risked their lives to get the injured on public transportation in order to get to the hospital.
Serbian soldiers were on their way to Srebrenica. They were planning to attack. As they were approaching my city, Naser Oric, the general of our army, and our soldiers successfully defended Srebrenica and got them out of there. However, the Serbian soldiers didn’t give up. Instead, they decided to attack all of the little villages like Osat, which is where my family was living at the time.
We stayed in our village from 1992-1993. Every day there were grenades near Osat. You could see the debris arising from the nearby villages that were attacked. All I could wonder was what did these people do to deserve this. What was so bad about these towns and villages that they felt the need to destroy them? I knew this wasn’t the end of the violence. We knew they would come to our village soon. We tried to prepare but there isn’t much you can do. The war was already here. Food was becoming sparse as was water. When they tried to come back into our village, Oric was successful once again thankfully. In 1993, they returned and surrounded us from all sides and threatened us. It reminded me of a snake, their plan that is. A snake circles around its prey and suffocates them. This was kind of what happened. They destroyed all of the towns on the areas near our present day country’s border. The only place left to go was Srebrenica.  Srebrenica was declared the “safe haven”.  The Dutch were commanded by the United Nations to protect us. The U.N. declared that our soldiers couldn’t have weapons here. They said we would be safe, that there was no way that we could get hurt. There was no way that they could come in, they said. These promises gave us hope, something to  desire. I was a fool for believing them...

We needed food and water. I knew that the truck was coming soon. Since we were in the safe haven and the war was still going on, we hardly had any food. There wasn’t any salt. Sometimes I would be lucky enough to find some corn or bread. These trucks were supposed to be our saviors from famine. They were accepted by shelters and everyone would line up to receive food. They had to decide how much food to give to everyone. It was never enough. People were  There was a huge soccer game going on at this time. By the school, there was a huge field and here, the majority of our people gathered to enjoy themselves in the midst of the war. I guess the Serbians knew of this because a short while later, they sent grenades flying onto the field. They decided to throw grenades here because there were a lot of people.  I saw it coming. I immediately took cover and was farther away from the field than most people. They didn’t see it coming. When they  finally stopped, I had to take this road in order to get home. I hurried after seeing all of the bodies flying.  The sight of the children was the worst. They were the lightest of the crowd and almost instantly died when the grenades ruptured.  Bodies flew through the air and landed on others. I feared my brothers  were here because they loved to watch these games. I couldn’t stay and potentially see them if they were here. What if they got hurt? What if they were killed? I couldn’t bear the thought. I quickly ran through the field towards the road that led to my house.  I ran and didn’t look back. I hoped there weren’t any more vicious attacks going on throughout the country.  I remember I was wearing these clunky sandals which most definitely were not made for running. I almost twisted my ankle at least three times just on my way home. As I approached my house, I saw smoke coming from the side that was facing me. A grenade had hit an empty field near our house. My father was sitting near the window and looking outside when it happened. He saw it coming but due to his poor health he couldn’t move fast enough. The grenade shattered our window and severely injured my father. He was weak as it was due to a sickness that caused his bones to be weaker than most. After suffering for a few days, he died. I wish I could say he died painlessly. But that was not the case. He just grew weaker and weaker. You could tell death was coming and we couldn’t do anything about it. We just had to watch.
War is no time for children. No food or water and progressively worsened living conditions meant that children would get sick easily. I remember a family friend of mine who had an infant son. Although she loved her son very dearly, she wanted him to have a better life. Once the war started, she knew she had to get him out of there. She couldn’t leave her homeland and her mother but she wanted a better future for her son. She knew that buses came once in a while to take children out of the dangerous conditions. I can’t imagine how she felt. She had to give her son up to a stranger. Her mother and she fought their way to the front of the crowd in order to get to the bus and hand the child to someone in hopes of saving him. Days went on without her son, then months, then years. I haven’t been in touch with her since. However, my mother told me that she found her son and were living together once again. They built a new house in the capital and she found a new job.

Faith is tenacious. It sticks with us and encourages us all to persevere for something greater is coming.
Survivors of the war still have nightmares of the past events. The blood, the gore, the unspeakable acts, all were experienced by these few who survived. They were attacked not in unsettled areas, but in their homeland, in the centers of cities and towns. The news of the war was spreading quickly. It doesn’t hit you until it comes to where you live, where your family and friends reside. That’s what makes it personal.
I had no previous knowledge of the hatred towards our people including myself. I was in high school when the fighting began. They claimed we were not people. That we were not as great as them. That our people weren’t a part of society. But little did they know that over the course of the war, over 8,000 citizens were killed. Over 8,000 citizens were now missing from society. No, that did not occur to them. How were we not people? How were we any different from their neighbors?

They say, “as soon as one is born, one starts dying.” This is true but what about the 8,000 men and boys who were still young, who had the majority of their lives left to live. Did they deserve this? Did each individual of the 8,372 persons who died do something specifically to the opponents to make them want to hurt them? Did the several young women and girls do anything to make the opponents rape them? When they rounded all the females and children up in the school gymnasium, I knew something horrible was about to happen. They pulled the mothers away from their children and took them back to their hotel rooms and gang raped them. These rapes happened all day and night. They wanted to impregnate the women. The only way to get out of being raped was to already be pregnant. The worst part was when they came back the following morning and specifically asked for women by names. Sometimes they would give them different names so that they would have a loss of identification. Their identity was all they had left and yet the soldiers succeeded in taking that away too. The soldiers wanted earrings, money, and any other valuables the women had on themselves. When the women refused to give them their valuables, the men would place children on tables and place a knife at their throat threatening that if the women withheld their valuables they would slit the child’s throat. The women became hysterical, screaming at the soldiers. They always ended up finding and rounding up just enough valuables to give to the soldiers. Some women that were in the gymnasium with me were taken away and never seen again. I think it was a total of five women, the youngest being 16. The other men said they were taken to become prostitutes. However, I also heard that a few of them escaped or were released. I’ve never seen those women before nor knew who they were. I hope that they escaped and found a better future for themselves.

All of the people were separated by gender. The men and boys were either killed on the spot or bussed to mass killing sites. The women and girls were bussed to different locations where many were raped and tortured.  They claimed that what they were doing was ethnic cleansing. They claimed it was for the greater good. Is it any different now than how it was back then? Families were broken, destroyed, and ripped apart.
As the war approached, families were becoming more and more confused. Children stopped going to school due to the fighting. Parents worked hard to be able to provide for their families. They struggled for food during the war. Everyone received small portions. I knew that my brothers would need greater strength than me so I gave them most of my portions. I am still horrified by the images in my head of men so thin, all bones with hardly any skin. I look back at pictures of war victims and am disgusted by how someone could do this to our people. As the war grew closer to my hometown, the struggles intensified. My brothers were separated from my mother, my sisters, and I. I remember not knowing if I would ever see them again.
At certain times of this struggle, I wish I would have been killed like the rest of them. However, I knew that I had to be strong for my mother. Being the youngest of the family may have its perks at times, but during a life or death situation is mostly a negative factor. People didn’t expect you to survive. I knew somehow that I was going to get through this, that somehow my family would persevere through this difficult time.
When the war was coming to an end, there were lists with names of the deceased posted where we were staying. I checked it every day, hoping not to see a familiar name. Someone told me that my brother had survived and that he was on his way there. I didn’t know if they were talking about my oldest brother or my other brother. My oldest brother was my best friend. He was the strongest of the group. I knew he would survive.
I remember looking up at the hill and seeing someone cut through the crowd. I knew it was my brother. As he came closer, I realized that it was not my oldest brother. It was the younger brother. I was still excited though. I sprinted toward him and jumped into his arms. We both broke out in tears. I asked him where our brother was. I have never seen the amount of sadness in my brother’s eyes before. His face went pale and he looked as if his soul was torn out of him. He was not aware that our brother had not arrived. He explained to me that they were running through the woods together hoping to arrive at a safe haven. They somehow escaped the cruel soldiers taking men and boys to their death. That day, they ran along with 15,000 other men through the woods. Thirty two days later, here he is in the refugee camp in Zivinice. He told us that after running in the woods for over a month he finally reached the city of Kladanj, a safe zone 30 miles away from Srebrenica. When he was safe, he went looking for us and found us here at the refuge camp.
“When the soldiers found us, they immediately started shooting.”, he stated.

“What did you do?” I asked. “Where is he? Where is my best friend? Please tell me he’s alive. Tell me that he survived. I’m begging you!”  

“We had to split up. It was his idea. The group of men that we were travelling with was attacked and we got split up. I didn’t want to go without him but he pushed me away and made me run without him.” he said with tears streaming down his face. I wiped the tears off his face and asked him how he survived and how he managed to find us. He explained to me that he and our brother had no food or water to live on. They searched for streams and drank pond water. At certain points, the water was very dirty and caused them to become very ill. I stood back and finally looked at my brother. I looked him up and down. His shoes were torn apart and had holes everywhere. He complained about all the blisters on his feet but he was grateful that he survived. I thought about all the storms that occurred and how he had to run through the woods with hardly any shoes. His pants were ripped and stained with dirt and grass. His shirt was no longer white. It was a mixture of green and brown. The sleeves had been torn and the shirt itself was coming apart. The thread at the hem was becoming undone and I remember thinking that if someone pulled on the thread itself, the entire shirt would  fall apart.

Although that was the day I found out one of my brothers was alive, it was the saddest day of my life. My best friend was gone. This is a struggle I live with to this day. I had no idea how to tell the rest of my family that my one of my brothers did not survive. I remember my mother crying for days at a time. Not only was her husband gone but so was her eldest son. In 1993, a grenade hit our family home and that was when we lost our father. My family was never the same.
Now, twenty years later, they say this was not a genocide. If it wasn’t a genocide, what was it? What do you call an attack on a society because of their ethnicity? They said it was ethnic cleansing, that it was for the greater good. I wonder how they would feel if someone were to attack their people. 8,372 deaths were confirmed. That number does not include those who are missing. The attackers “buried” them in several mass grave sites. It wasn’t really a burial. It was more like dumping bodies. The worst part was that these bodies weren’t placed in one burial site. They were split up. The bones of one body could be found in five of these burial sites. Serbians took our family members away. They split their remains. I can’t even mourn the loss of my brother correctly. After not seeing my brother since 1995, in the year of 2012 I finally received a call from Tuzla informing me that my brother’s remains were found. Seventeen years later… In some way I guess you could say that I should have been happy that his remains were found..that this should have brought me closure. Well that’s not exactly what happened. Even after all of these years, I hoped that maybe, somewhere, he was alive. That he was living and enjoying life. Maybe he had a family. Maybe he couldn’t find us. Maybe he couldn’t contact us. My dreams and deepest desires were now shattered. That small light that burned inside of me, giving me hope, was now burnt out. The light disappeared. It was as if I lost him all over again.

Every year in my hometown new individuals who were finally identified are properly buried. In the casket, you might expect a whole body or at least all the bones. I remember children asking me if the casket was heavy. The casket itself is heavy, but what is inside the casket is not heavy. Some only carry a few bones.
The siege went on for forty-four months. During the siege, 380,000 residents lived without electricity, water, or heat. They hid from the 330 shells a day that smashed into the city.  Twenty years after the war began, 12,000 red empty chairs were laid out in the capital to represent all the lives lost. A majority of the chairs were small in order to represent the lives of children who were lost.

My family was broken apart at this point. No one could describe the sadness and the pain that we went through. Our homes were burned to the ground. We had nowhere to go. After the war, I went to the capital of my country. Here, I ran into my future husband. Although the war was detrimental, it brought me to my future. Towards the end of the year of 1998, we got married and moved to America. At our new home, we found new jobs and started a life together. The following year, we started a family. We settled in an area near other people from our hometown. Afterward, we visited our family back in Europe and within the next few months, two of my sisters and my brother moved to America and settled near us. However,  one of my sisters and my mother stayed in Europe. I only wish that my oldest brother was here so that we could enjoy our lives together. Every few years, we return to our homeland to visit family. Stepping off the plane, the memories, both positive and negative,  always come rushing back. These experiences have made me who I am today. They made me stronger as an individual. Although I know everyone will experience hard times at some point, I also know that I want to live my life to the fullest.