Some moments stay with us forever. This was mine. Thank you for connecting with Remember Me. 💔
~Sanela
“The initial takeover included the attack on the town of Kozarac near Prijedor, on 24 May 1992, which included two days of artillery barrage and an assault by a mechanised brigade of troops. As a result, some 800 civilians out of a population of around 4,000 were killed.” ~Source
This time of year always brings up feelings of fear, overwhelming sadness, and a sense of not being wanted in the world or in life in general.
I witnessed the most horrible things happening to my family, friends, neighbors, and ultimately to me… I survived, but many didn’t.
The year was 1992. It felt like hell on earth. In Europe, in a country called Yugoslavia, in a smaller place called Bosnia, and an even smaller town called Prijedor with its surrounding municipalities, everything was being torn apart. People I loved were consumed by evil: murder, torture, concentration and rape camps… Why?
This year marks thirty-two years since the attack on Kozarac.
I would like to share an excerpt from a book called Love Thy Neighbor: A Story of War by Peter Maass (An American Journalist).
I highly recommend this book. It is the first book I have read on the subject that describes Bosnia and Croatia in 1992 and 1993 exactly as they were, exactly how I saw it, but from a foreign person’s perspective.
Peter Maass worked as a foreign correspondent from 1983 to 1995, based in Asia and Europe. His articles have appeared in the Washington Post, The New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, and The New Republic. His wartime dispatches from the Balkans led to his selection as a finalist for the 1993 Livingston Award for International Reporting. He is currently a magazine writer and lives in New York City.
Nationalist Serbs staged a nighttime coup to take over (my town) Prijedor. There wasn’t much fighting because the Serbs were well armed and there was no resistance to speak of. No one else was prepared for war. The man named Kovacevic organized the takeover.
In this excerpt, Peter Maass talks about the attack on Kozarac. Continue reading →
~Sanela
Sanela Ramić Jurich is a distinguished author and accomplished public speaker with a compelling background. Hailing from Prijedor, Bosnia, she entered the world in 1976, just as the complex tapestry of the Yugoslav war began to unfold in the early 1990s. Precociously navigating the challenges of those tumultuous times, Sanela was merely fifteen years old when the conflict erupted.
Her literary contributions, exemplified by notable works such as “Remember Me” and “Haunting from the Past,” stand as poignant testaments to her lived experiences during the war. These masterfully crafted books not only showcase her prowess as an author but also serve as powerful conduits through which she shares her personal recollections of the era.
Currently residing in the vibrant city of Chicago, Sanela Ramić Jurich has established a harmonious life alongside her two cherished sons. Her journey from the ravages of conflict to her present abode is a testament to resilience, determination, and the indomitable human spirit. Through her words and public addresses, she continues to captivate audiences, shedding light on her remarkable narrative and the broader lessons that can be gleaned from her compelling journey.
© Sanela Ramic Jurich
We took just a change of clothing with us. My father’s friend told us not to bother bringing anything else, because it would be taken away anyway. He was there to show us which truck was the safest one for us. My father had to go sit at the front of the truck with other men, and my mother and I sat in the back with women. It was so crowded; I half-sat on mother’s lap. They covered the truck with some brown tarp and off we went.
It was an unbearably scorching August day, the air thick with a suffocating heat that clung to our skin like a second layer. We were crammed together, pressed against one another like frightened animals seeking refuge, yet there was no escape from the oppressive closeness. The stench of sweat mingled with the acrid smell of fear as we huddled beneath a tattered tarp, trying to shield ourselves from the harsh sun that beat down mercilessly.
In that stifling darkness, my stomach churned with a mixture of nausea and anxiety. The bag that held our final remnants of belongings became my reluctant confidante, bearing witness to the physical and emotional turmoil within me. I retched into it, my body betraying me as the revulsion and dread threatened to overwhelm every fiber of my being.
Amidst the agony of the moment, a different kind of urgency surfaced—my desperate need to relieve myself. The very core of my being seemed to ache with the necessity, as if every discomfort I felt was a microcosm of the larger suffering we were enduring. Each passing second felt like an eternity, my bladder aching as if it held not only my own desperation but the collective weight of our shattered lives.
A little while later, we stopped moving. An armed soldier peeked in, waving his gun. He demanded someone to come out and be his helper. After a few torturous moments of hoping and praying I wouldn’t get to be the chosen one, the soldier pointed a gun at “Him” and demanded “He” be his helper for the day.
“He” was my very first crush and the inspiration for Johnny’s character in Remember Me and Haunting from the Past.
The soldier handed him a bag and ordered him to go around and make sure people put all their valuables into the bag.
That went on the whole ride: they would stop the convoy every few minutes to steal from us. People ran out of things to give, so they started putting nail clippers and toothbrushes into the bag.
The soldier ordered us to lift up our shirts to make sure we weren’t hiding anything there. And I wanted to die. At that moment, I wished I could just die. I would have preferred “Him” to see me dead rather than with my shirt lifted up. When he got to where I was sitting, he opened up the bag, but he closed his eyes. I had to lift up my shirt. The soldier watched the whole time; I figured he would rather humiliate me than kill me. But “He”… he must have seen my humiliation, and so he closed his eyes. He will never know how much that meant to me.
The pain we endured transcended the physical, burrowing deep into our souls. It was a pain that defied words, leaving only a raw and unrelenting ache. As the hours dragged on, I couldn’t help but wonder how humans could inflict such suffering upon one another. The soldier’s demands, the humiliation, the theft—it all seemed like a twisted manifestation of humanity’s darkest aspects.
And then, in the midst of this nightmare, my gaze met his for one final moment. In those fleeting seconds, a world of unspoken emotions passed between us. His eyes held not just the fear and despair that clouded our lives, but also an inexplicable shame—as if we were the guilty ones, as if surviving this ordeal was itself a transgression.
The last stop the convoy made (before reaching our destination) was on Koričanske Stijene on Mount Vlašić. The Serb soldiers pointed their guns at all the men they wanted to take out and kill. “He,” too, was one of the chosen ones. He was seventeen.
The Serb army slaughtered over 250 innocent, unarmed (civilian) men that day.
The rest of us were taken to the other side of the mountain and thrown onto a field of mines…
The memory of that day continues to haunt me, an indelible mark etched upon my soul. The Koričani Cliffs massacre wasn’t just a historical event; it was a canvas of suffering, painted with the hues of fear, anguish, and desperation. Even now, years later, the weight of that day presses upon my heart, a reminder that the scars of such horrors never truly fade.
© Sanela Ramic Jurich. All rights reserved.
HAUNTING FROM THE PAST Sequel to REMEMBER ME is Available in AUDIO! (Plus a GIVEAWAY!)
IN CELEBRATION, I’m giving away a FREE audiobook to anyone promising to leave a review after they listen. Simply email sanela@sanelajurich.com and let me know you’ll do it. I will send you a code (US and UK only) to one FREE copy of Haunting from the Past to listen and review.
A Voice for the Voiceless – Deep and Honest; a Five Star Book Review by Author Gregory S. Lamb
“In spite of the dark tales contained within the pages, Jurich manages to leave readers with the hope that deep wounds can still heal. Ms. Jurich’s writing craft is superb and is well matched to her riveting debut novel, Remember Me. Jurich doesn’t hold back anything.”
—Gregory S. Lamb
Author of The People in Between
“Sanela Jurich continues to captivate book lovers in this sequel to Remember Me. She shows readers that having the courage to confront a painful past can bring hope to an uncertain future.”
—Lisa Tortorello
Author of My Hero, My Ding
As Selma tries to move on and recover from the horrible experience she had went through while living in Bosnia in 1992, where she and her parents had found themselves targets of the Bosnian war and where Selma had lost nearly all those she loved, was abused by those whom she once trusted, and had witnessed prejudice at its ugliest-the hell from which, she thought, she had finally escaped, found her in America and started haunting her again, reminding her that there was unfinished business someplace else.
Selma is a respected business woman, living in Chicago with the love of her life and their son. From the outside, it looks as if she finally has it all; career and family many people could only wish for. She thinks she is the luckiest person on the planet who had survived and escaped hell. One day she receives a phone call that forces her to go back to the place she had left behind almost two decades before. She had promised never to go back there, but now, she finds herself in a desperate situation from which there is no way out. She goes back to face her demons once again.
Will this trip finally push Selma over the edge and be the end of her? Who knows, it might even help her get some kind of conclusion. Follow Selma’s journey back to the past through despair, hatred, love, hope, and peace in this sequel to Remember Me by author Sanela Jurich.
Narrated by Lindsay Carrillo
Sample
Available on Audible.
“Sanela has a gift for sharing the very real feelings of her characters with the reader. I felt I really knew what Selma and the other characters created by Sanela were feeling. My emotions rose and fell with the feelings of her characters.”
When I was fifteen years old, my whole life changed in a blink of an eye…
I truly believe that I survived for one reason and one reason only: to tell our story, to give a voice to those who don’t have it anymore. I was there as a witness. As a survivor, I have an obligation. I have to talk about what happened in Bosnia in the early nineties, no matter the cost.
A Facebook memory reminded me today that I don’t advertise my second novel, Haunting from the Past, nearly as much as I do my first one, Remember Me, and I honestly don’t know why that is. I was told by a few reviewers, however, that the sequel might even be better than the first one. I call this one my book of closures.
The first one was my heart and soul poured unto paper, but this one … this one wraps everything up; it not only gives closure to Selma’s story, but it also concludes stories of other characters that were introduced in the first novel–whom we grew to love and respect, or be disappointed by–but were left alone so abruptly because of chaos that was going on in Selma’s life. You will find out what happened to Helena’s step-children, to Dana, Damir, grandma Andja, etc. See how their lives were changed by the war in the early 1990’s.
I am very proud to say that Haunting from the Past will be out in audio soon too and, as I’m slowly receiving first chapters of the narrations for approval, I can’t contain my excitement for it sounds more incredible than I imagined it would and so, I will share a short prologue here with you. Hopefully it’ll excite you as much as it did me. It’s a rough draft, but it still sounds amazing.
The talented Lindsay Carrillo is narrating.
Here is what one of the reviewers had to say after listening to her narration of Remember Me: “The narrator, Lindsay Carrillo, does an excellent job of guiding the listener through Selma’s story. Her calm, yet reflective style leaves room for the listener to travel along with Selma through her very emotional journey.”
Haunting from the Past sample:
As I had mentioned earlier, it was a Facebook memory that reminded me of how excited I was to hold the first copy of this book sent to me by my (then) publisher for approval. The comments from all of you made it even more special for me. Thank you so much for your support and encouragement throughout the years.
What inspired Haunting from the Past, Sequel to Remember Me:
One day when I was visiting my home town Prijedor in Bosnia, about twenty years or so after I was forced out, an old friend of my father’s, a Serb soldier, came to visit. He desperately wanted to stopover and talk with my father. I found this odd because back in ’92 he joined the Serb Army and was sent to war zones all over Bosnia and Croatia. Before the war, this man was a teacher in one of the high schools in Prijedor.
He sat down, and over coffee, little by little, he told us his own memories of war. I was stunned at his honesty. He felt so guilty about everything that had happened, but according to him, he had no choice but to enlist in the army. It was either that or death. His nightmare had started one day in 1992 when the head of his unit had ordered him to kill one of his old students—a Bosniak. It was incomprehensible to him. He tried everything to get out of it, but in the end, he had to do it.
He said that he’d tried so hard to get out of the army—faking mental illness, anything to get out—but nothing worked. And now, two decades later, he’s forced to live with his nightmares.
His confessions shook me so much. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. I was literally sick the whole month I was there. I’m still not sure why he wanted to confess to us, my parents and me, but it gave me an idea to write this book. Since I believe that I survived the horrors of the war so that I could give those who lost their voice a chance to tell their stories, I thought, why not compile all those memories and put them into an easy to read and understand novel. Maybe some day our children’s children will read a story about Bosnia and how it was destroyed. Perhaps they will be the ones to finally understand and get the answer to a question I’ve been searching for for the past two decades: Why?
A Voice for the Voiceless – Deep and Honest; a Five Star Book Review by Author Gregory S. Lamb
I truly believe that I survived for one reason and one reason only: to tell our story, to give a voice to those who don’t have it anymore. I was there as a witness. As a survivor, I have an obligation. I have to talk about what happened in Prijedor, Bosnia, back in 1992, no matter the cost.
My biggest goal is finally fulfilled and I can now breathe the air of freedom with a clear conscience—I didn’t forget…
I know that as long as my books are out there—and books are forever—what happened in Prijedor in 1992 is not going to be forgotten, and to me, that fact, is the biggest accomplishment of my life.
“Sanela is a powerful speaker, with the ability to mesmerize her audience with every word she says as she relays her horrific personal struggles during the Bosnian War. In addition, her ability to take the true life stories of the people she knew, and incorporate them into a love story, is amazing. I highly recommend this outstanding author to present to any student or community group, and I encourage anyone needing to know that something good can come from something horrible to read her book Remember Me. You will not be disappointed!” – Judy Kingsbury, Executive Assistant to the President Rochester Community and Technical College
When most people think of the month of May, in their mind’s eye, they see: spring-time, renewal, rebirth, flowers, sunshine, laughter of children playing outside. I, on the other hand, see the beginning of an end. The beginning of unimaginable hell. Most specifically, I see a teenage Bosniak girl being raped by Serb paramilitary units. Her parents restrained behind a fence while she’s being raped repeatedly. After a while she’s left alone in a pool of her own blood …
My birth-town, Prijedor, Bosnia in 1992.
The other day, a ninety year old man, said to me: “You can’t possibly understand what those poor people in Ukraine are going through!”
“I’m Bosnian.” I replied quietly. Not giving him any more information than that, knowing full-well he knew about the war in Bosnia. He lived through the early 1990’s and was hearing about the horrible war in Europe on the news then, just like we’re hearing about Ukraine now. He didn’t say anything else to me about the subject. His confrontational demeanor changed instantly while the look on his face became a little softer as he understood why I was reluctant to carry on the conversation about the Ukraine in the first place, which he obviously craved so much in hopes of teaching this “ignorant, spoiled, young American girl” about the “real” struggles of the world. He assumed I was younger than I am, therefore, he assumed, I was spoiled and didn’t know anything.
I let it go. He wasn’t worth my time nor energy. He did, however, bring up the memories I just can’t escape no matter how hard I try.
I was born in Prijedor and in 1992, I was only 15.
You see, when other people talk about the war, what they think is happening is army against another army, buildings being blown-up, dead bodies on the street and screaming children … for those are the images that are constantly being displayed on our TV sets. But what I see–in my mind’s eye– behind those news-images is a little different and a lot darker. What I see and know first hand is truly happening is a young girl being raped repeatedly by men in uniform, while her parents are restrained behind the fence.
Let me tell you about her: she is scrawny. Tall, but skinny. Shy beyond comprehension. She only speaks when spoken to. Always quiet. She is beautiful, although, she doesn’t know it yet and she wouldn’t believe you if you told her so. She loves her school-mates and her teachers. She loves her parents and grandparents, her aunts and uncles and even though she has no siblings, she thinks of her cousins as her brothers and sisters. Most of all, she loves books. She reads about distant places and people she would love to visit and meet some day. She’s a day-dreamer. She is happy. She is your typical little girl. She could be your daughter or your sister. Maybe a cousin or even a girl you’re crushing on. She could be you.
She doesn’t know anything about politics and quite frankly, she doesn’t care about such adult matters. She thinks she’s in love with her childhood crush.
In 1992 her whole world crumbles. Her loved ones are being tortured and killed. Thrown away into concentration camps. She doesn’t know why. She’s being punished, but she can’t understand nor remember what it was that she did that was so horrible to be punished so severely … Continue reading →
By: Sanela
Today marks seven years since the release of my first novel, Remember Me (Sjeti me se). It was the proudest day of my life; I wrote a book about the hardest time of my existence; time that I would rather forget, but I dug deep, found the courage, and put it all on paper. Now I know that as long as my books are out there–and books are forever–what happened in Prijedor back in 1992, is not going to be forgotten and to me, that fact, is the biggest accomplishment of my life. I did not forget!
All the characters in my book are fictional, but every single one of them was inspired by someone I knew and loved who didn’t make it out. I wanted to bring them back to life and so, I wrote a book about them.
My book, Remeber Me (Sjeti me se) can be purchased in both English and Bosnian anywhere books are sold.
By Sanela (August 10, 2017)
Today marks exactly 24 years since I moved to America. Although the circumstances under which I had to move were unbearably painful, I can’t help but feel fortunate and incredibly lucky to be given such a privilege – a second chance at life. Chicago is and forever will be my home, however, I’ve been feeling so nostalgic today; memory after memory to the point of feeling sick to my stomach. I had to go there even if only via Google Earth. And I found it – home. One of only two buildings there that haven’t been renovated; our and Johnny’s grandmother’s building across the street. I’m so glad they still look the same as they did back then. — feeling emotional. Continue reading →
Today is a very sad day in my home town, Prijedor. We are putting to rest 284 bodies of innocents who were found in the largest mass grave in Bosnia. (Google Tomasica).
Although we are happy to finally be able to put to rest our family members who were lost to us for the past 21 long years, the pain is just as strong as it was back in 1992 when they were taken out of their homes and shot to death in cold blood by the Serb Army because they were not Serbs.
Today, I am with my mom and dad, my aunt Nefira, her son, Adnan who lost his dad, uncle, granddad and many cousins, I am with my uncle Ahmet and his son Velid, I am with my uncle Nuno and his dad, with my cousin Lejla, with my friend Ajla and her dad, I am with my friends Samir and Admir, with Pasa and Izeta…I am with the 284 innocent souls. May they all rest in peace. They will never be forgotten and their killers will never be forgiven.