Tag Archives: Bosnian War

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 Ramic Jurich

On May 23, 1992, my mother and I were visiting my grandmother in Hambarine, not knowing that a war criminal, Radmilo Zeljaja, had given an order to the Serb army to start bombing my mother’s home town that day.

Heavy artillery, which has long been set on the hills around Prijedor and directed toward the Bosniak (Bosnian Muslim) and Croat (Bosnian Catholic) villages, started spitting its fire. The entire afternoon, the sky above Prijedor was rocketed and falling onto unprotected, innocent people and their homes in Hambarine.

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