13/08/1992 | Voices from the Drina

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🧵 Our fellow refugee and neighbour, Osman, is leaving his mother behind. He can’t take care of her anymore and the gorge is too dangerous for her.

She wept and begged him not to leave her. Osman gave her some money. “The horse knows the way back to Luka. You’ll be able to get back there and stay with the rest of them. Then whatever happens to them… will happen to you as well.”

I can’t believe my ears. What is the war doing to people?

Osman has changed his mind. He’s going to drag her down the cliff face with him.

🧵 Our escape from Luka through the gorge and the desperation of the Bosniak people 👇

As we were descending the cliff, I heard Mum scream and mistakenly thought Osman had pushed her. My old bayonet from Stoborani was still hanging from my belt, and I pulled it from its sheath, swinging it in the air.

“I’ll kill you!” I shouted at Osman. I was sobbing. “You killed my mother!”. I was about to lunge at him, and then I heard Mum’s voice. “Hasko! Hasko! I’m down here!” She had fallen herself and was stuck in some branches.

Dad, Braco and I gripped each other’s arms and formed a human chain. I abseiled down to Mum, grabbed her hand, and we hauled her up to safety. Still can’t believe we managed it. Sorry, Osman.

I’ve just received a permit from the Serb-run police station to leave Foča. I’ll be forced to work in Montenegro to earn some money so I can eventually leave for some other place, out of this hell. I am a survivor of genocidal rape. There are still girls trapped in Foča.

We’ve just found out that all our relatives who surrendered to Serb forces in Skenderovići village have been executed by firing squad. The elderly who obeyed the Serb authorities’ order to stay in the village and look after the cattle were put into a house, killed and then burnt.