December 1992 | Voices from the Drina

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Mum, Dad, Braco and I spend most of our days indoors, hiding from Serb shelling. Every 2-3 days we spend hours in the basement.

While sheltering in the basement, I’ve found a pair of brand new fishing boots! They’ve been here the whole time. It’s strange that none of us have noticed them before. They’re a size too big but with a pair of thick socks they fit me snugly. I’m so happy :)

Ok, so since the Serbs started trying to wipe us off the map in April, the world has sent us 2.5kg of food each. Will it be another 8 months before we get another 2.5kg of food?

UNHCR food has run out. We’re down to our last mark, and our only valuables are a few pieces of Mum’s jewellery. I’ve become extremely skinny. My clothes are hanging off me. Dad says we have relatives in Šušnjari, which is 12km away. Looks like I’ll have to trek it.

Every morning I tell myself to be strong and be ready for anything, for who knows what the day will bring.

As I was leaving the house to trek to Šušnjari, a man shouted out to me, “Do you want to trade? I’ll give you 10kg of corn for those boots.” Translated into money, 10kg of corn would = 100 Deutschmarks, maybe 150 if the corn was good. (1/2)

I was tempted ngl, I’ve hardly had any breakfast today and my boots are already giving me blisters. But there’s no way I can trek 12km barefoot, so I had to say no. (2/2)

The (first) UNCHR food convoy mostly contains flour and big tins of paté. Bread made of wheat flour is such a novelty to us that it’s painful to the eyes at first glimpse, and also to the unaccustomed stomach.

Arrived in Šušnjari, all in one piece. Tracked down our relatives. Found Dad’s cousin, Jusuf. He says Dad should come.

There’s no salt in Srebrenica. Not even on the market. Any bread or meat you get is unsalted. Peasants who come to town are reporting that their cows and horses are going mad after a month without salt. (1/2)

No more posts for this month.