15/01/1993 | Voices from the Drina

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Dr. Nijaz’s body was cut in half. 10m away were two more lifeless bodies, a woman and a child. The child couldn’t have been older than five or six.

We can hear the sound of the anti-aircraft gun our fighters have captured from the Chetniks that’s positioned up on the hill. As with every other captured weapon, there’s the problem of ammunition. The gunner lives on our street. We call him Aće. Come on, Aće. Do your magic.

The woman was wearing a scarf. It looks like she had tried to reach the house while carrying the child in her arms but had been caught by the force of the explosion and smashed against a wall.

Oh God, Serb forces have started bombing us while Ćamil’s cutting my hair. We’ve seen a Serbian agricultural plane flying so low we could make out the pilot. I’ll tweet live updates below. 🧵

People in the street are running for shelter. Mothers are anxiously calling out the names of their children. Ćamil and I have rushed to the basement. We’re laying on the floor and (when I’m not tweeting) covering our ears.

Oh my God, a bomb has just exploded seemingly on top of our heads. The explosion almost bounced us off the floor. We can hear a second plane coming.

He’s done it! Aće’s cannon fire has done the trick and scared the second plane away before it could drop its bombs. Aće, bravo! Bravo, Aće!

We’ve now dared to leave the basement. The windows of our house have been shattered. The bomb that felt like it had fallen right above us, fell some 50m away, hitting the local mosque and the house next to it, where Dr. Nijaz ran his civilian clinic. He was killed on the spot.

Doctor Nijaz has been killed by a Serb bomb. It fell on the roof of an old wooden mosque in which Doctor Nijaz kept his ambulance. The town has lost a great man and a wonderful doctor.