Because we are concerned

I think that was Prijedor, Kozarac, non-Serbs, the day they were told that when leaving out, usually single, tie a white armband.

By Nudžejma Softic

There was May 31. Among other things I have prepared for the job standing is one cotton white scarf. Squeezing me in the throat of any views on it. Feelings coming up like no other day of the year. Getting ready. I take scissors and cut my scarf. The sound of splitting the canvas as if the slot. Deep down, at heart.In a few minutes I returned to Prijedor in 1992. I was only four years, but this is, obviously, quite enough to make me mow memories to tears. Because pain.

Late father was the imam in Kamicani, in Kozarac where we were born. Cheerful man by nature, that for my sister and me to do anything, just like any other father. I remember making jokes with us and how each lesson that we should learn to know how to make interesting and interesting. One day, early in 1992, sister and I brought the shoes, spring. Sestri black, brown menu with tassels. The next thing I remember is a neighborhood basement.

Lots of people, lots of children. Confusion, fear and concern in the face of our mother and other adults around us. I did not realize was that all about. Mom hugged us, me and my sister in two hands. I often watched my stomach which then grew our little brother. How do I know that the mother in a bag has a wafer with chocolate sauce I begged her to let us open it: "No, son, we'll need later, mom to protect you."Soon after, and I realized how fear. There was a huge explosion. Someone threw a bomb and thus broke the basement door. Profanity, noise, threat. Terrifying for a small child's head. The general confusion, all the risers.

The fellows who are fussing flushing us out. The basement remained ceker with waffles. On the shelves at the entrance of the rest is a lot of shoes. Among them, side by side, black and brown shoes with tassels. I cried. Mom we were just clutching hands. Terrified. We were all in a group walking in front of a tank. I asked her what it was. She was silent. In addition we passed a green Mercedes. In it were three men. They looked at all of us, showing three fingers and laughed wildly. Mom they said to him: "Put the scarf, hodžinice to know you're hodžinica!"

Mom we were literally dragged him. After a certain route all these fellows around swallow us in a train, in a cattle car. Just like cattle. Was with us and the rest of the family. Women, mother and aunt and aunt's little son who was 20 months. Babe was not and were not given any explanation of where it is. No aunt was gone. My aunt's small son Ado was crying, he was hungry. There was no milk. And other children were crying and the adults were concerned and frightened. The train stood every bit. They took some people, the elderly and infirm. They heard the shots. Mom still did not provide answers to our questions what it hears, why these people perform, what was going on outside. We wanted to peep through the window. He did not give, just hugged her. I cried.

The next thing I remember is that we arrived at a place where there was no shooting. Refugee Camp in Savudrija. The knitted slippers, Sarajevo.

I put a white ribbon that I cut from cotton white scarf. It is not processed, more endings. I'm tying it around his arm and squeezed me in the throat. I think that was Prijedor, Kozarac, non-Serbs, the day they were told that when leaving out, usually single, tie a white armband. Go out and know that you're a target to be killed, expelled, subjected to torture, destroy, wipe out. God, how they felt.

I'm out of the house. They look at me people turned their attention to my white belt. From Ilidže to the city of Sarajevo, I see, no person has a white ribbon. It is difficult to be, so marked. It is difficult to consciously and its decision will be marked. I can not imagine what it was non-Serbs in Prijedor between 31 May and 1992. Or the Jews after the Nazi decree in 1939, when they had to wear the yellow tape with a blue Star of David on their sleeves.n order that we are a join, that people understand the importance of participating in memory of the victims of Prijedor, I have made a photo with a white stripe on the sleeves on Facebook. Friends support me.

It occurs to me, my dear friend, Ruzica Jovanovic from Serbia, Sabac: "Then in Prijedor, Kozarac, was killed your dad? :(? No, honey grieve, let you kids safe and sound ... It's all God's will , fate, some ... Hold on! "I'm mean. I answer her that I do not know exactly when my bitch killed, because we buried him and bowed his funeral after 15 years. I have heard many who say that they know how we bitch killed. I realized that this was no ordinary murder, but a lot of torture. I did not want to tell me, but it can not stand.

I only know that it does not have to be on a different and better world, for sure, and the other 3,173 civilians, of which 256 women and 102 children, who then constituted 94 per cent of non-Serbs in Prijedor. I'm thinking about how I'm one of the remaining 6 percent of the lucky ones. I speak Ružici that I write a blog about it. He says:

"I need to write ... For a reminder to everyone, such as war black accidents, for every common man ... Hold on, Miko!"
E exactly. And here it is. Because of my business. Because we are all concerned?

• 31 May, 2016
• 3698 views