This photo was taken a year before the genocid in Srebrenica happend.I was 6 years old in this photo. An UNPROFOR soldier took it. He was later on dismissed from his position because he got to close to the people in our village.

The hills behind our backs is where the enemy troops were. We were in constant danger. The clothes I'm wearing are flicked together from old clothes that were too small. My shoes are made with belts that UNPROFOR used to tight their carriages. This photo was sent to my father.

He was separated from us at the beginning oft the war 1992. He fled to Austria and we hardly had any contact with him because of the circumstances. We didn't see him for 3 years. He never knew if he would ever see us alive again.

The years were hard. We had no food. Serbs often were blocking the food transfer to Srebrenica. My mother would often go looting with the men and women from our village. She risked her live for us. I remember how tightly she would hug us and kiss us on those nights.

Telling my grandparents to take good care of us if something should happen to her. Often she would return empty handed. She would cry because she did not know how to feed us. Most days she would not eat anything so that my brother and I had food.

We would hide in cellars when granates were dropped. Flee from Srebrenica back to our village when it was save. In our village we tried to plant vegetables and wheat. Mostly at night. That way the snipers would not see us. Many have died that way or they were bombed by the Serbs.

In Juli 1995, when we were all ordered to gather at Potocari, we thought that the war was over and soon we could all return to our homes. My mother dressed us in our best clothes. Packed some spare clothing and a piece of bread into sheets.

Arriving in Potocari we soon realized that something was wrong. As soon as the serbian troops arrived shrieks of terror were heard. People were screaming that Serbs have beheaded someone near a well. I grabbed my mothers hand as hard as I could.Soon I would see those 'Četniks'

I imagined them as hideous monsters.With horns who killed and tortured people.Then they stood in front of us.I remember one of them clearly.He was tall and bald.He had a beard.On his left arm there was a giant tattooed cross. My heart stopped.This horrific monsters were human.

I said to my mother "They are human, they are human.Why don't they have any horns on their heads. ". My mother shushed me. Her hands were shaking.

Someone was saying "Those of you who want to stay, can stay. No one will do you any harm. Everyone who wants to leave, we have prepared transportation for you.They will bring you to your troops" We stayed for one or two nights. We were one of the first groups who were deported.

We believed them. My grandparents stayed behind. My grandmother was not feeling well. So they wanted to depart next morning.While we were leaving towards the busses Serbs have started separating men and women.On the left side the were the separated men, on the right the UNPROFOR.

The women and little children were led to the busses and trucks. We had to go into a truck. One serbian soldier asked an other if it wasn't better to let the kids and women ride in the bus. The heat would suffocate them. The other answered " I don't care.Put them into the truck"

We had nothing to drink in the truck. Many lost their conscious. After some time we arrived on the road toward our troops. We left the truck and were told to follow the road. I don't know how long we walked until we met our first soldier.

He told us to go torwards Tuzla. There was a refugee camp were we could stay. As we arrived there people started to panic. What happend to the men? Why aren't they arriving? The following days less and less people arrived. Mostly if not all women and children.

They told us what had happend to the men.They were all dead. My grandfather was one of them.Everyday we could hear screams of anguish through the camp.We were all broken.We survived but a part of us died in Srebrenica.I'm 32 years old right now, I still struggle with my memories.

I rarely talk about these experiences. Since we left Srebrnica I tried to forget everthing . But you can't forget a trauma. As an adult I had to confront everything and let my memories resurface. I cry a lot these day.

Sometimes I smell a certain fragrace in the air that remindes me of our home. Other times I look at my 4 year old nephew and realize that I was his age when the war started and I never would want him to go through the same hell as I did. No one should go trough that hell.

That is why I decided to start sharing my story. I don't want other childern to grow up like I did. We as survivors must tell our stories and educate others. @SrebrenicaMC @SrebrenicaUK thank you for giving me the courage to come forward and tell my story.