1/5 ”Before I was born, my parents decided not to have more children. When my mum became pregnant again, my father joked that it wasn’t his baby. I grew up in a small village near the Serbian border. When I was ten months old, my father passed away. My mother had five kids to take care of by herself. Luckily, we had our uncle Redzo, who helped us out a lot. He was like a father to us. He would always make us laugh. Redzo had these false teeth. Sometimes during dinner, they would fall out and we couldn’t stop laughing. Even when he didn’t try to be funny, he made us laugh. On the 18th of September 1993, a grenade fell on our school. I was only 6 at the time. Uncle Redzo told us to go to Srebrenica, where it would be safer for us. My mother packed a few things, and we left. We walked for 22 kilometers. When we arrived in Srebrenica, we stayed at a relative’s house. We shared one small room. I remember we were always looking for food. Every so often, a parachute with food dropped from the sky. One day, a package of food fell right into the backyard of our house. We were all so happy. I still remember the taste of the peanut butter and feta cheese