Reading time : 2 minutes
Two little girls stare back from the photograph, their hands wrapped in heavy bandages. One is perhaps around five-years-old, the other barely three, innocence peeping through their bewildered and tortured eyes. Their nimble, tiny fingers, once meant for play and love, now bear the simmering scars of war. Handcuffs made with wire. Cutting into their soft flesh
By: Aayushi Rana
In the heart of Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovnia, a small room in the Museum of Crimes Against Humanity and Genocide speaks volumes. Its walls are covered in sticky notes—messages of love, sorrow and solidarity left by visitors over the years. Once dedicated to honour the victims of the Bosnian genocide, it has now become a sacred space of remembrance and strength.
On February 20, 2024, the museum opened its doors to a new kind of grief and resistance. Visitors were invited to leave messages for the people of Gaza, echoing their pain and support. ‘Free Palestine,” End the Genocide, Ceasefire Now’ — these words, stirring the heart and soul, now line the walls, just as similar cries for justice did decades ago.
History repeats itself in the most heartbreaking ways. But, in this quiet room, filled with the weight of pain, memory and hope, one thing is clear—humanity refuses to look away. Resilience remains, rooted.
HANDCUFFS, EXHUMED IN SREBRENICA
Rusty, twisted, and unyielding—these wired handcuffs were used to restrain prisoners and men captured during the genocide. The sharp edges bit into flesh, tightening with every movement, leaving behind scars—seen and unseen.
Two little girls stare back from the photograph, their hands wrapped in heavy bandages. One is perhaps around five-years-old, the other barely three, innocence peeping through their bewildered and tortured eyes. Their soft, tiny fingers, once meant for play and endless love, now bear the simmering scars of war.
They never seem to fade away — these scars. And the wounds inflicted on the body and heart.
And, yet, they smile. Like a sun shining in a freezing, dark winter.
In their arms, they clutch little toys—perhaps the only comfort left in a world that has taken so much from them. Next to it, a newspaper clipping tells the rest of the story. A destroyed home. A shattered childhood. Loss. Separation. Sorrow eternally suppressed.
EXECUTION OF A SEVEN-YEAR-OLD BOY
Fahrudin Muminović was only 7-years-old at the time when he was ‘executed’, along with others, in Srebrenica, in 1995. Among several victims who were butchered, he was the only one who survived — by luck. Or, perhaps, by sheer chance!
The testimony of a former Republic of Srpska army soldier:
“The boy was covered in blood and organs of other dead people. An officer was standing near soldiers, I think he was a colonel, he arrogantly addressed the soldiers: “What are you waiting for? Finish him!” Soldiers, who did not have any problems killing and executing people, replied: “Sir, you have a gun too, why don’t you finish him?” Everyone remained silent and mute. He was screaming “Nooo, nooo, noooo.” The kid struggled because he remembered that he had already been in this truck. Then I went over to the soldiers and told them, “Listen, I’ll take him in my truck, to relax him, and play music, to distract him from what happened. I got in the truck, turned on the lights and radio, and found a local radio station. I told him: Come in, see, I have a light and music. Suddenly, he took my arm…
…I don’t want any of you to ever experience this. I was known as a strong man. But no one would want to experience such a grip when he squeezed my hand. I was shocked by the strength of his grasp.”
Protected witness 101 took the boy to Zvornik in the hospital, where the boy was taken to the surgery, due to his wounds. “When I brought him to the hospital, he grabbed me again, saying to me, “Baba (Dad), do not let them take me, please…
… To this day, I still hear those words in my head…”
… While the doctor examined him and cleaned him off the remains of other bodies and flesh, I felt a terrible smell. I could not quite understand how I did not feel that smell while I was driving to the hospital. I was extremely shocked by the whole event.”
Daily Times, April 15, 1993
Tuzla, Bosnia-Herzegovina (AP): Sead Bekric, 14, lay writhing in his hospital bed, begging the nurses to assure him he will see again. He will not.
His eyes were destroyed by a Serb fire in Srebrenica.
In another ward, Enes Babic, 6, screamed, “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” and clutched his blanket as nurses tried to attend to his wounds.
This newspaper clipping tells the story of a child’s suffering, but between the lines, it reveals the pain of countless others who endured the same, cruel fate.
This is part 2 of a series of five photo features which will be carried in timesheadline.in in the days to come.
Photographs by Aayushi Rana.
See part 1: ‘She lives nice in marriage, they just need some salt’