LITMIR.BIZ

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she succeeded. Father calmed down. They told us to go outside and play with the other kids. My sister and I didn’t really like playing with the kids from the neighbourhood because they mostly made fun of us or were afraid to hang out with us, knowing what kind of father we had. On top of all that, they used to laugh at me because I stuttered a lot. I could hardly produce two sentences together without stuttering or getting stuck on some words. I don’t know why, but I felt rejected during that period. Awful feeling.

      I was very jealous of the other children who had wonderful parents, and especially wonderful fathers. It pained me when I saw fathers hugging their children because we didn’t have that. The three of us, my sister, my brother and I were unhappy kids.

      The next day, mother made lunch, a soup of some sorts. We were all sitting at the kitchen table, while my father was swearing and yelling. Although I got hungry playing with other kids, I immediately lost my appetite. Who could eat in such a situation, listening to all that noise and being under such stress? He was terribly moody and angry because the soup didn’t have any meat in it.

      He stood up, lifted the lid from the bowl of soup, spat into it, and said:

      - Motherf…ers, now you can eat!

      I immediately got the urge to vomit, but we had to eat. There were three scoops left on my plate, which I really couldn’t finish. It bothered him, and my mother signalled me with her look to force myself to eat, just so he wouldn’t beat us. The lunch was finally over. We helped our mother clear the table. His mood swings were so frequent, unreasonable, and unpredictable. He gave us money to go buy ice cream at the ‘Trova’ patisserie, which was located near our building. They had the best ice cream in town. We came back, played a little more just outside the building.

      Night fell. By the grace of God, father was calm.

      We all went to sleep. We all slept in one room. Mum and dad slept on the bed, and we slept on the mattresses on the floor. My sister and brother had been asleep for a long time, but I couldn’t sleep at all. Even though we couldn’t fall asleep sometimes, we were never allowed to show it. We simply pretended to be asleep.

      At one point I heard a faint noise. The bed was creaking and mum’s moaning. Something was happening. The fact was, my father and mother were having a sexual intercourse, but I didn’t know what that meant at the time. All I knew was that I wasn’t supposed to speak, even breathe, lest they would discover that I wasn’t sleeping and that I could hear them. It came to an end, finally.

      In the morning, it was as if nothing had happened. We set off, with dad and mum, to our uncle who lived about two miles from us. We went there so that mum and dad could plant a garden at their place. I enjoyed it, because I loved spending time with my nieces. My parents decided I should stay with them for a few days. I was very happy. We played a lot and I felt freedom there.

      Those three days passed quickly. I came home to my parents. That day my father and mother bought me some new clothes and a school bag.

      I started the first grade of a primary school in 1996. The school was located in a park in Bihac, and it was called “KULEN-VAKUF - ORASAC.” I was excited about starting school. I was an excellent student, even though I stuttered a great deal.

      A lot of kids imitated the way I spoke and made fun of me, which was difficult for me. They would even run away from me and say:

      - “Stutter girl” is coming.

      Like in any other school, naturally, there were some bad marks from time to time. I got bad marks in maths mostly: adding and subtracting. Every time I got a negative mark, my mother would do some exercises with me. She wouldn’t let me go out until I did my maths assignment. Kids were always playing outside the building: playing hide-and-seek, with marbles, or skipping of a rubber band. I loved playing it the most. My knees were constantly injured and in scabs, because I often fell on my knees, mostly when riding the bike.

      During that period, everything I did was controlled and limited. When I was told to come inside, I had to stop playing immediately and obediently go into the flat. That was hard for me, because when I played with other kids who didn’t tease me, I was very happy. I didn’t have to listen to quarrels, insults, and I wasn’t beaten.

      One day, my father came home wounded. I saw the wound on his leg, an open wound, blood everywhere. A medic came in every day to treat his wound. My father had severe shrapnel pain. Later I found out how my father sustained injuries. He was sitting with some drunk people in a room and he detonated a bomb. He received shrapnel in his leg, which created pressure later on, but also pain. One night he was in so much pain and said he felt something moving in his leg, and that he felt like ants were walking over him. He ordered me to take eyebrow tweezers and take out the shrapnel that appeared right on the surface of the skin. I never did something like that, of course; I was scared, which is why I refused and said I didn’t dare to. He got so angry and shouted:

      - Take it out right now. What are you afraid of? Take it out now!

      I gathered my strength and took the tweezers and with my hand, trembling, managed to pull the metal out of his leg. When I saw that I had succeeded, I was pleased with myself. From that moment on, I wanted to be a nurse. My father praised me and said that I did a great job, that I was his son, not his daughter, that I was brave like him and that I should never be afraid of anyone, because he was not afraid of anyone either.

      In the evening some guests arrived again, a man, a woman and two children. Since they were small children, I didn’t want to hang out with them. My brother and sister played with them, and I went to the living room to sit with my mom.

      I had a strong need for my mother, her attention, her love, her embrace. Father didn’t like seeing our mum hugging us. Feeling close to my mom, I relaxed and took food and snacks from the table that were there for the guests only. Father just smiled. I didn’t recognise his emotions.

      I thought he was looking at me with love because I was eating. But no! His face was burning red. He could not hide his anger. When the guests left, something my father was waiting eagerly, he pulled the army belt out of his trousers and started beating me, and saying:

      - You fucking bitch. This will teach you not to take food of the table when there are guests.

      I promised that I would never take anything of the table in the presence of guests. My father was extremely upset and my mother was preparing our bed for sleeping. I remember there was always plastic film beneath me so that I wouldn’t wet my bed.

      Not a single night went by without me wetting it. I also remember when I was a bit older, I would unconsciously, in my sleep, wet the bed every time I was frightened. And when the morning came, both dad and mom would criticise me. They would ask for how long I was going to wet the bed. “You’re already a big girl, aren’t you ashamed?” I was ashamed, but I couldn’t control it. Often, my sister didn’t want to sleep next me, she’d cry and say:

      - I don’t want to sleep next to her, she’ll pee all over me. I was very sad. I just couldn’t understand why I kept doing that, and why I couldn’t control it. I didn’t know the reason, and no one was there to help me.

      I spent my childhood with only two girls who were willing to play with me. They were Sanela and Alma (I am still in touch with them, we talk with each other occasionally, although each of us has a family and their own personal obligations these days. More than 20 years have passed since our hanging out and our goofing around).

      I know I was a mischievous girl. My mother told me that I was very hyperactive, and that I often quarrelled with other children.

      One day I found out that we would have to move to another place soon, that we had been evicted because someone had bought the flat we lived in. I was sad, because I spent some beautiful moments there. I don’t mean with the parents, but with the kids I liked. Just before leaving, I met a wonderful family who moved into the same building. There were two twin sisters in the family: Jasmina and Aldina. Their father was killed during the war and they were a martyr’s family. Sometimes I envied them and was jealous because they lived without a father, only with their mother. At the time, I thought almost every father was like mine. Yet from

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