Every June 4, the world marks the International Day of Innocent Children Victims of Aggression—a United Nations observance established on 19 August 1982.
The War Childhood Museum’s collection holds over 6,000 stories of children whose lives were shaped by war in different parts of the world. These stories reflect a wide spectrum of experiences, from loss, devastation, and death, to moments that reveal the remarkable resilience of the human spirit.
You can explore some of these stories below.
Edoni’s Shirt
It was the end of April and I woke up like every other morning, excited to go outside and play with my friends. There were nine of us children. We were playing in a field when we encountered a strange object. At first, we thought it looked like an interesting bottle. We gathered around it, observing it with great curiosity—what could it be?
One of the boys in the group, my older cousin, told me to go and check on the animals. I hesitated for a bit, as I didn’t want to miss anything, but I agreed to go. I was on my way back, at a distance of only 50 meters or so from the group when the explosion happened.
I saw my friends lying on the ground, covered in blood, their faces stained in black. I remember the feeling of fear and disorientation. I didn’t know the way back home, but I started walking anyway. I saw one of my older relatives. I tried to tell him that we found a strange object, that this thing made a “boom” sound and killed everyone, but I couldn’t speak.
Many of the children who died that day were my relatives. Fisniku was nine, Burimi and Osmani were thirteen, and Valdet was fifteen years old. Edoni was just three and a half years old. He was my uncle’s son, my first cousin. This is his shirt.
Blinor, born 1993, Kosovo
Lighter from the War
One day we heard a very close explosion, like an earthquake. We ran out of all the rooms and sat in the corridor hugging each other, trembling, and saying, “Guys, we won’t die, but just in case, I love you all. I’m so glad that I met you.” They were “Grads”-20 strikes, 20 earthquakes, just an endless boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. We sat there, screaming and weeping.
I had this lighter before the war. I used it all the time, and then the war began. Cigarette after cigarette disappeared due to my nerves, and the lighter was in my hands all the time. I would click it, and it calmed me down. It ran out, but I still took it with me. There are actually a lot of things that are related to this war, but this is the only thing I could take.
Iryna, born 2005, Ukraine
Grandmother’s Scarf*
Because my family and I live by the border in the north of Gaza, we are always very close to clashes. I rarely feel safe. When I was younger, my grandmother would always try to distract me from what was happening outside. She would keep me company and tell me countless fairytales to help me feel safe.
When my grandmother passed away, I kept this scarf, which had belonged to her. Even though she is no longer with me, her scarf helps me feel safer. I want to give it to the War Childhood Museum because I want other children to know that sometimes safety can be found in small things, too.
Kefayah, born 2006, Palestine
*The War Childhood Museum only has a photo of this object. The original object was unfortunately lost during the bombing of Gaza in 2021. This is, so far, the only object lost from the WCM’s collections.
The Jungle Gym – A Holy Shrine of Iron
The park behind my building was our childhood meeting place. There, we had two soccer fields, a playground with chin-up bars and swings, where we spent hours and days at play. July 12, 1992 was an unusually quiet summer day. Not a single grenade fell on our neighborhood Hrasnica. We, the neighborhood children, gathered in the park to play like in the good old days. My friend Ljubiša and I went a bit further from the jungle gym to play “rings”. It was a game that we invented. We brought plastic rings back from a nearby engine factory, which we tried to toss onto twigs that we stuck into the ground. Whoever had more rings stacked on his twig would be the winner.
And just before we started to play, a grenade hit that structure that we had just moved away from and split it right through the middle. It was 2:50 PM. The detonation knocked me to the ground and I lost consciousness. Ljubiša was a little further from the detonation than I had been, so he was able to run into the house. His father ran up to me and shook me. Only then did I regain consciousness. He told me to wrap my hands around his neck and began to crawl with me on his back toward the building. After a few meters I was completely conscious and told him that I could crawl on my own. Only when I entered the building did I realize that I was wounded.
On that day, Azmir Bradarac (1976), Sanela Hadžiomerović (1978), Aldina Čolpa (1979) and Admir Čolpa (1985) were killed at those chin-up bars. Dženita Hadžiomerović, Adriana Gligorijević, and I, Haris Barimac, were all wounded by the shrapnel. Later, after the war, the park was renovated and a monument was built. The two parts of the structure which are missing on the left and right sides are part of that monument. During a later renovation, they wanted to haul away our jungle gym too. Needless to say, we did not allow it. I have kept it for over ten years, first in the attic, then in the garage.
Haris, born 1978, Bosnia and Herzegovina
My Three Scars
When a ceasefire was announced in November 1991, we decided we would leave the basement of our house in Vinkovci. My mom, my brother, and I were sitting in our living room when, all of a sudden, a shell hit the canopy of a tree in our garden. The shrapnel flew in every direction, wounding my brother and me. He was hit in the head, and I got hit in three different places: a shoulder, an arm, and in the back. The shirt I was wearing at the time, a gift from my dad’s brother, was left with holes, but luckily, both my brother and I survived. The holes in the shirt correspond to the three scars that I still wear as a reminder of that day.
Martina, born 1989, Croatia
Lebanese Flags
At the onset of the war between the Syrian army and the Lebanese army, I remember my father taking me and my brother to public demonstrations which were taking place in the city of Baabda, near the presidential palace. The atmosphere was one of solidarity and euphoria. These are the photographs of my brother and me waving Lebanese flags. Very soon afterwards, the demonstrations became too dangerous and we were no longer allowed to attend.
The war was very fierce. Because it was too dangerous to go outside, my brother and I spent all our time indoors, unable to see or play with any of our friends. The war ended abruptly, and soon came the announcement on the radio. We were in our family house, waiting impatiently to hear the news, when they announced that the Lebanese army had surrendered. I remember a moment of great sadness—you never want your home country to be occupied.
Now, I think that no one who participates in war is completely innocent. All parties need to bear the responsibility for the violence inflicted.
Darine, born 1979, Lebanon
