World Refugee Day is commemorated annually on June 20th. The War Childhood Museum collection features a vast number of stories of children from various parts of the world, who were forced to leave their homes due to armed conflicts. Here are some of these stories.
A New Type of Document
In July 1992, we fled from Hrasnica to Split, Croatia. We were placed in the bungalows of the Resnik resort. We used to stay at the same bungalows before the war, so it felt familiar.
That’s where we got this completely new type of document, then unfamiliar to us kids. It served as proof that we were displaced persons.
I have many memories from the war that remind me of play, friendships, and the difficult moments, like when our family was separated from my dad. This document reminds me that I used to be a refugee, too.
Admir, b. 1984 (BiH)
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My “Made-Up“ Passport
I remember that April morning when I saw a soldier parked in a tank outside my window. At home, our parents decided on an emergency evacuation of the children from Dobrinja IV. Our neighbors left in their own car and brought me along, hidden in the backseat. We spent some time as refugees in Croatia, and when tensions continued to rise there we headed to Germany. Despite everyone’s kindness toward me, I was incredibly sad and thought endlessly about whether my parents and older brother were alive. I missed them intensely and wanted to go home, regardless of the fact that there was a war going on there. Unfortunately, I needed a passport to return. Not only did I not have a passport, but I did not have a single form of identification because in their state of panic my parents had forgotten to pack them. Luckily, some kind strangers were able to help: they added zeros to my date of birth to arrive at an identification number and we invented a new address. I returned to besieged Sarajevo by way of the tunnel in 1994.
Emina, b. 1984 (BiH)
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I Was a Refugee, Too
They were already shooting on the city… One night, dad came home and said, “Tomorrow you are going to the seaside!”
I packed my suitcase: bathing suit, sandals, and diary. We are going to the seaside! In the morning my brother, mom, aunt, and I joined the convoy that was leaving the city. We are going to the seaside…
Men with black masks stopped the convoy. They held us hostage for three days. Would I ever see the sea again?
Two months later, I arrived in the Netherlands, where I have remained.
All of my memories are in this suitcase.
Iva, b. 1981 (BiH)
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The Lost Shoe
The last bus filled with refugees was set to depart from Pristina on the 24th of May, 1999. Not seeing an end to the war, my family and I decided to board the bus and leave Kosovo.
We waited for 12 hours for the bus to arrive. As soon as it reached the station, crowds of people rushed on board. I took my little sister’s hand and told her to hold onto me tight, as I was afraid that we would get separated. When the bus finally departed, my family and I were left standing outside the station, surrounded by countless bags, bundles of people’s clothing, and piles of food.
While everyone rushed to pick up the food, I spotted this single shoe. I don’t know what prompted me to take it. I felt that this shoe carried someone’s story and that if I left it there the story would be lost. I kept it safe down through the years in the hope that the shoe would one day find its way back to the child to whom it had once belonged.
Besa, b. 1981 (Kosovo)
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Hulk
In Deir al-Zor, there was a big market named Souk Al Ethnen. Four years ago, my grandmother went to the market and passed by the section where they sell toys. She saw this Hulk and bought it for me. I was happy in the beginning and played a lot with it. Later I broke it because I felt I was an older boy, and I got tired of playing with it.
When my grandmother died, I felt ashamed, so I kept the toy with me. When we decided to move to Lebanon, it was the first thing that I put in the bag and asked my mother to keep it safe.
We could not bring many things because we had to walk through the mountains. At the time, it was almost impossible for us to enter Lebanon legally. I traveled with my family and relatives. It was a long and exhausting journey. I was scared a lot, especially when people threatened to kill us.
I wish to play, as I used to play in Syria. I wish to eat dates. I wish to own a bicycle. It is dangerous to walk around the Shatila refugee camp alone. My father does not allow it, but he takes us to the sea sometimes. I wish to go back home.
Mouhamad, b. 2007 (Syria)
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A Letter from My Friends
During one of the events organized at the camp, I met two Bosnian girls—Larisa and Emina. Just like me and some of my friends at the camp, Larisa and Emina enjoy singing and dancing traditional dances.
After a while we organized a singing event at the camp and Emina, Larisa, and some other Bosnian students paid us a visit. We all dressed in traditional clothes and together we sang traditional Arabic, Afghan, and Bosnian songs. On that occasion, Emina, Larisa, and I exchanged numbers and we’ve kept in touch ever since.
We became very good friends. Emina and Larisa come to the camp and they take me and my older sister out for walks. I’ve also been to their home and met their families. They often send me letters. On their last visit to the camp, they gave me this letter.
Hala, b. 2007 (Syria)
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First Days of War
I painted this picture a week after we arrived in Poland. The artist Waldek got together a group of people who wanted to paint and express their emotions. I decided to paint the background black, because for me it is associated with something unknown–with what we cannot see and what will happen next. This is a heavy color. I pasted these nails and screws as something dreadful above us that could kill us, and it’s all pointed back and shooting down and flying at us. This is my impression of the first days of the war–the feeling that there is no ground under our feet and that nothing can protect us.
Valeria, b. 2004 (Ukraine)
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Displaced Dragon
I liked Poland, there are a lot of very kind people there. I saw teachers taking children around the city, telling them about folk culture and monuments.
This toy is a symbol of Krakow. There were a ton of souvenir shops in Krakow, and every shop had these dragons. I spent almost all my time with him before I moved to Britain.
When I came back to Kyiv again, we went to a store, and in the store there was a toy machine with a dragon just like this lying inside. And I realized that one of the migrant dragons had moved from Krakow to Kyiv.
Arina, b. 2013 (Ukraine)
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Life Outside of Gaza
In 2014, my family and I managed to leave Gaza. We spent four years living in Malaysia, where I learned that life is very different outside of Gaza. I went to school and I always felt safe. I even made some friends. One of those friends loved to make colourful handmade bracelets. I was impressed with how beautiful they were, so I asked her to teach me how to make them. She gave me these rubber bands, as well as the tools that she used, and she taught me how to braid a bracelet. This is one of the bracelets that I made while there. We returned to Gaza four years ago. I don’t feel as safe here as I did in Malaysia, and I still treasure memories of my time there.
Hala, b. 2007 (Gaza)
