When I left, I couldn’t even say goodbye to my father and brother because they were out looking for food. There was a convoy leaving Sarajevo with women and children on board, my brother was only 15 at the time but even then, he wouldn’t have been allowed onto the bus because he was perceived as a man. I didn’t know where the bus was going, it was either to Belgrade or Spilt. I had this primal instinct that has nothing to do with being a teenager, in any other way I was a typical one – I would protest and question things, but when you’re at war and living on a washing machine you start to perceive and understand things through your instincts. We had no plans for the future; we were in the middle of a war so we couldn’t predict anything.
Leaving Sarajevo was a horrifying trip and every few kilometres we would have to stop at a new barricade, the bus driver would show them documents or pay them. We were shot at and it was scary. Close to the Croatian border we were stopped by the military and they wanted a woman to stay with them. I looked out of the window and recognised my uncle, so I walked up to my uncle and said I want to go with you.