In the summer of 2003 I travelled to a small town in central Bosnia to meet a very brave woman. It was eight years after the end of the brutal war that tore through the Balkans in the 1990s, but the scars of that conflict were still everywhere: in the burnt-out houses and bullet-marked buildings, but most of all in the faces of the people I passed on the streets.

I’d arranged to meet Jasmina in a deserted café and she brought her 10-year-old daughter with her. But she sent her to play outside while she told me what had happened during the war: how, when she was 18 years old, she was taken ...


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