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Those Podrinje people could write novels about their ordeal, not knowing at first what had befallen them. So disorganized, I would say headless, keeping their heads from stream to stream, from which they often never even emerged. Where did so much anger, so much hatred come from inhumans, until then cattle drivers, chasing their neighbors across the meadows as if they had entered their property, driving away cattle as if they had not gone to school with them until yesterday, herding sheep, eating baklava for Bajram, looking forward to Christmas. Where did the transformation from human to inhuman happen overnight, or does it just seem that way to us, so we could not understand it? That touch of humanity seemed like home to us in those moments of ecstasy of denying everything that was different. It is still felt after so many years in the hearts and souls of every Podrinje person, wherever they were. The result of all those dark years when humanity ceased were empty villages, whether yours, ours or theirs...