In the center of Sarajevo, a museum stands dedicated to the children who lost their lives during the city’s 1,425-day siege in the early 1990s. The siege, one of the longest in modern warfare, took place amid the violent disintegration of communist Yugoslavia, when ethnic tensions between Bosnian Serbs, Croats, and Bosniaks escalated into war.

The confrontation began in April 1992 after Bosnia and Herzegovina declared independence, following Slovenia and Croatia. Bosnian Serb leaders, who opposed the move, launched a military campaign to seize the capital. A force of approximately 13,000 troops encircled Sarajevo, aiming to subdue the city, which was home to more than 400,000 residents of mixed ethnic backgrounds. Over the course of the siege, nearly 14,000 people died, including 5,400 civilians.

Inside the museum, each child who perished is honored with a dedicated drawer containing a brief account of their life and death, along with a personal item chosen by their family—ranging from a cuddly toy to a school bag or a cassette recorder. The displays offer a profoundly human glimpse into the cost of conflict through the eyes of its youngest victims.

Aida Bicakcic, a 42-year-old official from Bosnia’s culture ministry, serves as a guide at the museum and is a survivor of the siege herself. Born in 1984, the year Sarajevo hosted the Winter Olympics, she identifies with the “Vucko” generation—named after the Games’ mascot—a cohort that suffered extensive losses during the war. Bicakcic grew up in Alipasino Polje, a residential area near the Olympic village heavily damaged during the conflict, which witnessed numerous massacres and the destruction of schools.

During the siege, residents lived under relentless shelling and sniper fire, grappling with shortages of water, electricity, and basic necessities. Bicakcic recounts the experience vividly, describing how people moved cautiously outdoors, zigzagging to avoid snipers. After four months of bombardment, her family sent her and her brother to safety with relatives outside Sarajevo. The family did not return until after the Dayton Accords were signed in December 1995, marking the end of the war.

Today, many buildings in Sarajevo still bear the scars of the siege, with facades marked by bullet holes. The psychological wounds endure as well, reflected in the memories and nightmares recounted by survivors like Bicakcic. The War Childhood Museum thus serves as a poignant reminder of the human toll exacted by ethnic conflict and the resilience of those who lived through one of the Balkans’ darkest chapters.