Lazar, Luka, Bojan, Milica, and Bojana live in the village of Bratilovce near Kosovska Kamenica, in Kosovo. They are the only children in the village, and none of them share the same grade so they have no peers. Their home lies in the mountains, about 10 kilometers from the town of Kamenica, in southern Kosovo. They live in what are called enclaves, surrounded mostly by endless hills, pastures, and forests.
Every day, Milica and Bojana are taught by a teacher who comes to the old village school, while the older boys must travel to attend classes. Their father and uncle, Novica, spend their entire days driving the children to and from school, leaving no time for any other work. The hamlet where they live has become almost completely deserted. There isn’t even a proper road for a kilometer or two leading to their house, which means in winter or during rainy weather it’s impossible to reach by car.
Their closest neighbors are Albanians, with whom they have little contact. At dusk, the family retreats inside their four walls. The children never go anywhere on their own. Their big yard, with two wooden goalposts and a swing made of chains hanging from an old pear tree, is their only playground and park.
I ask Bojana if she misses having friends. She shyly nods her head, lowers her gaze, and stays silent.
-How does it feel when it’s just the two of you in school? I ask again. She doesn’t explain, only shrugs sadly, her eyes searching for her sister and classmate Milica.
-It’s hard says Novica. No one cares that we are here. Last month I spent my last money to fix the road a little. I’ve been to the municipality a hundred times asking for help. They don’t care that one Serb still lives here. They won’t even come to see.
Sadly, this is the same story everywhere Serbs in Kosovo live under Albanian-run municipalities. They cannot exercise their basic rights, not even to protect their property. They are mostly left to themselves, hoping only that no one will disturb them and take away the last thing they have left—their home.
Looking at a photograph taken in front of a monastery during last year’s trip for enclave children, the youngest, Bojan, is asked which monastery this is.
-The monastery with lots of kids, he answers.
Unknowingly, with childlike clarity, he reveals that for him, friends—whom he longs for—are the true holy place.
-Nemanja, Lazar, Luka…-Milica recognizes and names faces from the picture. She says she can’t wait to gather again this year at the Summer School, which we organized last summer thanks to the support of our donors..
The camp for children from remote Kosovo enclaves was an unforgettable experience for these little ones, who otherwise spend their entire summer break alone in the mountains. They learned about their language, faith, and most importantly—played and laughed. We hope our kind friends will again support us this year, so we can enrich their childhood with better memories.
Children like these grow up in constant uncertainty, fear, and worry, while their parents live in anxiety over the daily news they receive. How important it is to give them a chance to learn, play, and feel carefree—even in a small school like ours—is confirmed by father Novica Ristić.
Learn more about the Summer School for enclave children here: Summer school 2024
-They had such a great time—they played football, made friends, laughed, and talked—all the things they can’t normally do. At home, there’s no one to play with, no other kids, no company, only themselves, says Novica.
Every child and every parent in Kosovo living like we do—and there are many—should have the chance to give their children experiences like this.
That is why this is another humanitarian mission where we need your support—to give children love, care, and the childhood every child in the world deserves.
If you are able, please support our work and the survival of Serbs in Kosovo and Metohija!
