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It's impossible to measure the importance of having your own home. I only realised this when I became a refugee because I had never been without a home before.

Photographs by Adam Patterson.

August 5th, 1995, was the painful day we realised we had to leave. We knew we had no choice because of the experiences of 1941, when the Second World War started and most of the inhabitants of this village were killed. Who wouldn't be afraid?

We all took off together. Music is in my heart so of course I took my tamburica with me. It was a relief to play traditional songs from home during our time in Serbia.

The people in Serbia were different. I went a few times to visit our neighbours and eventually I brought my wife. She stood there looking nervously around her and the neighbour asked, why doesn't your wife sit down? I said she was looking for something to steal. But they didn't seem to get the joke. We were never invited back.

Six years away was a long time. When we got back the electrical wiring had been stripped out of our house, along with the ceramic tiles from the bathroom and the kitchen's wooden fittings. It was a sad sight. But I was also very happy to be home.

Milos
Prkos, Croatia
Prkos, Croatia
Milos
Milos
Prkos, Croatia
Prkos, Croatia
Milos
Milos
Prkos, Croatia
Prkos, Croatia
Milos