Monday, June 21, 1999 Published at 12:05 GMT 13:05 UK
A refugee's tragic return
Subadin hoped that somehow his son and six brothers had escaped
The BBC's Jeremy Bowen in Prizren tells the story of a traumatic homecoming for one elderly Kosovo-Albanian refugee.
Tens of thousands of Kosovo Albanians have been heading back to their towns and villages from the refugee camps, despite warnings from Nato about mines and unexploded shells.
One farmer was on his way back to his farm, revisiting his beehives, specially painted with faces with big black moustaches.
But the farmhouse roof was burnt out, and nobody had been around to protect farmer Subadin's son and his six brothers from the terrible, depraved rage of the Serb police who killed them.
The noise of a hungry dog barking sounded as if it was coming from a cellar, which Subadin said was under the ruins of a barn.
It was nervewracking enough watching where to put your feet in Subadin's farmyard - the rubble covered mud looked like a perfect place to leave a mine.
It crossed my mind that the beehive faces were self portraits of the artist as a young man.
It was better to have useless, absurd thoughts like that because unless you have been turned out of your house, seen it burned and had most of your family murdered, it is not easy to imagine what's going through the mind of a man like Subadin.
Scramble to leave
We crunched across the rubble, through a gap in the wall and into an orchard where ripe mulberries were plopping on to the hard earth like rain.
"These are the breakfast things we were using when the Serbs kicked us out," he said.
Try to imagine what it was like to have been Subadin and his family at that moment and in the next two hours or so after their breakfast was interrupted.
I have tried and it is really very difficult.
The Serbs gave them a few minutes to pack their tractor. What would you have taken?
Subadin looks like an organised man, so I expect he grabbed some cooking pots and a tarpaulin and a few blankets.
27 April, 1999
Just before the nearby village of Meja, there is a bend in the lane. They went round it and found themselves in hell.
Hundreds of Serb police and paramilitaries were lining either side of the lane. Some of them had made their faces green and black and brown with camouflage paint. They were all armed. The tractors stopped.
Try to imagine the next part. Imagine the sun is getting strong and you are sitting in a traffic jam. You are so frightened that your stomach feels like it is turning itself inside out and your mouth is so dry that when you try to whisper your tongue feels twice the size it should be and your words do not come out right.
They sat in their tractors and they watched the Serbs organising one of the worst massacres of the war.
The police, systematically, steadily, worked their way down the line, pulling out every man and boy they thought was old enough to hold a gun, and not too old to pull the trigger. They left Subadin.
They took his son and his six brothers. The last time he saw them they were kneeling with their hands behind their heads, with lines and lines of other Kosovo Albanian men. Later they were shot.
War crimes investigators think that at least 100 men were killed and it might have been closer to 300.
Field of sorrow
Let me tell you what the bodies that still lie in that field in Meja in are like. It is hard to say how many there are. Their flesh is black and the bones are showing. They stink.
Always I find myself looking at their clothes and I think, they did not know they were going to die that day when they did up their shoe laces or when they decided to wear those socks.
I met Subadin in a field. He had rushed back to the farm as soon as Nato took over, hoping that somehow his son and his six brothers had escaped and were hiding there.
When he saw the farm was an empty ruin, he went back to Meja to the field to see where they died.
The only time he cried was when he said that his grandchildren play phone games, pretending to call their father, Subadin's son, pretending that he is alive and that one day soon he's coming home.
But then Subadin pulled himself together, and got on with the life he has left.