SAŠA MILIVOJEV - Horrific organ harvesting lair described by an eyewitness

Saša Milivojev is a famous writer, poet, journalist columnist and political analyst... One of the most read columnists in Serbia, he is the author of five books, and numerous columns published in various daily newspapers. He is the author of the novel “The Boy from the Yellow House” and of political speeches. His work has been translated into around twenty languages across the world.

Saša Milivojev
Horrific organ harvesting lair described by an eyewitness

THE VOICE OF RUSSIA

29. October 2012. 15:24 Moscow time

“Live people were wrapped in barbed wire and thrown downhill”, – this is perhaps one of the “nicest” memories of the main character of The Boy from the Yellow House, a journalistic novel written by the Serbian writer Saša Milivojev. The author collected in one work just a tiny fragment of the atrocious crimes carried out by the Albanian terrorists in Kosovo before and after the NATO’s aggression against Yugoslavia.

The main character, a 12-year-old Serbian boy who was kidnapped in broad daylight and who almost fell victim to an illegal organ transplant in the notorious “Yellow House” in Northern Albania, where no less than 300 people, primarily Serbs, were killed. Many reputable sources claim that the victim’s organs were sold abroad, from which profited the leaders of the terrorist Kosovo Liberation Army.

As far as we know, the Voice of Russia is the first Russian media, which has published an extract from The Boy from the Yellow House, in Russian.

“I could sense the smell of chlorine, a weird smell, a smell of the hospital, of medicine. The doors opened and we were blinded by a bring light of the surgery ward. I could see the doctors and a person lying on the table, from his body they pumped something out with large thick syringes. I was just a child and I was afraid, I did not know what was going on. I felt sick. I could only see that the victim was lying in a cat position: the knees together with the spine curved.

We sat in the corner and waited for the surgery to end. The doctors were not wearing surgical gowns. They only had rubber gloves and aprons that were a light green color. I remember the floor on which I sat praying for mercy, surrounded by syringes, empty plastic bottles and gauze soaked in blood. The surgical table was huge… They killed the victim from which they drew the bone marrow, put him on a gurney and took out of the room. Then they brought the half dead person I had seen in the prison cell while I walked down the corridor. He was all yellow, wounded and was delirious. They gave him anesthesia. They were in a great hurry. They put on the surgical masks and prepared the containers. The victim was attached to some equipment, perhaps for sucking out blood. I began to loose consciousness.

I am haunted by horrible images. I watched them cut a corpse with a saw. The victim was wrapped in sheets, then in thick plastic. Then a few men came in and took out the cut up corpse. I was scared that they would put me on the table next, but I kept my mouth shut because I was afraid of the bald man who had his gun pointed at me. Since I was weak from acute hepatitis they decided to first cure me and then extract my organs. That’s when I fled that horrible house taking the horror of death with me. They say time cures everything. Time cures nothing. It destroys. What are inside me now are ruins, dusty, buried ruins.”

In his interview to the Voice of Russia the author of the novel Saša Milivojev told the story of how he created the book The Boy from the Yellow House whose main character managed to run away from the hospital and save his life.

When I studied the list of people who disappeared and were kidnapped in Kosovo, I found a lot of details about the horrible destiny of the victims. There are 1,128 people on the list – women, children, and priests. There was no trace left of them… I collected the material for the novel by talking to the witnesses who lost relatives in Kosovo… The author of a fiction novel has the right to make up things, but in this case I did not need to invent anything: there were sufficient life stories, stories of the horrible reality. I saw everything as if on a movie screen. I did not make up the war in Kosovo. I was also bombed in 1999 because of the made up Račak case, the place where the Serbs allegedly massacred the Albanians. It was the NATO that bombed the Serbs and gave the Albanians the green light to drive away and kill our people and to form a criminal state on the territory of our country with the help of the money received from stolen minerals and the extracted human organs of kidnapped civilians. And if anybody wants to silence the problem of illegal organ transplantation in the Balkans, it means that that person is either protecting himself or somebody else from justice or worldwide shame.

The novel The Boy from the Yellow House appeared to demonstrate to the World that we are not the most “genocide prone people in the World”, as they try to portray us. Serbia’s prosecutors need to make public the information about secret burials in the same way they made public the testimony of the protected witness, a former member of the Kosovo Liberation Army, about the heart extraction from a live Serb. This way they can prove the fact of the genocide of the Serbs.

Saša Milivojev - The boy from the Yellow house

Saša Milivojev

THE BOY FROM THE YELLOW HOUSE

Genre: NOVEL (confession of the witness as an academic reference)
COPYRIGHT ISSUE
Number of pages: 286
ISBN: 978-86-914737-0-9

18+ Not recommended to the minors and psychologically sensitive people...

THE BOY FROM THE YELLOW HOUSE is the most shocking novel ever published in the world, an autobiographical confession after which mankind will never be the same. In copyright meditation of Saša Milivojev, the Boy-witness speaks about unimaginable horror he survived in his own country as a 12 year-old boy: about the Yellow House and camps, about kidnapped civilians and drinking their blood, about smuggling their organs and war crimes, about the most brutal killings and rapes, about incredible sufferings and ethical cleaning, about genocide and secret tombs...

The novel “The Boy from the Yellow House” has been built on several narrative levels, simultaneously discovering all pranks in close and actual history, discovering political dilemmas on integrations, territorial integrity protection as well as on identity of one sovereign country; on criminal and corruption, prosecution of the political opponents under the veil of democracy, on terrorist strategies and global jihad expansion. A blend of epic and lyric, narrative, dramatic and journalistic; on bombing and destroying of the genetic code; on friends' betrayal, lies, the criminals, the sectaries, false identities, psychiatric cases, drug addiction, prostitution, pedophilia, necrophilia; on the lowest levels of the human being and divine art; on hate and love, the way of overcoming anger, on peace, conciliation, global love and tolerance... speaks the hero of angelic beauty and an extraordinary talent, wide knowledge and fascinating performance...

OPERATING ROOM OF THE YELLOW HOUSE

Auf jedem Wege, in jeder Form suche ich immer und ewig dasselbe: die Wahrheit.

We went out of the prison. Very fresh evening. Strange air. Painful song of night birds could have been heard. We came into the van parked near dense thicket. I was driven by Baldy, our road was absolutelly unknown... Darkness... Nothing could be seen except of occasionaly placed houses and the Moon, hiden among a number of clouds. The village was sleeping. I felt very badly. Nausea. Slackness. Sweat. Baldy was driving very carefully and didn't say any word all way long. He stoped the car, turned off the engine, opened the window... He was watching the Yellow House untill some people came out of it.

“Come on, go out!” - he waited for me next to the door and grabbed my arm. We came closer to those people. They were whispering something while we were going into the house, known to me because I had already heard a lot of terrible and spooky stories about it in the prison.

We were walking towards the doors, whose edges hardly allowed sharp rays of light to penetrate. Smell of chlorine was in the air, very strange smell... smell of hospital, smell of drugs... Suddenly, the door opened and intensive light from the operating room made us blind for a moment. I saw the doctors and a man on the table; they were pulling out something from his body by large and thick syringes. I was little and so scared, didn't know what was happening around me. I guess, they were extracting the bone marrow because it also can be transplated. I didn't see the victim's face. I felt sick. I just saw the victim in position of cat, its knees wereput together and the spine was bent. That is why I suspect they collected the bone marrow. That was being done by the experts.

“We have to wait them to finish” said Boldy. He didn't care I was crying. He could have let me go if he had wanted.

“I am so scared! I am scared. Are they going to kill me? Please, do not kill me! Don't, please!” - I was begging in tears.

“Shut up!” - I fell silent when he put the gun on my temple; all my body was shaking of fear and iciness. My legs were trembeling. My teeth rattled. We were sitting in one corner, waiting them to finish. The doctors were not dressed in those clasic hospital coats. They only had rubber gloves and rubber aprons, tied around the waist, all in hospital light-green color.

I remember the pathos on which I'm still begging in tears, surrounded by scattered syringes and empty bottles, as well as gauzes soacked with blood. The table for operation was very large. On a wooden rack, there was an empty bottle of infusion. I remember a small cabinet in which I saw pans, scalpels, small bottles of injections, package of syringes, infusion or waht ever... The walls were quite old, but whitewashed. That place was old but clear. I would say that all accessories were aseptically. I remember the blades' glow!

It was not a luxuriously equipped operating room: there were only the most essential things, instruments and apparatus. The victim, who whose bone marrow had been being extracted was butchered, thrown on the trolley and brought forth from the room. They brought a half-dead man I had seen in the prison cell while going through the hall. He was all yellow, in wounds, like a corpse, halucinating something. Anesthesia was given to him. They were in a hurry, put masks on their faces preparing some containers. They hooked up some apparatus to the victim, I believe it was an apparatus for suction of blood. I started to lose my consciousness and to see them in some fog.

I saw knives, scalpels, hurry and assault! Baldy took cocaine and started to snuff it. They throwed some nylon over us, I heard clinking of ice while I was vomiting in the corner. I spent much time waiting..and shaking... I saw Nosy while packing some organ. I was exhausted, bathing in cold weat...

Liver and kidney - several hours, no more than a day can be usable if intended for transplantation. That is some period in which organs are able to keep their functions. They packed the organ into the bag with ice, i remember: in that way the organ can longer stay usable and fresh, yes... Usual transport... Performed in plastic buckets wih ice. That organ must not be in direct contact with ice; some foil must be between i.e. there must be some material without any direct contact with ice, but in the same time material which absorbes temperature of ice: material which cools the organ. After being submerged into ice (not literarly because of that foil I mentioned before), the organ is also resistant to shakings. Avoiding all kinds of shaking is very important condition for escaping deterioration of the organ. Hm... I do not know what effection on that make turbulations in the plane, diluted air pressure and other weather parameters in the heights. I really can't help you here, but information that organs were being flown by plans I got from the security services; latter, I confirmed that information listening other witnesses. Even I got some orders proving an international transport. I think that optimal temperature for saving organs is 4°C. I really do not have any knowledge about medicine except on dermatovenerology. I have no idea on surgery, just talk what I can remember. Horrible pictures are following me. I have a severe trauma. I was watching them cutting the body with the back-saw.

When they wrapped the victim in the sheet, and wrapped like that into a thick nylon, Mustache Man opened the door and whistled. Several young men came and brought out a dismembered corpse. I was so scared that I would be the next on the operating table, but I was in scilence and in terrible fear of Baldy who held the gun pointed in my head.
Some women came and started to clean the table, to scatter it with some chemicals. One doctor was of the middle height, middle ages and fat. He had bulged belly, redish in his cheeks, with thick black eyebrows and mustache and with terrible eyes. Other one was taller, thinner, bloodless in his face, with huge red nose. They were speaking with Baldy: those were nurse and other medical stuff. I think in that hell of the house, there were fifty of them who were stealing human organs. I remember one black man and one beardy man, mujahedin. Who knows from which countries they all came there. They were running, going in, going out, altering each other... They made some analysis of blood results... Although I then didn't know what those words mean, I am sure they mentioned some components of blood such as bilirubin, hemoglobin, transaminase etc..They were making some deal. Man with mustaches approached me and with his fingers pulled down the skin bellow my eye. He was watching my white of the eye: “Verdhez”.

“You have jaundice, you son of the bitch! I will burn you alive if you have infected me!” screamed Baldy pointing the gun towards me.

“No, please, nooo... Do not kill me, please!”

He hit me with his fist in the head, broke my nose, pulled my ears! Nosy grabbed his arm and began to defend me: “Take him to hospital. When he is well, bring him back” - I tried to understand their conversation. We lived together and learnt languages from each other. Since the functions of my organs were quite bad because of acute jaundice and hepatitis, they wanted firstly to heal me and after that to take my organs. Than I left that damned house, with gauze on my nose, taking with me incredible fear of death. After 9 years, I was a bit free of fear, so I started to talk about that. But, it still hurts, very, very much.. They say: time is the great healer. It is not true. Time destroys. I am a ruin now, dusty and buried...

Translated by

Aleksandra Jakšić

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