I was born in the capital city of Togo, a small country nested in the southern part of Western Africa, in the mid-80’s.
One of my earliest memories growing up in Lomé, is of a woman and her young son sitting in our living room and talking to my mom about their experience in Rwanda and how they came to seek refuge in Togo.
It was the year 1994. I was young and wouldn’t understand the genocide and atrocities that occurred in the small, central African nation until years later. My little mind and body, however, could feel a lot more than they could understand at the time. I sensed the pain within them and wondered what could have made them both forget how to smile. Somehow, it felt familiar.
As I listened to them, I remembered a time four years prior, in 1990, when my mom and I escaped our own country because of political instability, nationwide insecurity and random killings that were shaking Togo. I was 5 years old.
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