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. When I think about perseverance and resilience now, these stories intertwine. I remember the woman and her son from Rwanda, and I remember that moment I rushed out to the car with my mom in the middle of the night to seek refuge in a neighboring country. I daresay perhaps the perseverance and resilience I see in myself today were planted as seeds in those frightening moments. Though I saw indescribable pain and fear written all over the face of my mom and the woman and her son, I also saw hope and faith that tomorrow could and must be better. A strength and willingness to keep moving forward somehow and fight for the right to live and thrive. When I saw my mom’s face that night as she whispered for me be as quiet as possible, I saw a woman still believing in a bright future for her children. Seeking refuge, even if risky, was worth it. Fast forward to today, and I’ve been living in the United States for the last eleven years. People often tell me that it must be hard to have grown up away from my parents, or be far from family. What they don’t realize is that it isn’t as hard when you know you are being sent away so at least someone will stay alive in case everyone else doesn’t make it. Even then, my personal experience isn’t remotely as hard as that of the woman and her son from Rwanda or the ones of millions of refugees around the world today—my mom and I were able to return to my country that same year after things calmed down. This is where I usually insert statistics and estimated numbers of refugees and displaced people around the world according to the UN or another research organization. But you know something? Numbers just don’t portray the human faces and the uniqueness of each situation and country affected by crisis. They don’t actually tell a story. People, on the other hand, do. My own story speaks. And because of it, I have hope for a better today and tomorrow. In the meantime, I am thankful for people all around the world who are doing one small but concrete thing every day to help alleviate the suffering of refugees.
1 Comment
Lolita DURING
6/17/2017 04:04:24 am
I have summarised many things I had to say on this reading into "Good write-up and keep it up!" :-)
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ABOUT...Writer/social worker/(seriously) amateur baker out of Minneapolis, MN. Archives
June 2017
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