One day, when I was 8 years old, we heard gunshots down the street, which meant that soldiers were killing innocent civilians. Dad rushed in and said, ‘We need to leave right now’ and my parents ran around grabbing food and whatever they could lay their hands on. Of course I didn’t understand what was going on, but I could tell something was wrong, as there was this desperation to get out of the house as soon as possible. We fled to Ghana on foot and ended up in a refugee camp there.
In Togo, my . . .