When they were around 11 years old, both my two older brothers were taken by the military into the child soldier program in South Sudan. That happened before I was even born, so I never knew them.
My memories of growing up are of war, and constantly moving. Whenever the militants came, they would take whatever food my mother had prepared for the family, and some of our cattle. Sometimes the World Food Programme would come and drop food, but then the North Sudanese would come as soon as they left to bomb people. So we never . . .