From Terror to Hope

When I looked behind, what had been my home was engulfed in flames and a continuous chorus of gunfire, anguished cries and moans, and the smell of cow dung, millet, sorghum and grass-thatched huts blended together in a sad potpourri of sorrow, shattered dreams and a bleak future. What had I done, at 12, to deserve this fate?

I had lost everything I cherished and had despised and hated God for it. But 12 years later, the same subject of my spite had brought the Armstrongs on the scene and had...