During the war, my mother would pray, “God, please keep us safe so we can live to tell these stories.”
Fifty-six years after the guns fell silent, the memories are still with us: some painful, some revealing, a few unexpectedly tender.
This is me honouring my mother’s answered prayer. Giving voice to the fear we swallowed, the strength we didn’t know we had, the moments that lingered long after the noise faded and the event that shaped a people.
This is not history from a distance.
This is not hearsay from tales and stories.
This is an eyewitness account. This is our lived experience.
And this is me finally telling the story After the Guns Fell Silent.
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