“Chasing the Echoes of Home: A Journey Through Memory and Migration”
We exited the building and were stepping onto the sidewalk when two French military police in riot gear stopped us. “Nations Unies,” my mother insisted, but they wouldn’t let us pass until she’d pulled her United Nations ID card out of her purse.
She hustled me down the street and around the corner, in front of damaged storefronts and shuttered businesses, to where my father was waiting in the U.N. jeep.
Daddy nodded at me but kept talking into his walkie-talkie as he manoeuvred the car into reverse and headed down the narrow, potholed street.
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