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Picture This...

It was 1974, Angola had just received it's independence from Portugal. A civil war broke out. It started in our town. We lived above a store. The store owner was a member of one of the factions and an arms supplier. Hiden in our living room were weapons; handguns, rifles, granades. We were afraid to move during the night, and even during the day. It was just my mom, my sister, and I, at home.

My sister was three years old, I was five. As a train engineer, my dad had been gone for several days. After a few days, mom decided it was time to run away.

Dad had a six month holiday coming, so, mom thought, why not go to Portugal for a few months and come back when this had blown over? That very night the store owner snuck us out to the train station. As we left the house windows were being broken in the backyard. Thieves coming to steal.

As the family of a train engineer, we had lots of priviliges. Such as, our own coach. As we were snuck on board, mom locked the door and further protected it by wrapping it with yarn she had brought. Over and over she wrapped it, until you could hardly tell there was a door there at all.

The train departed, we were on the way to the capital. Where, in a few days, we were to board an airplane to Portugal. We had no idea where my father was, no idea of how to contact him. No idea whether we'd see him again.

It seemed that every time the train stopped troops came on board. They searched the train, but, for some reason, they never got our door open. We always heard them; moving up and down the train, knocking on doors, herding people on and off the train as it served their purpose. For several days , we just huddled close together, down on the floor.

And then it happened. My mom peaked out of the window at one of the stops, and there, crossing the railway in her direction, was my dad. She called out to him and he made his way over. Quickly she told him her plans. In a few days he was to meet us at the capital and within a week we'd be out of the country.

In less than a week we were on a plane headed for Portugal with nothing but the clothes on our back. We had packed a suitcase for each member of the family, but by the time we arrived my dad's and mine were nowhere to be found, and would be lost forever.

During that last week, we ran away from a train full of soldiers under the cover of night. We hid in alley ways, while guns blazed all around, and even experienced things that we laugh at when we remember them.

For instance, over the couse of a day, mine, along with other moms had tried to keep children, like me, busy in a basement filled with corn. Somehow I escaped to go play out on the street and ended up out in the middle of a crossfire between two opposing factions. My mom went out and rescued me. Ok, that wasn't funny, however, she was so happy I was safe, she warmed up my behind really well. To this day, I'm not so sure about the logic behind that, so we laugh about it.

Much happened during that time 29 years ago. Much that I don't remember. Much that I do.

But that seems like a long time ago. That seems like something almost too hard to picture. Especially as I watch my children today, playing with their toys.

Posted by ed