I was seven years old and my sister was thirteen when we lost our parents. A redefining moment in our lives that left us feeling lost and confused. The pain felt could not be put into words. Our best friends were gone. All we had was each other, or at least we thought.
Neither of us was prepared for the unanimous decision made by the village that was left to raise us. My sister was to live with one of my aunts, and I was with my grandparents. The happy family I knew had just disappeared. That is the best way my seven-year-old brain could explain it.
Until today, I can not remember if we hugged and cried on the day of separation. Or if we waved at each other and turned our backs away from reality. What I do remember is a gut-wrenching feeling that would not go away. Nobody explained to me what was happening or why. I just knew my life no longer had a sister to lean on.