An Unsafe World

The train has stopped. Sister says to stay quiet and just follow everyone inside. She holds my hand and we walk very slowly behind hundreds of other children holding their mommies' hands. No fathers are here. I miss my Pappie very much.

"This is Twejeng," Sister says. "An old sugar factory."
"It looks like a big, cold monster with evil eyes," I whisper. "And there are no windows. How will we breathe?"

Sister just squeezes my hand. There is a wall of bamboo spears around the whole area. Are we in prison? I miss our home and garden. I just want to play and forget everything else. The soldiers have guns, their uniforms are dirty and there is a high tower where other soldiers can see the whole camp. Are we prisoners of this war?

There is some confusion amongst all the "prisoners." Everyone is whispering. Mammie is telling us to keep moving, don't ask questions and stay together. I look at the soldiers. They are not Japanese. They are . . . Indonesian. We are prisoners of our own people. I don't understand this at all.

Sister says to keep up with her. We walk inside the factory and Mammie finds a little spot on the cold, hard cement floor to lay our belongings. She makes a square by lining up our suitcases.

"This is home," she says. "It's not so bad. And remember . . . God is still with us."