I grew up in Sierra Leone, in a small village where as a boy my imagination was sparked by the oral tradition of storytelling. At a very young age I learned the importance of telling stories - I saw that stories are the most potent way of seeing anything we encounter in our lives, and how we can deal with living.

I had a very simple, unremarkable and happy life. And I grew up in a very small town. And so my life was made up of, you know, in the morning going to the river to fetch water - no tap water, and no electricity - and, you know, bathing in the river, and then going to school, and playing soccer afterwards.

This is one of the consequences of the civil war. People stop trusting each other, and every stranger becomes an enemy.

The places I come from have such rich languages, such a variety of expression. In Sierra Leone we have about fifteen languages and three dialects. I grew up speaking about seven of them.

I joined the army to avenge the deaths of my family and to survive, but I've come to learn that if I am going to take revenge, in that process I will kill another person whose family will want revenge then revenge and revenge and revenge will never come to an end.

In the sky there are always answers and explanations for everything: every pain, every suffering, joy and confusion.

This days one must be careful to avoid awakening the pain of another.

I believe that there is a God, and coming from an African tradition, I believe also that there are gods.

I guess what I'd like to say is that people in Sierra Leone are human beings, just like Americans. They want to send their kids to school they want to live in peace they want to have their basic rights of life just like everyone else. I think we all owe an obligation to support people who want to do that.

I am always quiet so that I know what to say when I must speak.

ONE OF THE UNSETTLING THINGS about my journey, mentally, physically, and emotionally, was that I wasn’t sure when or where it was going to end.

As a kid in Africa, you were so connected to nature itself because you went farming, watched the moon out at night, observed how the sky was different, and how the birds chanted different songs in the evening and the morning.

For many observers, a child who has known nothing but war, a child for whom the Kalashnikov is the only way to make a living and for whom the bush is the most welcoming community, is a child lost forever for peace and development. I contest this view. For the sake of these children, it is essential to prove that another life is possible.

My childhood had gone by without my knowing, and it seemed as if my heart had frozen.

Some people tried to hurt us to protect themselves, their family and communities...This was one of the consequences of civil war. People stopped trusting each other, and every stranger became an enemy. Even people who knew you became extremely careful about how they related or spoke to you.

...children have the resilience to outlive their sufferings, if given a chance.

My teeth became sour as I listened to his story. It was then that I understood why he was quiet all the time.