It was years before I met Africa, that I understood a glimpse of some of the atrocities taking place there.
Dorris was a missionary, she and her husband Anthony Sakor had devoted their lives to missionary work. They had met in an orphanage in West Africa as children, and I would grow up in the United States with their daughter Wendy as they were affiliated with the small Bapist church in Eglon in the Puget Sound I grew up attending.
“Doris was with a group of women last week, taking water back to their village when they were stopped by soldiers.” My mom told me. “The soldiers told them to line up and not movie, and that anyone that flinched or moved would be shot, and then she had to stand there for almost an hour while bullets took out her friends. There were few standing when it was over.”