J'ai plusieurs terres

When my parents were born in the 1950s, it was in French Gabon, a country that wasn’t really their own. They didn’t know that, as adults, they would live in France, a country that would never be their own.

They had no idea that their children would grow up like trees cut off from the soil, uprooted, strangers for life.

What does it mean to be a granddaughter of ‘Françafrique’?

A stranger forever in the country where you grew up?

What story should I tell my mixed-race children? 
Can we really envisage living together without facing up to our shared history?