A suffocating darkness surrounds me. Choking diesel fumes fill the air inside the container truck. I am nearly thrown off my feet as the vehicle jerks to a halt. A dead silence reigns. There is a loud groaning of steel as the handle of the door of the container is twisted open. A single beam of sunlight pierces the darkness, illuminating a sea of terrified children’s faces. So beings Hamilton Wende's harrowing account of the Rwandan genocide, which he witnessed firsthand as a reporter in 1994.
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