Today, at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, I stood silently in the market square of my home time, recalling the occasions when I have stood in the War Grave Cemetery at Fajara, in the Gambia.
In that garden lie the bodies of many brave young men who gave their lives so that we may live as free men and women, free to hope that our children will also life in peace, irrespective of colour or race. The neatly tended graves point to a multicultural community, young Gambians, a French Legion Officer, the British crew of a crashed flying boat, all sacrificed their lives for us.
It disturbs me that I can visit their lovely country, enjoy the 'Smiling Coast' whenever I wish to, but the families of those Gambian Heroes are generally denied travel to Britain, which many still call their motherland, denied a Visa because our Government suspects possible 'immigrants' and labels them 'Aliens'. Perhaps more people should visit Fajara and wander among the graves, and weep.