As a child, I was separated from my parents. Here’s how I coped

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I was born into a world of bliss before my life descended into chaos and suffering.

I grew up in a loving middle class family on the banks of the Nile in Sudan, now South Sudan.

My father, a university professor, and my mother, a secretary, created for me a caring home full of warmth and laughter.

Our extended family, including my grandmother, siblings and cousins, made our home a vibrant sanctuary.

But the world can collapse in an instant.

The moment everything changed

The first attempt on my father’s life came like a cold wind.

Then we were consumed by civil war, and at the age of five I was forcibly separated from both my parents.

By the time I came to Kenya at the age of 11 to live with relatives, I had lived through two civil wars and fled across five regions, witnessed bloodshed and suffered grief without my mother and father.

Despite my pain, Kenya was a new beginning. For the first time I went to school. Books opened my eyes to a world beyond war and survival.

I was determined to take advantage of every opportunity. I participated in debate, scouts, sports—anything that made me feel alive again, as if bringing back parts of me that the war had stolen.

But tragedy struck again.

After a brief reunion with my father when I was 11, I lost him forever; he was killed in Sudan when I was 14.

His body was never found, and I assumed that my mother and siblings were also dead.

Without my father’s financial support, I became homeless.

Heartbroken, I ended up in a Kenyan refugee camp.

My heart was broken beyond repair. And this pain still remains.

Seeking a feeling of control

During this chaos, I realized something important: it wasn’t just what happened to me that mattered, but what those events meant to me.

I had no control over war or violence, but I did have control over my reaction.

I needed a way to cope, something to hold on to when everything else, including the memories of my family, slipped away.

Buckets of Hope

I created what I called “buckets of hope” inspired by the colorful buckets my grandmother, mother and aunts once carried. Each of them symbolized something vitally important.

Originally a survival technique, these “buckets” have evolved into a powerful visualization and mindfulness tool that helps me organize thoughts, emotions, memories, and experiences in ways that promote resilience, growth, and hope.

Each imaginary bucket became a container for my thoughts, giving me clarity and helping me cope with overwhelming emotions.

Yellow held the warmth of family and the sunlight of the Nile.

Red meant danger, a reminder to trust your instincts.

Green symbolized growth and helping others, even in dark times.

Black represented resilience—the strength to endure, like the earth itself.

These buckets became my lifeline, helping me separate the chaos around me from the narrative I was telling myself.

They grounded me, giving me the ability to survive.

Motherhood as a trigger

I stayed in a refugee camp in Kenya for three years until I received a humanitarian visa to Australia at 17 and lived in a women’s shelter supported by the Society of St Vincent de Paul.

Thanks to the help of the Red Cross, I discovered that my mother and my siblings were still alive and living in a refugee camp in Sudan. Gradually they managed to join me in Australia.

I saw my mother again in Australia at the age of 22, after 17 years of separation.

Five years later I gave birth to a son.

But my own journey into motherhood reignited old fears.

Black and white image of a woman holding a newborn baby.

Abang Anade Otow said becoming a mother connected her with her own childhood, which was difficult to relive. Source: Delivered

Every milestone, every birthday brought back memories of my own trauma.

I desperately tried to remember my childhood memories of my mother, and my mind remembered the beautiful woman who told me stories, cooked, and played dress up.

But to my shock, my mother told me that the memories I recalled were not of her, but of my grandmother. My mind distorted my memories to protect me from pain.

And I was terrified. Did I really bring my son into a cruel world? What if he faced the same horrors?

Make peace with the past

But learning from his courage made me reclaim my own.

Little by little I learned to trust again. Believe in the goodness of people and remain hopeful.

Now, thanks to my buckets of hope and raising my son, who is a wonderful young man, I too have learned to let go of my fears.

I know he will have his own path.

A woman in a black dress and a bright shawl smiles at the camera.

Abang Anade Otou has found innovative ways to cope with past traumas. Source: Delivered

Through all of these life experiences, I found inspiration to write my memoir, a promise I made to myself a long time ago.

Writing became my way of coming to terms with my past.

Now I teach people to separate their circumstances from the stories they tell themselves.

To cherish your memories, trust your intuition, strive for growth, and build resilience.

As I continue to develop these tools, I am reminded every day to be grateful for the opportunities in life.

I not only survived, but I thrived. And that’s the legacy I hope to pass on.

Resilience is not just about surviving, it is about embracing life with hope.

Readers in need of crisis support can call the Helpline on 13 11 14, the Suicide Callback Line on 1300 659 467 and the Children’s Helpline on 1800 55 1800 (for young people under 25). For more information and support on mental health issues, please visit: or call 1300 22 4636.

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