When we first arrived in Topaz, barracks were still being constructed, and there was nothing; but by the time we left in 1945, Topaz had been transformed by the hard work of the Japanese prisoners and had become “home.” It was pretty–there were gardens and trellises that the Issei had created, and a large pond in the middle of the camp. I didn’t want to leave. For my younger siblings, Topaz was the only home they had ever known.
