Eritrea, May 14th 1995
I met Ma’aza, the veteran fighter, as she was recovering in hospital from a miscarriage. In spite of being in pain, she insisted on talking. Many Eritrean women fighters put off having children until the war was over, but then found it was hard to find a partner. Men preferred submissive domesticated wives rather than feisty independent women. The political struggle for Eritrean women started in the 1950s. I joined in September 1974 – then there were just 5 women fighters. Some of the men encouraged us to participate but for the majority it was difficult for them to understand about equality or women. They said, “How can women climb mountains?” Amongst the men though, there were a few who encouraged us and said women must be equal. We knew when there was a battle we would prove ourselves – we would either fight or die. There were a few women who had already been fighting – they told us that not only was the battle hard, but there was also hunger – only leaves to eat. We were encouraged to be in front – and we really thought we would die. I can’t lie and say I understood the politics – I was only 13 – but what pushed us on was seeing the Ethiopians killing women in front of us. Seeing them cut off women’s breasts. This made us leave home to fight. My parents were crying, but they couldn’t do anything about it. Before I joined up I hadn’t travelled at all and I hadn’t seen anything of the war.

Being a fighter was hard – hunger, travelling on foot for days on end with nothing in your stomach – some days we couldn’t even find water. When the battle came it was a relief – you felt that if you died that would be a relief, a rest. Up until 1976, we were actually fighting Eritreans, because the commanders in the Ethiopian army were actually Eritrean and they knew the land. There was one girl who was surrounded by six Ethiopians, they were laughing and saying it’s only a girl. She knew the only way out of the situation was to kill someone – she got a hand grenade ready – when five of them came for her she threw it, and actually killed all six.

Although we were dying alongside the men, we still weren’t taken seriously by some of them. One woman even killed herself because she was given such a hard time. Late in 1975, there were more women joining the field and by then there was war throughout the country. There was no solution. Women showed they could do everything and from then on we were encouraged. The men stopped questioning what we were doing – in some areas the leaders were two women instead of three boys. We still have to struggle for equality for women – in the countryside many women are in the same position as before. As a mother I’d feel sorry if my daughter went off to fight, but if there’s no other solution they have to join up.

Matagalpa, Nicaragua, November 12th 1985
Driving back from photographing coffee pickers, lots of soldiers on the road, including 14-year-old Marta, hot and sweaty in her uniform. She’s been in the reserve for a year, serious and childish in her shyness – makes me feel frivolous.

Managua , Nicaragua, 5th November 1984
Wander down to the post office, now guarded by two militia members – a man in uniform and Martha Lorena, in high heels, with carefully varnished fingers cradling her gun.

San Jose las Flores, El Salvador, April 27th 1989
After hassles of getting safe-conduct signed by a colonel, eventually, we set off. Idyllic village scenes of ploughing and hammock-weaving put into context the war with the buzz of circling helicopters. We arrived at San Jose as Compas are coming in from the hills – 13-year-old radio operator Delme is supremely confident.

Puerto Cortes, Honduras, August 25th 1983
Press call for arrival of USS Nassau, part of US army manoeuvres.* Fifty women stevedores are part of the team. Strong women, proud of the job they do although none of the US soldiers seems to know why they are here or is able to question the role of the American army in Central America.
* Nicaragua thought this was a warm-up for an invasion. In fact, in December US troops went into Grenada.

Solomana Camp, Eritrea, March 25th 1988
As it begins to get dark, we drive up to some thorn bushes at the foot of steep stony hills. Looking closer realise it’s a classroom, carefully hidden. Women are learning to read and write in the midst of a war – the Kalashnikov in the front row is the only sign that this is not a normal evening class.

Afabet, Eritrea, March 28th 1988
After driving all night to come to the battlefield – an apocalyptic scene of burnt-out tanks ambushed in a narrow valley. Dead Ethiopian soldiers are everywhere – the Eritreans claim they put out of action three divisions and a mechanised brigade – in human terms that’s 18,000 troops killed, captured or forced to flee. One poor man has virtually melted into the asphalt. Back at the base fighters are relaxing after last week’s battle at Afabet, decisive in ensuring Eritrea’s independence in 1993.