Post by maggie on Jun 5, 2007 14:56:07 GMT 10
A/N: I wrote this in the hopes that it might inspire some humanitarian feelings out there in reader-land. This is not done lightly - I've spent the better part of three years studying human rights and genocide. I put it into fiction with the intent of spreading awareness of a very real situation. It's still Luby, but based on actual events taking place. Please see PostScript for further information.
Warning: Rated "T" for graphic realities.
"Darfur"
“You see now. Why I had to come here.” His voice was low, the grip on her hand conveying his raw, indefinable fear. He hadn’t let go of it since they’d set foot off the tiny aircraft that had carried them the last leg of the journey. To here. To devastation.
A knot in her throat kept her from speaking, her only emotion evident in the tears rolling down her cheeks. Nothing had prepared her for this. She leaned into him as the Jeep bounced along the sand. Barely an hour in and they’d already faced the gruesome realities of this place, a pair of lifeless bodies in the beginnings of decay, not five feet from their path, bloodied and beaten and dismembered. The stench of death had stayed with her long after they’d disappeared behind them. Probably the last recognition the corpses would have, the last acknowledgement of their plight. The memory the three of them shared, her, Luka, and the driver, were the only lasting evidence that the pair had even existed. Now they were only numbers in a burgeoning figure of victimization. Of holocaust.
“It will get worse.” He had to warn her, as much as his heart ached to protect her from the tragedies to come. He’d begged her not to come, bargained that he’d stay, but she’d made up her mind. To be with him, she’d have to understand this. Understand his need to do this, and he would, he always would. He’d seen too much to turn a blind eye, as so many did. He’d raged at the news so many times for the blithering on about nonsense when such atrocities were rampant. He’d cried at night in her arms after nightmares of past sorrows and present pain. He’d wanted to go and he would again, she knew. And so she’d come, because there was nothing else she could do. For better or for worse.
The camp was nothing she’d expected. Yes, she’d known there would be less-than-hospitable conditions, but not like this. Nothing close. An ocean of dirt-and-tear-streaked faces, hundreds of them. Thousands. Two and half million in the country, all herded into camps such as this one to cling together and fight for life, to sustain, to endure, and it wasn’t them, the foreign saviors, coming to save them. They could only offer as much as they were able, little or nothing in the grand scheme, the only factor keeping the masses from complete ruin some innate necessity to persevere. Like nothing she’d seen, and nothing she hoped she’d have to see again. Women half-starved for the benefit of their children, giving what little they had to save their families. Babies with wide eyes bearing ribs and collarbones and sores. She’d believed the NICU was the only place she’d ever see something so unbearably heartbreaking, but it didn’t compare. Nothing could. His hand gripped her elbow as they walked, sun beating down so hard she felt her skin peeling and cracking and scalding. The air was stifling. Thick with human waste and overcrowded atmosphere and death, above all, death. More death than she’d encountered in ten years of medicine. He turned her away, instinctively, as they passed a fresh corpse, a woman crouched over the form, sobbing, wailing. All she glimpsed before he pushed her in front of him was the size of the deceased. A child. No more than ten years old. Acid burned her throat, crept up, and for the first time of many, she gagged, wretched, vomited into the sand. Nothing would accustom her to this, not ever, and for that reason, as much as any other, she’d come. Had to know. Had to know how he’d continued to live after seeing it, had to know she could do something. Anything. For herself, for him, for their child, for the greater good, but mostly, for fear that she’d lose him if she didn’t. He had demons far deeper than she’d grasp unless she came here, to this hell, and faced them alongside him.
The walked a narrow path through the masses of makeshift tents towards the clinic, red clay dust underfoot, as though the blood spilled had dyed the sand a rust color. She’d heard that somewhere, and believed it at that moment as they walked amid the devastation. Her eyes landed on a young mother with a baby slung on her back, tending to the fire. The child could be no older than Joe, big, bright eyes just as curious as those that had gazed at her as she kissed him goodbye and left, in tears, her own mother holding the infant close, protectively. It would be two weeks without seeing those eyes, save for this child’s matching pair. She blinked, committing the face to memory, said a silent prayer for his safety. The dark eyes landed on her own, blissfully unaware of what surrounded him. A fresh wave of tears pooled and slid down her face and she inwardly swore to remember this child, the spot where his tent was, his mother’s bright headscarf. If all she could give the child was a scrap of food and a vaccination, it would be enough just to see those eyes.
They stopped outside the clinic, Luka’s hand on her elbow, face somber. “Please. I know you want to do this, but please, don’t stay here. I need you to be safe.” His head bowed, his gaze was steely on hers, begging, trying to implore her to allow him to protect her.
“No.” The words came out soft and yet sure. She gripped his hand, palms slick with sweat. “I’m staying with you.”
“I won’t blame you if you turn around now and go home.” Such desperation, such fear in his expression. Terrified to lose the one thing he couldn’t bear to.
Her fingers laced through his as she stepped closer. “I need to do this, Luka. For us. Because I love you.”
It was the last moment of beauty in that place that they’d see in the next days. It would pain them both to be there, find themselves helpless at every moment, watch as a country fell apart on itself. It would make them love one another that much more fiercely, as well, loving the only respite amongst horror. He bent and whispered to her softly as they entered, words more true than they’d ever been. “I love you, too.”
PostScript: Four-hundred thousand people have been murdered in Darfur thusfar. Two and a half million are displaced. We must act now to stop the genocide. For more information, and to do something, please visit:
www.savedarfur.org
www.amnesty.org
www.instantkarma.com
And please purchase the benefit CD from Amnesty International featuring John Lennon covers by U2, Snow Patrol, Green Day, and others, available June 12. I am not in any way posting these links for my own benefit. This is simply a request to my readers to get involved and help create change. Namaste and peace to you all.
Warning: Rated "T" for graphic realities.
"Darfur"
“You see now. Why I had to come here.” His voice was low, the grip on her hand conveying his raw, indefinable fear. He hadn’t let go of it since they’d set foot off the tiny aircraft that had carried them the last leg of the journey. To here. To devastation.
A knot in her throat kept her from speaking, her only emotion evident in the tears rolling down her cheeks. Nothing had prepared her for this. She leaned into him as the Jeep bounced along the sand. Barely an hour in and they’d already faced the gruesome realities of this place, a pair of lifeless bodies in the beginnings of decay, not five feet from their path, bloodied and beaten and dismembered. The stench of death had stayed with her long after they’d disappeared behind them. Probably the last recognition the corpses would have, the last acknowledgement of their plight. The memory the three of them shared, her, Luka, and the driver, were the only lasting evidence that the pair had even existed. Now they were only numbers in a burgeoning figure of victimization. Of holocaust.
“It will get worse.” He had to warn her, as much as his heart ached to protect her from the tragedies to come. He’d begged her not to come, bargained that he’d stay, but she’d made up her mind. To be with him, she’d have to understand this. Understand his need to do this, and he would, he always would. He’d seen too much to turn a blind eye, as so many did. He’d raged at the news so many times for the blithering on about nonsense when such atrocities were rampant. He’d cried at night in her arms after nightmares of past sorrows and present pain. He’d wanted to go and he would again, she knew. And so she’d come, because there was nothing else she could do. For better or for worse.
The camp was nothing she’d expected. Yes, she’d known there would be less-than-hospitable conditions, but not like this. Nothing close. An ocean of dirt-and-tear-streaked faces, hundreds of them. Thousands. Two and half million in the country, all herded into camps such as this one to cling together and fight for life, to sustain, to endure, and it wasn’t them, the foreign saviors, coming to save them. They could only offer as much as they were able, little or nothing in the grand scheme, the only factor keeping the masses from complete ruin some innate necessity to persevere. Like nothing she’d seen, and nothing she hoped she’d have to see again. Women half-starved for the benefit of their children, giving what little they had to save their families. Babies with wide eyes bearing ribs and collarbones and sores. She’d believed the NICU was the only place she’d ever see something so unbearably heartbreaking, but it didn’t compare. Nothing could. His hand gripped her elbow as they walked, sun beating down so hard she felt her skin peeling and cracking and scalding. The air was stifling. Thick with human waste and overcrowded atmosphere and death, above all, death. More death than she’d encountered in ten years of medicine. He turned her away, instinctively, as they passed a fresh corpse, a woman crouched over the form, sobbing, wailing. All she glimpsed before he pushed her in front of him was the size of the deceased. A child. No more than ten years old. Acid burned her throat, crept up, and for the first time of many, she gagged, wretched, vomited into the sand. Nothing would accustom her to this, not ever, and for that reason, as much as any other, she’d come. Had to know. Had to know how he’d continued to live after seeing it, had to know she could do something. Anything. For herself, for him, for their child, for the greater good, but mostly, for fear that she’d lose him if she didn’t. He had demons far deeper than she’d grasp unless she came here, to this hell, and faced them alongside him.
The walked a narrow path through the masses of makeshift tents towards the clinic, red clay dust underfoot, as though the blood spilled had dyed the sand a rust color. She’d heard that somewhere, and believed it at that moment as they walked amid the devastation. Her eyes landed on a young mother with a baby slung on her back, tending to the fire. The child could be no older than Joe, big, bright eyes just as curious as those that had gazed at her as she kissed him goodbye and left, in tears, her own mother holding the infant close, protectively. It would be two weeks without seeing those eyes, save for this child’s matching pair. She blinked, committing the face to memory, said a silent prayer for his safety. The dark eyes landed on her own, blissfully unaware of what surrounded him. A fresh wave of tears pooled and slid down her face and she inwardly swore to remember this child, the spot where his tent was, his mother’s bright headscarf. If all she could give the child was a scrap of food and a vaccination, it would be enough just to see those eyes.
They stopped outside the clinic, Luka’s hand on her elbow, face somber. “Please. I know you want to do this, but please, don’t stay here. I need you to be safe.” His head bowed, his gaze was steely on hers, begging, trying to implore her to allow him to protect her.
“No.” The words came out soft and yet sure. She gripped his hand, palms slick with sweat. “I’m staying with you.”
“I won’t blame you if you turn around now and go home.” Such desperation, such fear in his expression. Terrified to lose the one thing he couldn’t bear to.
Her fingers laced through his as she stepped closer. “I need to do this, Luka. For us. Because I love you.”
It was the last moment of beauty in that place that they’d see in the next days. It would pain them both to be there, find themselves helpless at every moment, watch as a country fell apart on itself. It would make them love one another that much more fiercely, as well, loving the only respite amongst horror. He bent and whispered to her softly as they entered, words more true than they’d ever been. “I love you, too.”
PostScript: Four-hundred thousand people have been murdered in Darfur thusfar. Two and a half million are displaced. We must act now to stop the genocide. For more information, and to do something, please visit:
www.savedarfur.org
www.amnesty.org
www.instantkarma.com
And please purchase the benefit CD from Amnesty International featuring John Lennon covers by U2, Snow Patrol, Green Day, and others, available June 12. I am not in any way posting these links for my own benefit. This is simply a request to my readers to get involved and help create change. Namaste and peace to you all.
