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The Grotto at Notre Dame, taken by my friend Mario Ragghianti. He says it's one of his favorite places in the world...and I can see why.
This one's been in the making for a while...
I sit here tonight at my computer desk, looking at my wall. On my wall, I have recently been taping up various magazine and newspaper clippings of things that one normally wouldn't adorn their bedroom walls with. One picture is of an Iraqi woman walking down the street after their recent daytime curfew was lifted. She is just peacefully walking by herself down the street, but in order to do so, she has to walk by a huge military tank, poised and aimed to fire, decked with two militiamen on top with huge rifles in hand. She walks right on by. I wonder if it phases her. If it makes her uneasy, worried, uncomfortable, or if she is seasoned and weathered to such situations and sights. I wonder if she is thinking how she hopes she makes it through today without getting innocently shot to death, or if she is thinking how many jars of beans she needs to make dinner tonight.
Another clipping headlines, "The bravest woman in the world- Mukhtar Mai" and shows a beautiful woman sitting amidst 20 or so small children, all gathered around her close, looking at her intently for knowledge, help and guidance. The story below it goes on to tell of this woman, Mukhtar Mai, from a small Pakistani village, who was raped by 4 men to punish her brother for something the men simply thought he had done. Instead of following her community and family's expectations to kill herself- and if she could not do that, then to be forever shamed and banished from their village and live destitute somewhere else- she stayed where she was, faced her attackers, and used the compensation money from the government to start her village's first-ever schools. She was not educated either- she enrolled herself in the schools as well. She saw a need of severe importance and worked towards it selflessly- her rapists' children were enrolled in the school as well, even though the men were still threatening her life. She turned something that was seen as so awful that it merited her death, into something so extremely useful and wonderful and most importantly, hope-filled and good.
Finally, the story I have been consumed with for most of the day- the conflict going on along the border between Chad and Sudan. I saw this beautfully sad picture of a young boy walking across a deserted landscape with a baby in his arms and another small child following close at foot. He's looking back as he's walking...my emotional heart sees him looking back for parents, family, or any adult to help him, but he finds none. He is now a refugee in his own country due to the pilaging, plundering, raping, and slaughtering that had happened in his village and has been happening to villages all along the border this past week when rebels from Sudan crossed into Chad and attacked thousands upon thousands ever so mercilessly. It didn't matter what age or gender- anyone in their way was shot dead or "slaughtered" as the paper calls it. It didn't matter the village or the family- every single person's belongings, including all of their food, water, sheep, etc, were either burned or taken. In an area where what they had seemed like nothing to us- thousands literally now have nothing. One mother recounted her husband being killed and then forced to grab what she could and flee saying, "I have lost everything but my children....We have three bowls of grain left, when that is gone, only God can help us."
...as I continued reading the paper today, I saw all of the ads for this certain celebrity perfume, and for these beautiful diamond rings and I couldn't help but be consumed by pure guilt and sadness. I'm in my nice apartment with enough crap to fill an entire bedroom, a living room and half a kitchen (as well as a room at home and nice car to drive between the two) and this lady has three freaking bowls of grain!?!?! There's another picture in the same article of a lady standing in a 4 ft ditch in the middle of a dry, barren field digging for water to live as I sit and buy bottled water because the water in my apartment just doesn't taste quite up to my standards. It's not right. I feel so naive for thinking this, because I know everyone goes through this point in their life, and I feel that there's a reason why life is the way it is. Maybe to them, it's not so bad. Maybe other people are already doing things to help where help is possible. Maybe in some cases, resolution and help isn't possible. Is it natural for the Iraqi woman to be thinking about the beans for dinner tonight? How unrealistic is it for people to stand up to injustices and right the wrongs in the world- could it only work if it was just their own village? What is going to happen to that lady and her kids when three bowls turns to none? How does a 9-year old boy mourn the loss of his dearest and closest loved ones when he has to carry his two sisters across a dessert, fleeing from scary men with machine guns, and hoping upon hope that he can find any small scrap of food and water for them to live just another day? But the question that puzzles me most is how can each and every one of the millions of individuals whose decisions and actions have caused these events and all of the others like them, sleep every night and get up every morning to live another day?
...part of me hopes that I never know that answer. And then part of me thinks by not knowing, not caring, not doing anything, I am doing no better than all of the individuals that are causing these headlines and articles in the first place. |
