Today has been a good day. We are currently starting Phase Two of our internship. Phase One was all about helping the Justices with their casework. Phase Two is brainstorming about the judicial infrastructure of the country.
This morning, we had the chance to tour the International Justice Mission office. We have met everyone anyway, but today we got to see them in their element. It's good to see your friends doing what they do, and doing it well. I was proud.
After that, we had brunch and headed to a meeting with some higher-ups in the judiciary. It was AMAZINGLY productive and encouraging. The next couple of weeks are going to be hectic (in a good way) as we scramble to research, network, and make appropriate recommendations.
According to my calculations, I will be in Texas in 26 days. As you can tell from the title of this site, that means I am in the final few weeks. Oh my ride is here I have to go.
Cheers,
Broseph
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Monday, July 9, 2007
Gulu
I’m having a hard time figuring out how to explain an IDP camp. I guess I’ll start with the name. “IDP” means “Internally Displaced Person.” So an IDP camp is a refugee camp for people who stay in their home country but not at home.
Hundreds of thousands of Ugandans live in IDP camps. On Saturday, I visited a camp northern Uganda. It was outside of a town called Gulu, which is less than 200 km from the Sudan.
The particular camp that I visited (which will remain unnamed) contains about 50,000 people. Although these camps are supposed to be temporary, they have existed long enough so that an entire generation of Ugandans see the camps as home. They’ve never actually been “home.”
The best way to describe the camps is to say that these people are living in their own waste. The best word to describe the living situation rhymes with “hit” but this is a family website and I’d rather not offend anybody. But that is the most accurate description.
There are 50,000 people and there is no septic system. There is just an area filled with human waste. Also, there livestock waste is bountiful throughout the entire camp. This is a problem for numerous reasons. Physically, it’s a problem because of proximity. Disease spreads quickly through waste, flies, mosquitoes, and drinking water. Spiritually, it’s a problem because people aren’t supposed to be forced to live like this.
The LRA (Lord’s Resistance Army) is a bizarre group that terrorizes people in the north. That’s why Ugandans live in the camps. I’m avoiding politics because I don’t want this site to get flagged for monitoring any more than it has to, but if you Google “LRA” or “northern Uganda” then you can find what you need.
Anyway, my thoughts are scattered about the camp. More than anything the smell and the color gray stick in my mind. The mud is gray, the water is gray, the mud houses are gray.
Another thing that sticks in my mind is humanity’s capacity for good. I went to the camp with a friend from Invisible Children. IC provides a steady source of income for hundreds in the IDP camp by buying handmade bracelets from the Ugandans. They pay these Ugandans a good wage and then sell the bracelets via IC. With the money that they make from bracelets, the Ugandans are able to support their families and also open small business to work their way out of poverty. It’s a great program.
I got to spent some time with the bracelet makers, and they showed me how to make bracelets out of reeds. We actually had a lot of fun. We laughed a lot, which I didn’t expect to do that day. I told them that many of my friends back home wear the IC bracelets, and that I would tell you about them. I’m a man of my word, so I would invite you to check out the Invisible Children website and order a bracelet. I’ve seen where your money goes and I can tell you it goes to a very good place.
I enjoyed my time with the bracelet makers, and I enjoyed my time with the kids in the camp. Kids are the same anywhere. They play games, they laugh, and sometimes they play too rough. They want attention, they want warmth and love. And kids deserve those things. Everyone does. But I digress.
The IC worker I was with spends a sizable amount of time in the camp, and the kids love him. He ran into the middle of a soccer game and started picking up kids and swinging them around. They went absolutely nuts, and it might’ve been the funniest thing I’ve seen since I’ve been in East Africa.
The lesson is that maybe we have more in common than we think. These are good people and good kids who don’t deserve the hand they’ve been dealt. I’m sure you know somebody like that – maybe it’s you.
Rwanda was devastating to me because so many people died, and no one did anything to help. These camps are even harder to stomach because people are dying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I’ve looked these kids in the face, and I can’t just forget them. I don’t have answers, but I had two hands they could hold. Maybe that’s something. Maybe that’s a start.
If you know me well enough to know my politics, then you know I’m a realist – I’m a pragmatist with a heart. I know that money talks, and that it’s hard to get money without an education. So I’m guessing what these people need (after physical safety) is education and money. And what we need is education.
I’m positive that if most people walked through a camp they would be willing to help. We’re made to help. So let’s educate ourselves on what’s happening. Then, we can work alongside our Ugandan brothers and sisters and figure this out.
I don’t believe in, “That’s just how it is.” That’s not good enough for the people I met on Saturday. They deserve better.
So look at the Invisible Children website, look at the links on the James Travels website. Let’s get to work.
Hundreds of thousands of Ugandans live in IDP camps. On Saturday, I visited a camp northern Uganda. It was outside of a town called Gulu, which is less than 200 km from the Sudan.
The particular camp that I visited (which will remain unnamed) contains about 50,000 people. Although these camps are supposed to be temporary, they have existed long enough so that an entire generation of Ugandans see the camps as home. They’ve never actually been “home.”
The best way to describe the camps is to say that these people are living in their own waste. The best word to describe the living situation rhymes with “hit” but this is a family website and I’d rather not offend anybody. But that is the most accurate description.
There are 50,000 people and there is no septic system. There is just an area filled with human waste. Also, there livestock waste is bountiful throughout the entire camp. This is a problem for numerous reasons. Physically, it’s a problem because of proximity. Disease spreads quickly through waste, flies, mosquitoes, and drinking water. Spiritually, it’s a problem because people aren’t supposed to be forced to live like this.
The LRA (Lord’s Resistance Army) is a bizarre group that terrorizes people in the north. That’s why Ugandans live in the camps. I’m avoiding politics because I don’t want this site to get flagged for monitoring any more than it has to, but if you Google “LRA” or “northern Uganda” then you can find what you need.
Anyway, my thoughts are scattered about the camp. More than anything the smell and the color gray stick in my mind. The mud is gray, the water is gray, the mud houses are gray.
Another thing that sticks in my mind is humanity’s capacity for good. I went to the camp with a friend from Invisible Children. IC provides a steady source of income for hundreds in the IDP camp by buying handmade bracelets from the Ugandans. They pay these Ugandans a good wage and then sell the bracelets via IC. With the money that they make from bracelets, the Ugandans are able to support their families and also open small business to work their way out of poverty. It’s a great program.
I got to spent some time with the bracelet makers, and they showed me how to make bracelets out of reeds. We actually had a lot of fun. We laughed a lot, which I didn’t expect to do that day. I told them that many of my friends back home wear the IC bracelets, and that I would tell you about them. I’m a man of my word, so I would invite you to check out the Invisible Children website and order a bracelet. I’ve seen where your money goes and I can tell you it goes to a very good place.
I enjoyed my time with the bracelet makers, and I enjoyed my time with the kids in the camp. Kids are the same anywhere. They play games, they laugh, and sometimes they play too rough. They want attention, they want warmth and love. And kids deserve those things. Everyone does. But I digress.
The IC worker I was with spends a sizable amount of time in the camp, and the kids love him. He ran into the middle of a soccer game and started picking up kids and swinging them around. They went absolutely nuts, and it might’ve been the funniest thing I’ve seen since I’ve been in East Africa.
The lesson is that maybe we have more in common than we think. These are good people and good kids who don’t deserve the hand they’ve been dealt. I’m sure you know somebody like that – maybe it’s you.
Rwanda was devastating to me because so many people died, and no one did anything to help. These camps are even harder to stomach because people are dying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I’ve looked these kids in the face, and I can’t just forget them. I don’t have answers, but I had two hands they could hold. Maybe that’s something. Maybe that’s a start.
If you know me well enough to know my politics, then you know I’m a realist – I’m a pragmatist with a heart. I know that money talks, and that it’s hard to get money without an education. So I’m guessing what these people need (after physical safety) is education and money. And what we need is education.
I’m positive that if most people walked through a camp they would be willing to help. We’re made to help. So let’s educate ourselves on what’s happening. Then, we can work alongside our Ugandan brothers and sisters and figure this out.
I don’t believe in, “That’s just how it is.” That’s not good enough for the people I met on Saturday. They deserve better.
So look at the Invisible Children website, look at the links on the James Travels website. Let’s get to work.
El Autobus
Ugandan bus rides are perfect for catching up on some reading and thinking. They are also great for developing chronic spinal problems. I don’t feel like I can really put the bus experience into words, so I will go ahead and give you an exercise you can try at home.
1. Crawl under your computer desk and curl into a ball.
2. Have a friend put a space heater under your desk.
3. Have a friend put a live chicken, roasted corn, and dirty gym clothes under the desk.
4. Have a friend punch you in the back.
5. Does your friend have a small child? Have them cry. Either your friend of the child. It doesn’t matter.
6. After three hours, crawl out from under the desk and relieve yourself in front of sixty strangers. Even if you are a girl.
7. Do this for at least six hours.
You’ve just experienced a bus ride in East Africa!
1. Crawl under your computer desk and curl into a ball.
2. Have a friend put a space heater under your desk.
3. Have a friend put a live chicken, roasted corn, and dirty gym clothes under the desk.
4. Have a friend punch you in the back.
5. Does your friend have a small child? Have them cry. Either your friend of the child. It doesn’t matter.
6. After three hours, crawl out from under the desk and relieve yourself in front of sixty strangers. Even if you are a girl.
7. Do this for at least six hours.
You’ve just experienced a bus ride in East Africa!
Cultural Observations
It’s been awhile since I’ve included any kind of Ugandan cultural trivia on here, so I have a few observations to get things started today.
First, everybody in Kampala loves mobile phones. Everyone is always texting (“SMSing”) or buying more airtime. Most people have prepaid phones, so selling airtime is a lucrative business. Guys stand in the middle of traffic during rush hour holding little airtime cards. Drivers will literally stop in the middle of the road to buy airtime. You have to really love text messages to risk life and limb just to type “C U L8R” on your mobile.
Second, people don’t try to charge me mzungu prices nearly as much. Maybe it’s because I see the same people all the time, or maybe it’s because I don’t look so confused anymore. Whatever the reason, merchants usually just charge me whatever they charge everyone else now. I always say something in the local language, and I think that helps a lot.
I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it makes my life much simpler. After a while, it gets psychologically tiring to be singled out for your skin. Locals I trust have explained to me that attempting to overcharge mzungos isn’t mean-spirited – it’s gambling. Sometimes you get lucky. I can’t get too mad because the merchants and I both know that our financial situations are worlds apart, but it gets frustrating. I’ll never blend in here. If I’m here for thirty years I’ll still be “Mzungu.”
Third, the Ugandan sense of humor is a little different than mine. Here’s a pretty good example – Today is a pretty slow work day so I started playing with my cell phone. It has a feature that allows me to receive things like jokes of the day, quotes of the days, horoscopes, etc. Here’s the joke of the day:
Teacher: What do you do if you choke on an ice cube?
L-Johnny: Don’t panic. Simply pour a kettle of freshly boiling water down your throat.
That just doesn’t do it for me.
My final cultural observation of the day displays worldwide solidarity among men. The observation is this: most Ugandan men don’t like to dance. They will only go if their girlfriends or wives make them, and even then there are no guarantees. Also, men here make fun of their girlfriends and wives for taking a long time to get ready to go out. In fact, a local friend of ours told us that if he needs to leave the house by nine, he tells his wife to be ready by eight. He said they are still usually late.
Maybe we have more in common than we think.
First, everybody in Kampala loves mobile phones. Everyone is always texting (“SMSing”) or buying more airtime. Most people have prepaid phones, so selling airtime is a lucrative business. Guys stand in the middle of traffic during rush hour holding little airtime cards. Drivers will literally stop in the middle of the road to buy airtime. You have to really love text messages to risk life and limb just to type “C U L8R” on your mobile.
Second, people don’t try to charge me mzungu prices nearly as much. Maybe it’s because I see the same people all the time, or maybe it’s because I don’t look so confused anymore. Whatever the reason, merchants usually just charge me whatever they charge everyone else now. I always say something in the local language, and I think that helps a lot.
I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it makes my life much simpler. After a while, it gets psychologically tiring to be singled out for your skin. Locals I trust have explained to me that attempting to overcharge mzungos isn’t mean-spirited – it’s gambling. Sometimes you get lucky. I can’t get too mad because the merchants and I both know that our financial situations are worlds apart, but it gets frustrating. I’ll never blend in here. If I’m here for thirty years I’ll still be “Mzungu.”
Third, the Ugandan sense of humor is a little different than mine. Here’s a pretty good example – Today is a pretty slow work day so I started playing with my cell phone. It has a feature that allows me to receive things like jokes of the day, quotes of the days, horoscopes, etc. Here’s the joke of the day:
Teacher: What do you do if you choke on an ice cube?
L-Johnny: Don’t panic. Simply pour a kettle of freshly boiling water down your throat.
That just doesn’t do it for me.
My final cultural observation of the day displays worldwide solidarity among men. The observation is this: most Ugandan men don’t like to dance. They will only go if their girlfriends or wives make them, and even then there are no guarantees. Also, men here make fun of their girlfriends and wives for taking a long time to get ready to go out. In fact, a local friend of ours told us that if he needs to leave the house by nine, he tells his wife to be ready by eight. He said they are still usually late.
Maybe we have more in common than we think.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
On Fire
"On Fire"
By Switchfoot
They tell you where you need to go
They tell you when you'll need to leave
They tell you what you need to know
They tell you who you need to be
But everything inside you knows
There's more than what you've heard
There's so much more than empty conversations
Filled with empty words
And you're on fire
When He's near you
You're on fire
When He speaks
You're on fire
Burning at these mysteries
Give me one more time around
Give me one more chance to see
Give me everything You are
Give me one more chance to be... (near You)
Cause everything inside me looks like
Everything I hate
You are the hope I have for change
You are the only chance I'll take
When I'm on fire
When You're near me
I'm on fire
When You speak
And I'm on fire
Burning at these mysteries
These mysteries...
I'm standing on the edge of me [x3]
I'm standing on the edge of everything I've never been before.
And i've been standing on the edge of me
Standing on the edge
And I'm on fire
When You're near me
I'm on fire
When You speak
(Yea) I'm on fire
Burning at these mysteries... these mysteries... these mysteries
Ah you're the mystery
You're the mystery
I don't really have any big updates, so I'll just give you a quick rundown:
- We didn't get to go to Gulu last weekend, so I think we are going this weekend.
- I turned in my first legal memos to the court. I was very proud of myself.
- Diehard 4 comes out this Friday. Yes, I will be seeing it.
- There's a musicians' jam session every Monday night at the National Theatre. I'm a fan.
- Our new roommate is great. We're getting one more tomorrow, and then our family on Nagura Hill will be complete!
Thanks to everybody who sent me emails and pictures. I really appreciated them all.
PHRASE OF THE DAY: "Oli malungi nyo." It means, "You are very beautiful." It's probably the most useful phrase that we've learned thus far.
By Switchfoot
They tell you where you need to go
They tell you when you'll need to leave
They tell you what you need to know
They tell you who you need to be
But everything inside you knows
There's more than what you've heard
There's so much more than empty conversations
Filled with empty words
And you're on fire
When He's near you
You're on fire
When He speaks
You're on fire
Burning at these mysteries
Give me one more time around
Give me one more chance to see
Give me everything You are
Give me one more chance to be... (near You)
Cause everything inside me looks like
Everything I hate
You are the hope I have for change
You are the only chance I'll take
When I'm on fire
When You're near me
I'm on fire
When You speak
And I'm on fire
Burning at these mysteries
These mysteries...
I'm standing on the edge of me [x3]
I'm standing on the edge of everything I've never been before.
And i've been standing on the edge of me
Standing on the edge
And I'm on fire
When You're near me
I'm on fire
When You speak
(Yea) I'm on fire
Burning at these mysteries... these mysteries... these mysteries
Ah you're the mystery
You're the mystery
I don't really have any big updates, so I'll just give you a quick rundown:
- We didn't get to go to Gulu last weekend, so I think we are going this weekend.
- I turned in my first legal memos to the court. I was very proud of myself.
- Diehard 4 comes out this Friday. Yes, I will be seeing it.
- There's a musicians' jam session every Monday night at the National Theatre. I'm a fan.
- Our new roommate is great. We're getting one more tomorrow, and then our family on Nagura Hill will be complete!
Thanks to everybody who sent me emails and pictures. I really appreciated them all.
PHRASE OF THE DAY: "Oli malungi nyo." It means, "You are very beautiful." It's probably the most useful phrase that we've learned thus far.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Up for Air
"The Blues"
By Switchfoot
Is this the New Year or just another night?
Is this the new fear or just another fright?
Is this the new tear or just another desperation?
Is this the finger or just another fist?
Is this the kingdom or just a hit n' miss?
A misdirection, most in all this desperation
Is this what they call freedom?
Is this what you call pain?
Is this what they call discontented fame?
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
I'm singing this one like a broken piece of glass
From broken arms an' broken noses in the back
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?
You're pushing till you're shoving
You bend until you break
Till you stand on the broken fields where our fathers lay
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
There's nothing here worth saving,
Is no one here at all?
Is there any net left that could break our fall?
It'll be a day like this one
When the sky falls down and the hungry and poor and deserted are found
Are you discontented? Have you been pushing hard?
Have you been throwing down this broken house of cards?
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
Is there nothing left now?
Nothing left to sing
Are there any left who hasn't kiss the enemy?
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?
Does justice never find you? Do the wicked never lose?
Is there any honest song to sing besides these blues?
And nothing is okay
Till the world caves in
I won't lie to you - I'm still pretty shaken up from this weekend. I've developed an unconscious habit of rubbing the callouses on my fingertips. I think I can still feel everything that I've touched.
I'm going to go ahead and get some reader involvement here. I know that several of my friends read this, so if you are a friend of mine and you have a picture of me and you together, or just a picture of you, then send it to me and I will make it my desktop background for the day. I am already putting several of you on my background picture cycle and it really brightens my day. So send pictures to joseph.halbert@gmail.com. Send me some emails, too, because every time I have internet access I save all your emails in a word document and then take some time every night to write back. I really like doing it and it makes me feel connected to everyone back home.
I've added a new section on this page called "Recommended Reading." I recommend you read these books.
Just in case anyone was wondering, I've been listening to the band Switchfoot every day. Particularly, the album Nothing is Sound. It seems to fit where I am in my life perfectly. Give it a listen.
I'm going to a region called Gulu on Friday. There are several IDP (Internally Displaced Person) camps up there, so I'm going to spend some time seeing whatever it is I need to see.
This might be it for the week, so I hope to hear from you and I'll be sure to post something of substance soon.
Cheers,
Joseph
By Switchfoot
Is this the New Year or just another night?
Is this the new fear or just another fright?
Is this the new tear or just another desperation?
Is this the finger or just another fist?
Is this the kingdom or just a hit n' miss?
A misdirection, most in all this desperation
Is this what they call freedom?
Is this what you call pain?
Is this what they call discontented fame?
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
I'm singing this one like a broken piece of glass
From broken arms an' broken noses in the back
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?
You're pushing till you're shoving
You bend until you break
Till you stand on the broken fields where our fathers lay
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
There's nothing here worth saving,
Is no one here at all?
Is there any net left that could break our fall?
It'll be a day like this one
When the sky falls down and the hungry and poor and deserted are found
Are you discontented? Have you been pushing hard?
Have you been throwing down this broken house of cards?
It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
Is there nothing left now?
Nothing left to sing
Are there any left who hasn't kiss the enemy?
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?
Does justice never find you? Do the wicked never lose?
Is there any honest song to sing besides these blues?
And nothing is okay
Till the world caves in
I won't lie to you - I'm still pretty shaken up from this weekend. I've developed an unconscious habit of rubbing the callouses on my fingertips. I think I can still feel everything that I've touched.
I'm going to go ahead and get some reader involvement here. I know that several of my friends read this, so if you are a friend of mine and you have a picture of me and you together, or just a picture of you, then send it to me and I will make it my desktop background for the day. I am already putting several of you on my background picture cycle and it really brightens my day. So send pictures to joseph.halbert@gmail.com. Send me some emails, too, because every time I have internet access I save all your emails in a word document and then take some time every night to write back. I really like doing it and it makes me feel connected to everyone back home.
I've added a new section on this page called "Recommended Reading." I recommend you read these books.
Just in case anyone was wondering, I've been listening to the band Switchfoot every day. Particularly, the album Nothing is Sound. It seems to fit where I am in my life perfectly. Give it a listen.
I'm going to a region called Gulu on Friday. There are several IDP (Internally Displaced Person) camps up there, so I'm going to spend some time seeing whatever it is I need to see.
This might be it for the week, so I hope to hear from you and I'll be sure to post something of substance soon.
Cheers,
Joseph
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Fingertips
For days I’ve been trying to come up with an effective way to relate what I saw and felt in Rwanda. I want to convey to you what it means when a million people are murdered by their neighbors, friends, and family. I want to understand it myself.
I want to understand how so many people could be killed so brutally. I stood in a church where 10,000 people where killed. I felt the bullet holes in the walls, in the communion table, on the floor. I touched the blood stained alter. I wept when a woman at a church told me that I wasn’t touching bullet holes, but marks left in the walls by shards of skull. The machetes had that much force. I touched the blood stains on the walls. Children were swung around by their legs and smashed against the wall, to save ammunition.
I saw rows and rows and rows of skulls and bones. I touched a blunt club used to shatter skulls.
I watched grown men break down as they tried to explain to me the complete and utter devastation.
I broke down myself as I looked at family photos of victims. Wedding pictures, pictures of mothers and baby daughters and the hospital, pictures of teenage girls dancing at a party, pictures of soccer players after a big game.
I wept when I looked at a picture of two sisters, ages two and three, who were grenaded while they hid in a shower.
I wept when I looked a picture of a beautiful two year old girl who was stabbed in the eyes and head until she died.
I wept when I thought of the 500,000 women who were raped. I thought about all of the women in my life.
I thought of the 300,000 children were orphaned.
I saw rows and rows of skulls, many shattered by clubs and machetes. I stared straight into where their eyes would’ve been.
In the span of three hours, my fingers touched the graves of 40,000 victims. 40,000 life stories, wasted.
I cannot understand what I saw, or the devastation that lives in the walking wounded.
Here is what I do know:
If we think that one million people were killed, we are wrong. One person, one life, one spirit, was taken from this world, one million times over. One million life stories ended. Their stories were cut short in ways that I wouldn’t believe if I had not seen with my own eyes.
A long time ago, I promised myself and you and the rest of humanity that I would never look away. This weekend that promise changed the core of me. I am positive that I am not the same person I was on Saturday morning. I am convinced that what I have touched with my own fingers has changed me on a fundamental level and has changed the direction of my life. These were God’s children. We are all children of God, and I owe it to all of you to never look away. Apathy and ignorance are not options for me. You and yours are much too valuable for that.
I want you to read a book called “We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with our Families.” It’s written by Philip Gourevitch.
That’s all I can say right now.
Fact of the day: Military analysts agree that the presence of 5,000 troops would have prevented the genocide.
I want to understand how so many people could be killed so brutally. I stood in a church where 10,000 people where killed. I felt the bullet holes in the walls, in the communion table, on the floor. I touched the blood stained alter. I wept when a woman at a church told me that I wasn’t touching bullet holes, but marks left in the walls by shards of skull. The machetes had that much force. I touched the blood stains on the walls. Children were swung around by their legs and smashed against the wall, to save ammunition.
I saw rows and rows and rows of skulls and bones. I touched a blunt club used to shatter skulls.
I watched grown men break down as they tried to explain to me the complete and utter devastation.
I broke down myself as I looked at family photos of victims. Wedding pictures, pictures of mothers and baby daughters and the hospital, pictures of teenage girls dancing at a party, pictures of soccer players after a big game.
I wept when I looked at a picture of two sisters, ages two and three, who were grenaded while they hid in a shower.
I wept when I looked a picture of a beautiful two year old girl who was stabbed in the eyes and head until she died.
I wept when I thought of the 500,000 women who were raped. I thought about all of the women in my life.
I thought of the 300,000 children were orphaned.
I saw rows and rows of skulls, many shattered by clubs and machetes. I stared straight into where their eyes would’ve been.
In the span of three hours, my fingers touched the graves of 40,000 victims. 40,000 life stories, wasted.
I cannot understand what I saw, or the devastation that lives in the walking wounded.
Here is what I do know:
If we think that one million people were killed, we are wrong. One person, one life, one spirit, was taken from this world, one million times over. One million life stories ended. Their stories were cut short in ways that I wouldn’t believe if I had not seen with my own eyes.
A long time ago, I promised myself and you and the rest of humanity that I would never look away. This weekend that promise changed the core of me. I am positive that I am not the same person I was on Saturday morning. I am convinced that what I have touched with my own fingers has changed me on a fundamental level and has changed the direction of my life. These were God’s children. We are all children of God, and I owe it to all of you to never look away. Apathy and ignorance are not options for me. You and yours are much too valuable for that.
I want you to read a book called “We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with our Families.” It’s written by Philip Gourevitch.
That’s all I can say right now.
Fact of the day: Military analysts agree that the presence of 5,000 troops would have prevented the genocide.
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