Today was a rought day out. My day being rough means that, emotionally, it was not easy to handle everything I was experiencing for the few hours I was out there. For the people I was visiting, it is their daily lives.
Mustafa, in his serene, calming voice, told us of how the displaced people of Darfur deserve a more complete life. If they have protection, he said, they can take care of everything else by themselves. Mustafa is blind, but he sees oh so much. He said that he knows that the people of America care and want to help, but that they, the people of Darfur, have been waiting for so long.
My most difficult moment so far in this trip was when he took us to his mother’s home, where we also met his sister and niece. His beautiful young niece, Mouna, was laying on a mat, barely moving and with barely any shine in her eyes. Mustafa told us that she has been very ill for three weeks. My heart sunk so deep that I had a hard time getting any words out of my mouth. They took her to the clinic and were given some medicine, but Mustafa says it has not helped. The doctor told them that he would visit little Mouna in her home this week, and I want to believe, almost for my own sake, that it will be tomorrow and that Mouna will get better and run around with all the other kids that come up to us saying, “OKeyyyyyyyy!”
It is so hard to think about today being Christmas. The people in this camp are strong and rescilient, but you can just see the sould being drained out of them– slowly, slowly.
Please, think about four year old Mouna today, as you think about prioritizing your day’s activities. Include just a few minutes to do something that might help her and her brother and sisters and mothers and fathers and the great ocean of people that is somewhere in a desert in and out of Darfur, waiting.