Heart of Darfur by Lisa French Blaker



When days are good in Darfur you relish every one. You never know–it may be your last.

An African mother doesn’t grieve less because she does it often. I’ve heard people say, ‘It’s different there,’ when they hear of death and dying in Africa. They say, ‘Those people are used to death and for them it’s natural.’ Stand listening to a crying mother as she holds her dead child in her arms and tell me if you really believe that. They cry and grieve and ache inside and the aching never goes. The difference is they have no choice without the care we take for granted. Their children die and they can only watch. So they lift the body, tie it to their backs with a colourful sheet and carry another baby home to bury in the sand.


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