International Christian Concern, 28 March, 2022 (excerpts)
She was wrapped in the elegance of an era gone by. A refugee of the Mexican War, her English was non-existent but her stature spoke of kindness. Within her arms was an overflowing food basket, which she laid down before the door. My eyes caught her ghostly frame as she drifted away, the food at the door filling an otherwise completely empty home. How did she know? Who told her?
Years later, another food basket and refugee. This time the feet of a curly head child tiptoes around a wheelbarrow that her parents are filling with eggs, pasta, rice, and lentils. They begin arguing with another family, worried that there is not enough for everyone. The child’s head turns towards me, her fingers deformed by violence make their way to her mouth as she shyly looks away again.
Our morning shopping excursion for the food packages was precipitated a few days earlier by a visit to a mass grave where 3,000 Christians, this little girl’s ancestors, were killed because of their faith. During that visit, my feet were surrounded by adult femurs and jaw bones, as only the children were given the decency of a burial.
For the Christians who received food packages, this mass grave created 75 years earlier was a warning of the genocide that they themselves would experience. The inquiries of these Christians are slightly different. Where were you? Why did it take you so long to find us?