DARFUR UPDATE
Field Report from CHRF Board Member
We are heading into Darfur, Sudan, where the non-black Arab Muslim government is systematically wiping out the black Arabs in this region of Sudan. When it isn't sending in its own troops to bomb, shoot, rape and murder these people, it is supporting local militias called the Janjaweed (translated “Devils on Horseback”) to do the dirty work.
Between three and four hundred thousand people have died here. Two and a half million people have fled their villages and set up camps like the one we are headed toward in Southern Darfur. Others have run across the border into Chad.
Make no mistake: this is nothing less than genocide.
In the dead of the night, the Government sends troops to attack a village. Hearing the discharge of weapons, exploding bombs, the sounds of trucks filled with soldiers, and their neighbor's screams of terror, people flee their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
You can imagine the scene: parents frantically searching for children, children running terrified into the night, families scattering in different directions, later wondering if their loved ones survived. Men and women are being raped with burning branches, children are being shot, and entire villages are being razed to the ground.
We are searching for survivors. Upon arriving in Nairobi, we discover that there are thousands of refugees gathering in an area in the Southern part of the Darfur Region. This is where are heading.
The Walking Wounded
The people hear the sound of our plane's twin engines long before they see the plane. Hoping that someone is bringing them aid and relief, they begin running to the dirt airstrip. No one has been here to help these people for many months.
Reading the horror stories in newspapers, magazines and on the Internet, or looking at the devastation on cable news, did not prepare me for what I encountered when we landed in Southern Darfur. How could it have? The only way to even begin to comprehend the wounds being inflicted on these people by their own government is being here and actually touching those wounds.
Once the material has been offloaded, we sit down with various village chiefs to hear their stories.
“My wife was raped and murdered by Government troops.”
“My wife and I were separated from our children…we have no idea if they are even living…it has been many years.”
There are presently around 2,500 people here. At one time there were many times this number, but most leave in search of food and never return. When we ask why they didn't build their camp closer to the Nile so they could irrigate crops, as well as have fish to eat, the men explain that the people would be decimated by malaria if they lived too close to the river. So some of the men walk two days to the river for fish and then make the trek back.
When we ask about whom the most desperate people here are, we are directed to three women whose husbands and children were missing. With no husband or older sons around, these women have no one to help provide for them.
There is Miriam with her daughter Fadnah who is seven years old. Miriam's husband and four other children are missing, having been separated from them during an attack by government troops.
Then there is Hajif, also missing her husband and children after a raid by marauding soldiers.
Amien's husband and five children were with her when they escaped. However, after weeks of starvation, her husband and boys returned to their village in search of food. That was five years ago and she has not seen them since.
We give these women salt, jerry cans for transporting water, maze, and plastic sheeting to place over their huts to keep the rain from pouring through. Afterward, the leaders take charge of distribution and begin handing out the same material to other needy families.
Not long after landing, we send our plane back to the base for more supplies and decide to spend some time getting to know these people a bit better. We want to see where and how they live and what else we can do in the future to help. We also want to find out about other such villages and camps: places such as this village, where no one else is taking relief and aid.
The conditions are appalling. The make-shift huts are barely more than a few sticks covered by straw. Many are suffering with malaria. One man took my hand and placed it on his chest where I could feel a tumor harder than my elbow and larger than my hand. There is rampant malnutrition -- which makes the malaria fatal. One of the chiefs tells me that during childbirth either mother or child often die -- or both.
The people are very hospitable and enjoy laughing. At one point, the children all march into the compound where we were setting up camp and sing a few rousing choruses of songs, thanking God that He sent us.
As we walk from hut to hut we see the people already utilizing the material we gave them. They are demonstrably grateful, smilingly inviting us into their huts.
I see Fadnah and walk over to show her the photo I had taken of her on my digital camera. She is so excited by this that I decide to take a photo of a group of ladies and show them what they look like: they laugh, they tease each other…they pose again, wanting another photo shot, but this time with a couple of the men!
In the middle of such despair these people are still experiencing joy, still finding the strength to care for one another, still hoping for a better future.
Because of your prayers and donations we were able to stoke the fires of this hope. They see that they are not forgotten, that there are people who want to help, want to do whatever they can to stop the genocide and work toward a future where their rights are valued as highly as those of their non-black fellow-citizens.
With your continued support, we intend to keep going into Darfur, searching out and serving those who are not being reached with any sort of aid. Please, continue praying for these people, and continue giving so that we can express God's love and care for those survivors who have suffered
DARFUR UPDATE
On the Ground with the CHRF Emergency Response Team
The following account was sent by a member of our Emergency Response Team, which has been delivering relief supplies to victims in the Darfur refugee camps. The team member's name and the details of the mission have been withheld for security reasons.
The boy was wearing a pair of dirty shorts and a shirt torn in so many places that it barely clung to his back. Like the rest of the refugees in the camp, he was painfully thin. Unlike many, however, the flame of this small boy's hope had not yet gone out, and he burned with a child's cheerful and irrepressible enthusiasm as he followed us about. His joy was all the more shocking given his surroundings: a remote refugee camp in Darfur, Sudan, where the conditions have rightly been described as "hell on earth".
In all my travels, I have never witnessed such extreme human suffering and deprivation. At this first stop, some 2,500 people were crammed into a camp that wasn't much more than a few flimsy awnings and ropes. Many were wounded or maimed, with the terror of what they had experienced still in their eyes. Sanitation was non-existent and the hot air reeked of sickness and death. And everywhere there was hunger - hunger so deep and prolonged that it sucked all life and energy into itself. It had been over a year since the last relief team came through, and the people were gnawing on roots and dry leaves.
And in the midst of this hell hole was this small bright boy. The translator introduced him as James, an unlikely name that must have been bestowed by some relief worker - perhaps because the boy, like so many Darfuri children who find their way to the camps, either wouldn't, or couldn't, give his real name. The identities of thousands of Darfuri children have been lost in this way: by the trauma of what they have seen, and the fear of what might still come for them.
James' story is like so many others we heard: he awakened one night to the sounds of people screaming in terror outside his house. When he peered outside, he saw men on horseback slaughtering everyone in sight. James knew what this meant: the Janjaweed had come . He saw members of the neighbouring family hacked down in front of their house. He crept to the other room looking for his parents but the house was empty.
Terrified, James crawled out a window and hid himself in the bushes outside the perimeter of his small village. He saw a woman being dragged screaming from her house and raped by multiple soldiers until her screams died and her body lay still and quiet in the dirt. James ran into the darkness and didn't look back. He eventually found his way to the refugee camp and waited for his family to find him. Over a year later, James seems to accept now that they will never come. They were killed with all the others.
Later the next day, James asked me if I would be his father and take him home with me. I had to look this small earnest boy in the eye and tell him that no, I couldn't do that. Before we left he tried to renegotiate: since he couldn't come with me, then would I please stay with him? As he clung to my hand, I felt like another larger hand was squeezing my heart. I said, "If I did that, then who would take care of my wife and new baby?" James looked up at me and smiled in sad acknowledgment of this point, and then hung his head. We could both hear the sound of the plane approaching that would carry us away to our next stop. I felt as though the sorrow of this small boy would crush me.
We're home now, but I can't forget James, or the hundreds of other refugee children we met on this trip. We delivered over three tons of relief supplies into an area that hadn't received any outside help in months. I was overwhelmed by the humility and gratitude of the people as they bent their frail bodies to carry the bags of maize and other supplies we brought. There was no grabbing or fighting, as might be expected when people are starving. Rather there was an amazing communal spirit as relief was distributed as equitably as possible.
Please thank the donors who made our trip possible, and please let them know the difference their gifts made in the lives of these noble and innocent people. It's not just about the food and water we bring. It's about the hope - hope that someone cares and that they haven't been forgotten, which may mean that their suffering will eventually have an end.
I gave James my favourite shirt before I left. It hung down to his knees but he wore it proudly. It gave him hope that I might come back. To see the joy return to his face at this small gesture gave me hope too - for both of us.
Field Report from CHRF Board Member
We are heading into Darfur, Sudan, where the non-black Arab Muslim government is systematically wiping out the black Arabs in this region of Sudan. When it isn't sending in its own troops to bomb, shoot, rape and murder these people, it is supporting local militias called the Janjaweed (translated “Devils on Horseback”) to do the dirty work.
Between three and four hundred thousand people have died here. Two and a half million people have fled their villages and set up camps like the one we are headed toward in Southern Darfur. Others have run across the border into Chad.
Make no mistake: this is nothing less than genocide.
In the dead of the night, the Government sends troops to attack a village. Hearing the discharge of weapons, exploding bombs, the sounds of trucks filled with soldiers, and their neighbor's screams of terror, people flee their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
You can imagine the scene: parents frantically searching for children, children running terrified into the night, families scattering in different directions, later wondering if their loved ones survived. Men and women are being raped with burning branches, children are being shot, and entire villages are being razed to the ground.
We are searching for survivors. Upon arriving in Nairobi, we discover that there are thousands of refugees gathering in an area in the Southern part of the Darfur Region. This is where are heading.
The Walking Wounded
The people hear the sound of our plane's twin engines long before they see the plane. Hoping that someone is bringing them aid and relief, they begin running to the dirt airstrip. No one has been here to help these people for many months.
Reading the horror stories in newspapers, magazines and on the Internet, or looking at the devastation on cable news, did not prepare me for what I encountered when we landed in Southern Darfur. How could it have? The only way to even begin to comprehend the wounds being inflicted on these people by their own government is being here and actually touching those wounds.
Once the material has been offloaded, we sit down with various village chiefs to hear their stories.
“My wife was raped and murdered by Government troops.”
“My wife and I were separated from our children…we have no idea if they are even living…it has been many years.”
There are presently around 2,500 people here. At one time there were many times this number, but most leave in search of food and never return. When we ask why they didn't build their camp closer to the Nile so they could irrigate crops, as well as have fish to eat, the men explain that the people would be decimated by malaria if they lived too close to the river. So some of the men walk two days to the river for fish and then make the trek back.
When we ask about whom the most desperate people here are, we are directed to three women whose husbands and children were missing. With no husband or older sons around, these women have no one to help provide for them.
There is Miriam with her daughter Fadnah who is seven years old. Miriam's husband and four other children are missing, having been separated from them during an attack by government troops.
Then there is Hajif, also missing her husband and children after a raid by marauding soldiers.
Amien's husband and five children were with her when they escaped. However, after weeks of starvation, her husband and boys returned to their village in search of food. That was five years ago and she has not seen them since.
We give these women salt, jerry cans for transporting water, maze, and plastic sheeting to place over their huts to keep the rain from pouring through. Afterward, the leaders take charge of distribution and begin handing out the same material to other needy families.
Not long after landing, we send our plane back to the base for more supplies and decide to spend some time getting to know these people a bit better. We want to see where and how they live and what else we can do in the future to help. We also want to find out about other such villages and camps: places such as this village, where no one else is taking relief and aid.
The conditions are appalling. The make-shift huts are barely more than a few sticks covered by straw. Many are suffering with malaria. One man took my hand and placed it on his chest where I could feel a tumor harder than my elbow and larger than my hand. There is rampant malnutrition -- which makes the malaria fatal. One of the chiefs tells me that during childbirth either mother or child often die -- or both.
The people are very hospitable and enjoy laughing. At one point, the children all march into the compound where we were setting up camp and sing a few rousing choruses of songs, thanking God that He sent us.
As we walk from hut to hut we see the people already utilizing the material we gave them. They are demonstrably grateful, smilingly inviting us into their huts.
I see Fadnah and walk over to show her the photo I had taken of her on my digital camera. She is so excited by this that I decide to take a photo of a group of ladies and show them what they look like: they laugh, they tease each other…they pose again, wanting another photo shot, but this time with a couple of the men!
In the middle of such despair these people are still experiencing joy, still finding the strength to care for one another, still hoping for a better future.
Because of your prayers and donations we were able to stoke the fires of this hope. They see that they are not forgotten, that there are people who want to help, want to do whatever they can to stop the genocide and work toward a future where their rights are valued as highly as those of their non-black fellow-citizens.
With your continued support, we intend to keep going into Darfur, searching out and serving those who are not being reached with any sort of aid. Please, continue praying for these people, and continue giving so that we can express God's love and care for those survivors who have suffered
DARFUR UPDATE
On the Ground with the CHRF Emergency Response Team
The following account was sent by a member of our Emergency Response Team, which has been delivering relief supplies to victims in the Darfur refugee camps. The team member's name and the details of the mission have been withheld for security reasons.
The boy was wearing a pair of dirty shorts and a shirt torn in so many places that it barely clung to his back. Like the rest of the refugees in the camp, he was painfully thin. Unlike many, however, the flame of this small boy's hope had not yet gone out, and he burned with a child's cheerful and irrepressible enthusiasm as he followed us about. His joy was all the more shocking given his surroundings: a remote refugee camp in Darfur, Sudan, where the conditions have rightly been described as "hell on earth".
In all my travels, I have never witnessed such extreme human suffering and deprivation. At this first stop, some 2,500 people were crammed into a camp that wasn't much more than a few flimsy awnings and ropes. Many were wounded or maimed, with the terror of what they had experienced still in their eyes. Sanitation was non-existent and the hot air reeked of sickness and death. And everywhere there was hunger - hunger so deep and prolonged that it sucked all life and energy into itself. It had been over a year since the last relief team came through, and the people were gnawing on roots and dry leaves.
And in the midst of this hell hole was this small bright boy. The translator introduced him as James, an unlikely name that must have been bestowed by some relief worker - perhaps because the boy, like so many Darfuri children who find their way to the camps, either wouldn't, or couldn't, give his real name. The identities of thousands of Darfuri children have been lost in this way: by the trauma of what they have seen, and the fear of what might still come for them.
James' story is like so many others we heard: he awakened one night to the sounds of people screaming in terror outside his house. When he peered outside, he saw men on horseback slaughtering everyone in sight. James knew what this meant: the Janjaweed had come . He saw members of the neighbouring family hacked down in front of their house. He crept to the other room looking for his parents but the house was empty.
Terrified, James crawled out a window and hid himself in the bushes outside the perimeter of his small village. He saw a woman being dragged screaming from her house and raped by multiple soldiers until her screams died and her body lay still and quiet in the dirt. James ran into the darkness and didn't look back. He eventually found his way to the refugee camp and waited for his family to find him. Over a year later, James seems to accept now that they will never come. They were killed with all the others.
Later the next day, James asked me if I would be his father and take him home with me. I had to look this small earnest boy in the eye and tell him that no, I couldn't do that. Before we left he tried to renegotiate: since he couldn't come with me, then would I please stay with him? As he clung to my hand, I felt like another larger hand was squeezing my heart. I said, "If I did that, then who would take care of my wife and new baby?" James looked up at me and smiled in sad acknowledgment of this point, and then hung his head. We could both hear the sound of the plane approaching that would carry us away to our next stop. I felt as though the sorrow of this small boy would crush me.
We're home now, but I can't forget James, or the hundreds of other refugee children we met on this trip. We delivered over three tons of relief supplies into an area that hadn't received any outside help in months. I was overwhelmed by the humility and gratitude of the people as they bent their frail bodies to carry the bags of maize and other supplies we brought. There was no grabbing or fighting, as might be expected when people are starving. Rather there was an amazing communal spirit as relief was distributed as equitably as possible.
Please thank the donors who made our trip possible, and please let them know the difference their gifts made in the lives of these noble and innocent people. It's not just about the food and water we bring. It's about the hope - hope that someone cares and that they haven't been forgotten, which may mean that their suffering will eventually have an end.
I gave James my favourite shirt before I left. It hung down to his knees but he wore it proudly. It gave him hope that I might come back. To see the joy return to his face at this small gesture gave me hope too - for both of us.
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