Thursday Afternoon. We were late. We had been visiting centers which counseled, protected, and trained women who had been sexually victimized all day. My mind and heart had been beat up by the stories I heard as much as my body had been by the rough, unpaved roads we had been travelling.
The women at the Oicha center had been waiting on our arrival for hours. There were at least 150 women and children. They had come to tell us their stories, to help us understand what they and the country had experienced, and how much Worldlink’s help means.
But we had to move quickly. Night was coming quickly, and these women knew bad things happened in the darkness.
As the staff moved the women quickly through the room, each story was more painful than the last. My emotions cycled from depression, to numbness, to outrage, until I my mind was screaming for the women to stop. “Stop telling me about the unimaginable violence you endured!” “Stop telling me about the betrayals of trust, the rejections by husbands and fathers!” “Please, Lord, just let the never-ending line end!”
I’m not sure if I cried then. I am crying now, months later as I remember the faces and stories: Three girls, none more than 7 years old – all raped by soldiers. A young woman named Joli – raped on three separate occasions, and caring for a child as a result. A group of four women – now HIV+ because of callous and brutal men. Children – orphaned by the war. Women and girls – rejected and expelled by their husbands and fathers for the offense of being raped by armed men.
And unfortunately, when I say “raped,” I do not mean sexually assaulted by just one man wanting to satisfy his urges. That is horrific enough. No, usually it is a group of men, who will torture the women with sticks or even their guns before they are done. It is not about sexual gratification, it is about domination. Bodies and souls are left damaged and broken in the wake of such brutality.
I was thankful to leave shortly thereafter, emotionally drained. Despite the whirlwind visit to the Oicha center, we still found ourselves returning to the guest house in the dark, something the local staff did not want to do. The fighting had died down, but that did not make the region safe. I was grateful to finally be in my bed, under the mosquito net, praying strength and fortitude to face the next day as the generator shut off, taking the lights with it.
The women at the Oicha center had been waiting on our arrival for hours. There were at least 150 women and children. They had come to tell us their stories, to help us understand what they and the country had experienced, and how much Worldlink’s help means.
But we had to move quickly. Night was coming quickly, and these women knew bad things happened in the darkness.
As the staff moved the women quickly through the room, each story was more painful than the last. My emotions cycled from depression, to numbness, to outrage, until I my mind was screaming for the women to stop. “Stop telling me about the unimaginable violence you endured!” “Stop telling me about the betrayals of trust, the rejections by husbands and fathers!” “Please, Lord, just let the never-ending line end!”
I’m not sure if I cried then. I am crying now, months later as I remember the faces and stories: Three girls, none more than 7 years old – all raped by soldiers. A young woman named Joli – raped on three separate occasions, and caring for a child as a result. A group of four women – now HIV+ because of callous and brutal men. Children – orphaned by the war. Women and girls – rejected and expelled by their husbands and fathers for the offense of being raped by armed men.And unfortunately, when I say “raped,” I do not mean sexually assaulted by just one man wanting to satisfy his urges. That is horrific enough. No, usually it is a group of men, who will torture the women with sticks or even their guns before they are done. It is not about sexual gratification, it is about domination. Bodies and souls are left damaged and broken in the wake of such brutality.
I was thankful to leave shortly thereafter, emotionally drained. Despite the whirlwind visit to the Oicha center, we still found ourselves returning to the guest house in the dark, something the local staff did not want to do. The fighting had died down, but that did not make the region safe. I was grateful to finally be in my bed, under the mosquito net, praying strength and fortitude to face the next day as the generator shut off, taking the lights with it.
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|
