While a lot of the world is focused on Ukraine and Israel/Gaza, since April 2023, two groups, the Sudanese Armed Forces and the Rapid Support Forces, have been fighting for control of Sudan. 11.1 million people are displaced and more than 17,000 killed, mostly civilians including children. Currently, for the second time since 2003, famine lurks at the door of Darfur state. Although I wrote the poem thinking about Sudan, a lot of the same conditions apply to Congo.
Amidst the denuded trees along a wide
boulevard walked a tall, dark-haired girl
carrying a large basket filled with a few
deep red pomegranates, two brown
eggs and three delicate pastries
filled with pineapple, cinnamon, and
guava, her favorite. She felt lucky.
Her mother sent her to the market, her mother
ill with ague, shivering, fevered,
jaundiced, too young to be dying, her father
killed in the endless wars which had
leveled so many cities and villages.
Men filled with the desire for revenge, for power,
never thinking how forgiveness and love could
overcome the endless devastation.
People plagued by angry men, men so
quick to condemn all not their tribe, their own,
retribution driving them week after week.
Some lay dying on the streets or dead as
the girl walked around their bodies
under the relentless, tropical sun.
Void of relief, fearful but determined, she
walked on toward the remains of her home.
Xenophobia once again stalked the streets,
young men brandishing assault rifles. Animals in the
zoo seem kinder, more caring.



