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.