A CSI team recently paid a visit to Plateau State, one of the Middle states most affected by the sectarian violence. There they met and spoke with victims of recent attacks. One member of the team shares her thoughts here.
The CSI project worker comforts a young victim. csi
I am often asked how I cope with all the suffering I encounter in my work for Christian Solidarity International (CSI). How I bear it all.
Sometimes I reply that I have learned to maintain a certain inner distance. Sometimes I say that I find strength and peace in prayer. Or that I have accepted suffering as part of this world and that I have been given the grace to carry some of it alongside those affected, much like a surgeon who sees things others could never endure.
Today, here in Jos, Nigeria, I have no answer to that question.
Since arriving seven days ago in the capital of Plateau State, not a single day has passed without our partners informing us that yet another village has been attacked.
Last night, the perpetrators, cowardly, ruthless, brutal and heavily armed, forced their way into one house after another, massacring, slaughtering and killing.
Twenty-two innocent people.
All that remains is pain and grief.
That same night, our partners set out for the affected village. They are documenting what happened, gathering testimonies, speaking with survivors and bereaved families, and trying to understand what is taking place.
I cannot look at the photographs they show us of those who were killed.. There is too much suffering. My colleague, a journalist, looks at them. He will not be able to sleep tonight.
The village’s small clinic was not spared in the attack. Six patients were killed. One woman was there to give birth to her child. Her husband and family members had accompanied her. When the first shots rang out, the doctor opened a back door and helped her escape. Alone she gave birth to her child.
The doctor is dead.
Her husband is dead.
The following day, the military and a member of parliament arrived.
Too late.
They remained for the mass burial. The families were given barely any time to say goodbye to their loved ones. For a brief moment, the presence of the security forces gave them a sense of protection. But as soon as the burial was over, they withdrew once again.
What remains is a wounded village, its people defenceless, terrified and abandoned.
We sit together and listen to our partners.
In silence.
There are moments when words fail.
How do I cope with it?
I do not know.
I pray for you, little child, who came into this world on that terrible night.
I pray for you, her mother, that you may be strong and know that God is carrying you.
I pray for you, people of the village, that you may look to the future in safety and tend your fields without fear.
I pray for the security forces, that they will no longer allow themselves to be bought and will finally take a stand for justice.
I pray for our partners, may they be protected and blessed.
And I pray for myself: that these experiences and encounters will not overwhelm me, but give me renewed strength to be a voice for those who have a voice, yet are not heard.
Amen.
