In the Dark

I find it an odd trait of human nature (mine, at least!) how disturbing darkness can be to us. This evening I was in my little house doing some Saturday night clean-up when the electricity cut off Counting Crows’ “Hanginaround” in mid-sentence. Suddenly, a place that had seemed comfortable and safe seemed foreign and slightly unnerving. Why is that? I mean, I knew where the flashlight was and had my matches and candles easily accessible, as this is a frequent happening. Then, and this is just odd and amusing to me, when the electricity whirred back on it only came back at about 100v. Everything here is 220v, so the lights were on but in a dim, eerie way. Now it’s gone off again, so I am typing by the candlelight dancing on the walls. Talk about eerie!!
I haven’t been the best of post-ers lately (what is the correct way to phrase this?). I’ve said before but will say again, that it is difficulty to say what truly needs to be said. This place, these people cry out for a voice, and maybe more for an audience who will listen and respond. But I struggle to know how to form their cry into appropriate words, and how to string the words along into sentences that truly communicate reality.
It’s been a rough week in the project—facing death is hard and confusing and heartbreaking. But that is a relentless reality here. It’s impossible to cover in platitudes the harsh truth that a seven year old little girl is now an orphan. Her mom had a name and a face; yet, for most—even for me, so often—she will only be remembered because she added to some statistic of “the rising death toll due to HIV/AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa”.
Her name was Gannet. And her face was tired, simple, and lovely.