15,000 people die each month.
That’s what the International Coalition for Justice has reported. And I am sitting cozy in my bubble. According to the UN, 1.85 million people are displaced within Darfur. My town is the “bubble town.” Nothing bad ever happens in it. There’s no school violence at my local public high school. The closest thing to that we’ve had was when we were put on lockdown because there was a robbery down the street, and the robber wasn’t even armed. Yeah. I’m very fortunate, I know. And I’m very grateful for that.
Last year, I read a book called Left to Tell, by Immaculee Ilibagiza. She survived the Rwandan Genocide back in 1994. She hid in a bathroom with seven other women for 91 days, with barely enough food. Her whole family was killed by people she grew up with. I cried when her brother died. And the most amazing thing is, she forgave all the killers. The book does involve finding God through prayer in those 91 days, but the book is a good read, because it really deals with great imagery of the actual event.
Now, the same thing is happening in Darfur. I’ve never been to Darfur, or through a genocide, so I really can’t tell you what it would be like, but I can imagine it after reading Immaculee’s memoir. My family is so important to me, especially my twin sister, Amanda. I can’t even think about her being dead. She saves me on a daily basis—whether I am in a fight with a friend or having trouble in Physics, Amanda backs me up. I couldn’t live in a bathroom for three months without talking. And I definitely don’t have the survival instincts to survive in a genocide.
I’m grateful for my bubble; I can’t stress that enough. During the summer, my life consists of staying up until three watching Big Brother Feeds, waking up late, writing, and going to work. The biggest crisis in my life is my ex friends following my sister and me around. If I lived in Darfur, it would be so different, and my life would be so much worse.