Dr. Halima Bashir

I've been asked again, recently, how can I handle dealing with all the horrible stuff that I read and hear about.

1) It is not happening to me.

2) I am in a place of privilege where currently me, my family, my community, my people, all people are not facing such horrible things (that does not mean such things cannot happen).

3) I celebrate and enjoy life. I don't let the suffering of others control my life. I want them to be able to celebrate Love, Life, and Joy and taking away mine would not be helpful, as well as taking on their suffering as my own would not be helpful.

These three things put me in a place of being, at the very least, able to put forth a voice to my knowledge.

In "Tears of the Desert: A Memoir of Survival in Darfur," Dr. Halima Bashir describes village life growing up. A life close to the earth. A life where community is knit tight and you grow up and live your life with your family and people. She talks of the struggles and celebrations of life that she goes through. Her description of her feirce Zarkawa grandmother tickled me. My grandmother, though not so feirce all the time, could definitely kick some ass, and her grandmother seemed the same way.

Halima is the first person in her village to go to university and become a medical doctor.

Then there is a military coup of their democratically elected government. The government then gives money and arms to the Janjaweed Arabs who then rape and slaughter all Black Africans they can.

While working in a hospital trauma unit, Halima hears the stories of the Black Africans who are either fighting back or caught in the crossfire. She is then transferred to a tiny village in the north, though she feels unqualified. One day, she hears a wailing and crying from the people as they walk to her and her assistant as they are taking a break and drinking some tea. The people are carrying tiny bodies. They are girls from the school. They were gang raped by the Janjaweed in front of each other. The girls were ages 7-13. Halima treated over 40 of them, but knew there were many more.

Afterwards she heard some of the story. The Janjaweed came roaring in on horseback and raided the school. The Sudanese military stood out front and kept the families from getting to their children. All the while, the families were forced to hear the screams of their daughters as they were gang raped by the Janjaweed for some two hours.

Halima talked with the UN, thus getting herself in trouble, and you all better garner the guts to hear or read the rest of the story because I'm leaving it there.

I think the most horrific part of the book is how a bunch of chickenhawks in the British parlaiment, during deliberations on a bill that would either deport or allow asylum to many Darfuri's housed there, the opposition, seeing they would lose, authorized the deportation of many back to Sudan. There was much struggle for them to stay, many were just detained, many went into hiding, but some were returned to almost certain death by the great pieces of shit in the British leadership. Shit that has never seen the business end of a weapon, never seen their families slaughtered or suffering horrifically, and only care about their own positions and privilege and protecting said positions and privilege.

These are things you need to know are going on, folks. These are things you need to know are happening. If you have the chance to get to a computer and safely use it to read this post, then you are in a place of privlege. I ask you, my fellow human beings, to help folks like the Darfuri's in the Sudan, and help those who are all around you. We at the bottom (as it were) are going to need each other more than anything, and as has been displayed repeatedly throughout these last 2000 years or so, those at the top would gladly sacrifice us for their own benefit.

Now, GET OUT THERE AND GET TO WORK! You can do it. I believe in you. Believe in yourself, help you community, and help others all around the world.