I read this today. This story of Justin’s especially touches me, hearing the depth of maturity in a boy’s words and yet feeling just a part of the hurt and pain that he has had to go through at such an age…

This is his story.

“One day the soldiers came and they cut my mother. They killed my mother with the big knives they had. I tried not to look, but I heard the noises they made and she made. Not loud noises, but I remember them.

“I ran away, and whilst I was running, I hurt myself. I met a Banyamulenge man.” The Banyamulenge are another ethnic group in East Africa, Congolese brethren of the Tutsi in Rwanda.  “I told him my problems and cried to him. He was kind and he helped me get to Tanzania. The family I lived with first, they abused me. They took my food and blankets and were very cruel. I do not know if it is because I am an orphan or because I am Rwandan. I do not know why. I was moved by the Red Cross and live here now. It is very bad. I cry every day when I get home from school. I think about my mother and no one comes to comfort me.” By this point his eyes welled with tears. “I do not know how I will get over this. It would be better just to forget.”

Without any ties to his culture or his family, Justin feels adrift. He is lonely, he says, but he is beginning to feel better. “I am learning to forget.”

“I like to go to school, though there are not enough books.” When I try to focus on these aspects of Justin’s life that he finds positive, that are making him feel better, he does not hesitate to answer, “I went to a training for children about rights.”

CORD, the organisation that helps provide for the unaccompanied minors in Lugufu camp, has given adolescents training in children’s rights. This kind of involvement in his own well-being has given him motivation to wipe the tears from his eyes, go outside, and get involved with the world he lives in. As he speaks about rights, showing me his drawings on which he has written various empowering statements from the Declaration on the Rights of the Child, he becomes more animated, visibly more confident and eager to talk. He does not avert his eyes to look at the ground as he had for most of our conversation until that point.

“I learned that children have the right to go to school.” He shows me his drawing of a boy walking toward a church. Written in Swahili above it is, “The child has the right to do all kinds of work and go to school.”

“School will help me get a good job and become a professional. I would like to live in an urban area again. Here, the environment is very bad. Sometimes, people don’t even use the toilets. And when you get sick, it is a long walk to the hospital and then, sometimes, you can’t get anyone to help you.”

Justin’s concerns about public health and cleanliness, his concerns about school resources, were pressing on him. He was aware that schooling was a way to secure his future, one of his “rights”, and that he was in danger of disease from the poor hygienic conditions in the camp. These stresses weighed on his mind a great deal – he brought them up or alluded to them during our talk several times, expressing frustration and once, nearly cried when discussing the uncleanliness. He felt helpless against these things and had no one to whom he could turn. Though he understood the rights he and all children should have, he could do little to realize them, and that might have contributed to his sadness, the realization of just how much he was at the mercy of forces much greater than he was, entire governments and armies and institutions that controlled his fate. A heavy burden of awareness for anyone, let alone a fourteen year old orphan.

…

“What would you tell someone your age who has never been in a refugee camp so that he could understand what it is like?” I asked him. Justin thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

“I would like to tell my name so that he would know me,” he answered. “I would tell him that living in the camp is very bad. I think about going home, but who will I go back to? Everyone is dead. If I talk to this boy who has never been in a refugee camp I would be happy. I want to find children with hope.”

exerpt from One Day the Soldiers Came, by Charles London

For the many other children who had to suffer physical war and were forced to grow up at an unnaturally early age, I believe God is closest to them and has a special place in His heart for them – as a refuge and a shield.

At the same time, I’m right now teaching the preteens (12-13 year olds).

From the start, my question is: “What is YOUR story?” – challenging them to live their lives so that they have a story worth telling…. like the stories of old – of King David, of Samuel, of Jesus etc etc etc. So, reading this book filled with stories of children/teenagers on their experience with war is truly very useful and enlightening to me!

I do hope that this bunch of 12-13 year olds will grow up with this in their hearts – to live their lives according to God’s purpose and live out God’s Story in their lives.

Amen.