Tonight my thoughts are with two people in a similar line of work but a much tougher place, half a world away.
The BBC has reported that two women doctors working for Medecins Sans Frontieres were taken by armed men from Dabaab refugee camp in Kenya close with the border of Somalia.
Their identities have not yet been released yet. They may or may not be people I’ve met in the rather little world we move in but that really doesn’t matter.
As I read the news I couldn’t help but be aware of how easy it is to forget that there are real people hidden in the headlines, real lives smudged into the newsprint. There are long journeys and beautiful rambling stories hidden in those few sparse words. Lives that might stumble upon a full stop before they find their ways to the end of the sentence.
When we forget that a life is a life, things that should not be possible become all too possible. There are always reasons, always justifications, explanations, but if we live by an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth we will all up missing out on a lot of loveliness and some really good food…
That comes out light but as I type I feel like part of me is on fire. My heat, my anger has taken me by surprise. Usually I write reflections, nuances and shades but tonight my thoughts are black and white.
However it is said, however it is stated, some things are never okay, never right. Yet violence against aid workers has got to be so commonplace it is almost no longer of note.
Like many people I watch the news with half my heart turned off, not wanting to be hurt by feeling for people who seem a long long way off, who I can’t help and don’t know. I usually figure I have enough grief of my own.
But tonight I can’t help but think of those women whose lives are probably quite a lot like mine or those of so many people I know, who wonder how much it matters, whether the bit that they do is really enough, who hate it some days, love it some days. I can’t help but think about the families, kind of like mine, who are now sitting at home waiting desperately for the phone to ring.
For those women all I can do is hope and offer up a prayer.
For me and you, for us, I’m going to fall asleep with a thought, a reminder to myself that we make the world we live in, that our actions, our passions or indifference shapes our lives, our common destinies. And from where I’m stood it looks like there is pain enough, grief enough, suffering enough.
I guess all we can do is keeping on trying, striving, to make at least a little bit more of something a little bit better.