Freedom

William Wallace, Martin Luther King, Jesus, and thousands of American soldiers died for it. Yet, how often do we consider what it is? We use the word to justify our destructive behavior, yet how much do we really appreciate what it offers?
A recurring theme throughout my two weeks in southern Sudan and Darfur was freedom. Soldiers told me they would die for it, and mothers told me they run with their children in search of it. I walked into the bush in Darfur and met families gathered under trees with absolutely nothing.
“Why are you here?” I would ask them.
“Because our village was attacked and here we are safe and free.
“You have nothing though?”
“We have our freedom. We have two choices. Either become a Muslim and embrace all that the government stands for, or run and be free. I would die for this freedom.”

There are many heroes in this quest for freedom, but none as courageous as the women. They seem to recognize the generational impact of freedom. The women often appear to be fighting alone, isolated in the camp or gathered under trees with other mothers. Yet their fight is not for themselves, their fight is for their children and the next generation.

I turn to a woman named Mahka.(pictured above) “You are Muslim, right?”
“Yep.”
“Then why was your family attacked? Why do you now have to live under this tree?”
She points to her left arm and pinches her skin, “Because I am black.” She then focuses her eyes on the dirt around her sandals, periodically glancing at the others in the circle as they share their stories.

And so their villages are attacked and the people are slaughtered. The survivors run and run until the gun shots can no longer be heard. Many of them find themselves surrounded by thousands of others on a similar pursuit. I once believed that they were running from fear, but I now understand that they are running for freedom.