Jul 22, 2011

my dying little baby boy

Baby boy I was finally about to go to bed when I saw you. You were lying on the ground, with cracked open skin, with flies sitting on your face and around your lips, with eyes half open and with your mother's hand on your little head.
Baby boy the reporter said you are three years old. Same age as my son. You know, I buy my son all organic food and fruit, wooden toys with chemical free colours and organic cotton clothing. Just before I saw you, I went to his room, I smelled him, kissed him and thought to myself that no matter how challenging it is to be an immigrant, I am very happy that I am here. In Canada. Where I know he is safe.
What was your mama thinking when she walked for a month to get you and your siblings to where you could have something to eat? How did she survive when she lost your three siblings to starvation? How tired were you little boy when you walked for a whole month on the dry desert? Your lips were dry. What did your mama tell you when one by one your bothers and sisters fell? Little boy I wish I could do more than donating some money or sitting here weeping.
The doctor said he didnt think you would survive till tomorrow but I will never forget your face nor will I forget your mama's hand on your head. A woman who lost all her four children in a month to starvation... starvation... starvation...