I’m not sure it’s possible to put yesterday into words, but I’m going to try.
We made a visit to a former refugee camp with a name that sounded like “Bolonio.”
There, a politician that hosted us for the day showed us a mass grave of 121 of the 300 victims of a raid by the LRA in 2001. As depressing as this is, I spaced out during his presentation because we had heard plenty like it at this point, and it was information that you could find on the internet, or in any documentary about Africa made in the last 5 years.
The camp is now ruins, but the survivors of the massacre attempt to survive on what they have left. We conducted interviews of these survivors, and one man especially stood out to me. He called us out in perfect english, asking if “we were like all of the other groups, visiting, promising things, leaving and never giving them a second thought.” This is a whole village with abandonment issues, and I’m just a college kid with a group of college kids just like me, trying to make a movie.
Two sisters, about 12 and 14 and wearing blue and purple, tagged along with me for the remainder of the day. Talking to me in broken english, having fun pronouncing my name “Sah-ruh,” and asking me to take their picture and show them the screen. We had good conversations, despite the language gap, and we ended up bonding over the few hours left we spent in “Bolonio.”