Seldom — like never? — have I observed a group prayer for total strangers, people in desperate circumstances far away, whom we don’t know and will never meet, who can’t have the slightest impact our lives. They are not on our prayer lists — personal or church. They don’t come to mind when we have our little self-absorbed prayer of thanks over the delicious meal just served to our group at a carefully selected nice restaurant. It’s so safe, so comfortable – so about us.
Justine Ndizigeyemana, 47, in Nyarugusu, Tanzanian UN Refugee camp. Her husband was shot in their home in Burundi in 2005, and she was raped by soldiers, from whom she contracted an STI that she is still being treated for.
She has been a refugee throughout her life, repeatedly leaving Burundi during conflicts in the 70s and 90s. When she arrived at Nyarugusu camp, she took in two orphans to look after alongside her own children, but she is worried for the future as she doesn’t have any money. There is inadequate security in the camp, which has maurauding bands of killers and thieves. The United Nations can only raise $1 for every $10 it needs to feed and shelter these refugees.
in the Guardian online: April 23, 2016.