the invisible children

www.invisiblechildren.com

This afternoon, a friend of mine brought over the invisible children documentary for us to watch together. I had never seen it, but knew before watching it that it was going to be heartbreaking and I guessed that I would end up crying throughout most of it.

The movie started and, ironically enough, it began with some comedic relief (which I foresaw as being needed more so in the middle of the story of these children).
As the documentary played on, and I looked through my TV into the eyes of some of the children from Uganda, sadness filled every part of me, but somehow, I did not cry.

Perhaps it was because the children didn't shed a tear. Maye I felt as though I needed to stay strong since they were able to do it in the face of all the ugliness around them.

They are living in their country in a time of war where they are and their friends are at high risk for being abducted and forced to be trained as soldiers to kill other people, as well as other children; yet somehow, they don't cry.

They walk miles away from their "homes" to sleep packed like sardines in spaces that could fit less than a quarter of them comfortably. They sleep practically on top of each other with little to no blankets. But, they do not cry. They eat one small meal a day, if they are lucky, but they do not cry.

The children who are taken by the rebels are desensitized by being forced to watch brutal beatings and killings of others, and are trained the same way, yet they do not cry.
For some reason, being the extremely emotional and caring person that I am, I held my composure on the outside, but I was screaming on the inside.

At the end of the movie, a young boy named Jacob was brought to the camera and asked about his older brother who was killed by the rebels. You could tell by the look on his face that it was painful for him to talk about it. He answered the questions calmly, until all of a sudden he burst out in a sobbing cry with more despair than I think I had ever heard out of a single person.
I felt one glistening tear fall from eye onto my cheek and I wiped it away with my right hand. I cried. I can't stand the sight of a child crying and being in so much pain over something that can be changed with time and effort.

Once the documentary was over, my friend and I really didn't know what to say to each other, or to say period. Yet it wasn't awkward, because we both knew what it was time to do.
Time to put some time and thought into a project that can benefit these poor, unfortunate children who deserve a fair chance at life just as much as any of us, or our kid brothers or sisters, or nieces or nephews.

Please, take the time to learn their story, and if nothing else, send out your best to the children in Uganda.

www.invisiblechildren.com