I have been thinking, with anguish, about the abducted Nigerian girls all day. It is terrible to contemplate what is likely happening to them right now. Their poor parents, families, communities. From the New Yorker article:
Sanya’s father, a primary-school teacher named Ishaya Sanya, is struggling with conflicting emotions: gratitude that his daughter has returned to him; guilt that the daughters of his siblings, friends, and neighbors are still somewhere in the bush; and an angry frustration that there seemed to be no effort to rescue the girls.
“We don’t know where they are up until now, and we have not heard anything from the government,” he told me. “Every house in Chibok has been affected by the kidnapping.” The only information that the families had been able to gather about the kidnapped girls, he went on, was from the girls who had escaped.
He remembers the exact time that Deborah appeared in front of him after her escape—4:30 P.M.—and how he felt: “very happy.” But his despair soon returned. “Our area has been affected very seriously,” he told me. Parents had fallen physically ill, and some were “going mad.”
Compared to that, the adventures of my day (running out of gas, missing a couple of lessons I’ll have to make up later) are so trivial as to be things for which I feel thankful. My girls are safe, sleeping in their room. Ted and I are safe. We are alive, grateful for our lives and the chance to make mistakes, the opportunity to rectify, or at least learn from them. Our beloveds are with us. We are together.