Darfur and the Janjaweed: when will the madness end?

The village seemed to be strangely quiet, almost as if it were holding its breath, awaiting something. I was discussing supplies we needed for the clinic when I heard a distant commotion. There were faint cries and the pounding of running feet. I wondered, fearfully, if it was an attack. 

Suddenly, I caught sight of a crowd of people surging out of the marketplace. Among them were figures carrying heavy burdens in their arms. As the crowd drew closer, I realised what they were carrying: it was the girls from the village school. 

I could see heads lolling and beige nyangours, long dresses that are standard girls’ school uniform, flapping in the breeze. As the crowd enveloped me, I realised that the nyangours were ripped and dirtied, and streaked with blood. 

The cries were all around me now, confusing and deafening. “Beasts . . . attacked the school . . . monsters . . . the devil himself . . . children . . . raped . . . ruined . . . The Janjaweed! The Janjaweed!”  More...

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