Somalia

The following is a preview of an article I'm writing. I have become a (non-paid) contributor to the online magazine "Forum," the publication for the national organization Mothers and More. I was asked to write 250-500 words about any number of topics. This is what shook out from something that's been stuck in my craw over the past few weeks. I know I've been absent from blogging for a while, but now that I'm able to put Doug down a bit, I'm back. Please read and let me know what your thoughts are!

I am the mother of three children—Jeremy, 3, Rebekah, 2 and Douglas, 7 weeks. I have become accustomed to hearing loud noises outside my field of vision; most of them make me cringe. I hold my breath and wait because usually Jeremy will cry out, “I’m otay, Mommy.” He’s become accustomed to me asking “are you okay, Jeremy,” after hearing the loud noises. Three small children also isolate me from the world outside of Nick Jr. I was unaware of the tsunami in Japan because, as I informed my husband, they don’t interrupt Olivia for a special news break.

I have, however, been watching the news pretty carefully over the past few weeks. My dad sent me the link to an article about a mother in Somalia. At 29 years of age, she had to make what the Associated Press calls a “tortured choice.” She walked for two weeks from Somalia to Kenya with her 1-year-old on her back and her 4-year-old at her side. She was trying to escape her war-torn and famine-ravaged country, trying to take her children to a place where they could have food and water. Near the end of her journey, the article goes on to say, her 4-year-old son collapsed. She had very little water left and poured a little on his head, but he was unconscious. Those around her did not stop because they were also fighting to live. Seeing that he was not waking up, she left him on the side of the road so that she could carry her 1-year-old to safety.

I have been scanning the news stations on TV and the internet to see if there has been any other coverage. I have waited with bated breath, the same way I wait to hear my son say, “I’m otay.” I have waited to hear someone saying troops will be heading to Somalia to aid these poor women. I have heard nothing. I am 33 years old. Jeremy will be 4 years old in a few weeks. In my wildest dreams, I cannot fathom having to make a choice like that.

I read the article and my shoulders slumped; my family is strapped financially. We can’t pledge money to any causes helping those people. I am not in a position of influence per se. I visit a food pantry most months to help put food on my own table. I felt like there was nothing I could do, but see, I’m a mommy. I have the power to make wounds instantly heal. I can make myself disappear under blankets and reappear at will. Why can’t I see myself as my kids see me? I can contact my senator and congressmen. I can demand that they use our vast national resources to help my fellow mothers. If they don’t help, I can organize campaigns for candidates who will help. I can be the superhero my kids know I am.

I still cringe every night I don’t see any coverage of this story on the local or national news. I hope you will, too.