Dead?
A child is lying down, covered in a black blanket. I see her from a distance. I did not notice her at first in the midst of the destruction that surrounded me. I am standing in what used to be a refugee settlement. The refugees fled when the rebel army came in and what is left behind, is an image of hell. Abandoned homes, personal leftovers are the only reminder of what this used to be. And the people, too weak or too sick to move, are scattered around in the empty camp.
From this distance she looked tiny, and cold. She looked dead. I picked up my camera and walked closer, the thought that it would make a "good" shot crossing my mind. Approaching her, I noticed the dark blanket was moving and when I got really close the blanket rose to the air and buzzed around me. Flies, millions of flies was what kept her covered and warm, until my presence momentarily made them uneasy and forced them to fly. They started settling down again, I was of no threat.
The girl's back was turned towards me, and I walked around her, my eyes never leaving her skinny body, I wanted to see her face. As I came to a stand still, I just stared at her, not knowing if I should film or not. She once must have been beautiful, now she was an image to haunt me for probably for the rest of my life. Her eyes where shut, her face was withdrawn back into the bone, her cheeks had disappeared, and her head looked out of proportion with the rest of her body. Her body, nothing left, her skin covering the bare bones holding on as for a last attempt to protect her. I set up my camera and as I was getting ready to film this breathless child, her eyes slowly began to open. She is alive. How can anybody survive severe malnutrition as such as my eyes are seeing now? She desperately tried to focus her swollen eyes probably only seeing a bare shadow standing above her. For a moment she seemed frightened, maybe she thought I was one of the soldiers that caused her suffering and returned to finish the job off. But then, when her eyes adjusted, she saw a white man standing, looking down on her and with what seemed to be her last attempt she forced all her remaining energy into raising her hand towards me. Her palm slightly open her lips moving, but I can not hear what she is saying, but I know, and I begin to feel helpless. I stand there frozen, just staring.
I called out, like a frighten child, I called for anyone to help. Charlie, a UNICEF officer, came running and just for a minute stared at the living dead the same way as I did moments ago and after his shock was over we started organizing a stretcher to carry her away. That is when I started filming, I knew I'd missed the best shot earlier and for once I did not care. I followed her all the way to the MSF field hospital and once she was in the hands of the experts I turned and walked away. I found a bit of shade and sat down. I had enough for the day, it was humid and very hot and I just sat and waited for the plane to take me out, anywhere as long as I am far away from here. Charlie shortly joined me and my colleague Greg and I asked him, I had to know what chance did the little girl have. He looked down on the bare earth as if looking for the answer there and he spoke and told me what I did not want to hear. She probably will not survive, she is too weak. Her body had enough, wanted to give up. If she did survive she would never be normal again and it would take years before her system could survive alone.
That night in the safety of our hotel in Goma I sat and had dinner. I did not eat much, it doesn't matter anyway and on the TV I saw my images of the day. I had a world exclusive as I was the only cameraman there. This usually brought satisfaction to me knowing that my pictures are seen by few million people. And yet I felt I cheated, I felt I'd used this suffering to promote myself. We live in a sick society. I slept badly that night and I thought that the girl's image would fade slowly with the passage of time. It did not, I am writing this months after I left Tingi-Tingi, and her image is still bright in my memory. Maybe that is the way it should be.
I only hope she is alive. I never even asked her name.
By David Hands
