I somras lånade jag en bok om folkmordet i Rwanda för att ha till min EE. Där fanns bl.a. den här bilden. Den fick mig att tänka efter ordentligt. In April 1995 a picture was taken of a small boy. The tears are streaming down his dirty face. He's most likely a refugee.
In April 1995 I was almost 5 years old, this boy must have been about my age.
In April 1995, almost a million people from this boy's country had been murdered and many others took refuge far away from home. Just like he did.
In April 1995 I could never have imagined such things. I got to be a child.
But what had happened to this sad-eyed boy in April 1995?
It's more than 13 years later, I'm looking up universities, deciding whether or not to study abroad and what profession I want to go for.
Today I saw friends and family, I bought make-up that I put on a shelf in my cluttered room and I worked on an essay about the genocide in Rwanda.
13 years later, and I wonder what that little boy, who should be my age, is doing now.
Did he survive April 1995?
4 år sedan