Bunia - A poem by Bethany

Bunia

Once a small city

Prosperous, quaint and pretty

Brothers lived in love and unity.

But one day

The peace of this place fell away

And all left was war and decay.

Friend against friend

To the grave they would send

And to this bloodshed there was no end.

Under the same sun

Where brothers would run

Now is but a red machete and gun.

One is shorter, one is tall

When young, they played with the same ball

Now, in their brother's blood they fall.

Over land and grazing grounds they fought

And their own gain they sought

But slaughtered for naught.

Families separated in flight

Thousands killed every night

Their hatred grew in might.

They used their victims for witchcraft

Tortured, dismembered and decapitated them as they laughed

And openly terrorised others with their evil craft.

Five years the two tribes waged war

Until there was but widow, orphan and poor

And prosperity was no more.

This city suffered after the battle

It's population displaced and wandering like cattle

It's working hands gone, dead or fragile.

Now as you walk by

There are still orphans who cry

There are still bullet-holes and blood stains on walls even if dry.

You can still see scars and wounds

Because even though it's been many moons

Those hurts cannot be put in tombs.

But there is hope for this city even if small

Even now, hatred and revenge will into memory fall

And Bunia will surprise all.

Please do not think this war was an exceptional case

And that the rest of the world lives in roses and lace

For you will be surprised to find in your place

Hatred, discrimination, slaughter for status or race

Whether it was, or is now, or will be along this race

Do not let it leave in your society any trace.