When I agreed to accompany a reporter to a crisis counseling session for rape survivors at an Internally Displaced Persons Camp in Mai Mahiu this morning, I didn't really take note of the date.
It's Friday the 13th, and I'm reminded of my first journey to similar camps in Northern Uganda--on July 7, 2007, or "Lucky 7/7/07."
I'm not as tense and anxious as I was before that trip, because in some ways, I know what to expect. And I remember how hopeful and buoyed I was that day, observing the beautiful little children "get on with it" in a way only children can.
But this time, considering the fate of tens of thousands of men, women and children who are still living in makeshift tents more than a year after Kenya exploded in post-election violence makes me think more of a horror movie than anything else. Freddy Krueger ain't got NUTHIN' on the reality of living in a squalid refugee camp in your own country.
Looking forward to sharing the journey with you later, knowing that what I will witness has the power to either leave me totally shaken or incredibly privileged to once again observe the strongest element on the face of the Earth-the human spirit.
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