Samil’s Story (3/10)



These are true stories of people who have died or are still alive. What matters to the child, what is vital to him, is that he or she feels loved and that he or she’s the object of real parental affection and on the part of those around him, others and members of his community. It doesn’t matter what he or she has or not. How many children were deprived of this because of neglect, poverty, colonialism and wars. How will a child deprived of this fight the battle of life? The only source of consolation is divine power because God does not forget His vulnerable servants.

Every farmhouse and house fear a fire in the summer. It’s a nightmare. My mother invited her friend for tea. The bread was fresh and it was a really pleasure to eat the bread and sip sweet tea. My father was away with his two siblings. They were invited by their friends to attend the annual festival that attracts hundreds of thousands of people from all over the country. Suddenly, the calm of our courtyard was broken by the voice of my cousin, who declared a fire in hay piles 50 meters long and at least fifteen meters high. A second haystack was a few meters away from the one that caught fire first. It had the same dimensions. The numbers of volunteer people coming around our house began to increase. Voices rose to search for water to try to extinguish the flames, which were rising from the flames, and there was no attempt to stop the spread of the fire at terrifying speed, and the excessive heat emitted from the fire damped any attempt to approach. Firefighters arrived late at the scene of the fire. In the middle of the afternoon, the haystack turned to ashes.

The cheeky teenager

The scene took place in the 1980s. I got up early in the morning and walked for about a quarter of an hour before boarding the train that took me to D., a town in northwestern France, on the Channel coast 60 km away. North of R. I was sitting in a train carriage with other travelers, finishing a lesson or correcting pupils’ papers. Sitting in front of me was a girl, apparently a schoolgirl, and what she told me shocked me deeply. Her gaze wasn’t any kindness, I knew that and I guess she knew what my profession was. This is what some might describe as racism: « France has become a world trash can. » I pretended I had heard nothing of this apparent provocation on the part of a sassy teenager. My silence was itself the most worthy response of a young adult. In addition, the difficulty of responding to a racist person, especially if he is a young man or woman, is a normal matter.

Racist does not respect his dog

I was waiting for my girlfriend in front of the pharmacy. A man of at least 30 years old drags his dog with a chain. I spontaneously demonstrated sympathy for the dog. This Frenchman addressed his dog in the following way, which the latter would not have endured had he understood the meaning: « Come on, dumpster dog. » The poor unfortunate dog was disturbed by this remark. Why does this bastard show such hostility towards me? I did not take his job and did not eat his bread … which is a common accusation reported by the far-right circles. Not a sound-minded man.

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