Bandi Sayedaan

It was around 2:30 pm. It’s a cold January morning and it has been raining hard the past night. Avoiding getting wet we stumbled across a number of dwellings with grass-thatched mud walls away from any other settlement in sight. Pint-sized children wrapped in sheets staying warm and concealed were notably deprived of normal childhood and condemned to face poverty, as if they never existed. As some of the children removed their sheets, to my amazement it was part of their rags. This was nothing unusual as there is no changing of their dirty clothes that they have worn and slept in for weeks. They were scratching the scabies that plagued their bodies, a nauseating place at the least. It’s a haunting thought, knowing that these parents see their children fading away like this and not being able to do anything about it, not even keep something to remember that they ever existed in this world as if they never mattered. We have an obligation to tell their story, tell the world that they exist.

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