Sacred Ground

The scene of down trees, refugee tents, etc., for miles on end as we drove lulled me to sleep I suppose, although it didn’t take much given that I was already so exhausted from the early morning flight.  I must have been snoozing when the folks in my car shared what this first stop was going to be.  So we arrive at what looks like an open field.  I get out of the car and walk. The soil beneath my feet was sandy, as if they had just planted new grass or just put a new layer of dirt on top of the ground. I assumed they were getting ready to construct something or I don’t know.  To our right was what looked like a basketball court covered with a big white tent labeled UNICEF with lots of people from the community sitting there listening to something. We walk over to what seems like a bandstand/stage of some sort.

We stop there to talk.  The staff tell me that on this plot of land, we are partnering with the local government to build a memorial to people who lost their lives in the typhoon.  Then they tell me, hundreds of people whose bodies were not claimed are buried under this ground.  Unclaimed most likely because entire families were killed.  Children, women, men, all. The typhoon did not discriminate, although more men were killed because many stayed back to guard their homes while moms and kids fled to safety.  That ground I stood on... fresh dirt... because bodies had been buried underneath and dirt thrown overtop.  I felt sick to my stomach. Sad. Broken. God. Why.