I was thinking about the refugees fleeing from Ethiopia to Sudan when my son said: “I like the way, when a cheetah runs, its ribs move like this…” and he shrugged each shoulder forward slowly one by one – so feline immediately.
I am awed by his observation – this animal’s internal cage and how it visually defines such wild power and natural grace. Not like outward cages.
At the zoo cheetahs sprawl inside the metered march of fence-posts. Their ribs move out and in with the slow puff of time. Nothing to do in captivity but wait…
Waiting is a crumple zone – watch a leaf set adrift from its tree and see how waiting makes it shrivel; watch a soldier’s family wilt with no news; watch a clock stop ticking.
Waiting is powerless. Only the dispossessed and the terrified would choose refugee camps. And yet, our country is so suspicious and pitiless. We draw a line in the soil and demarcate their differences. And then we turn our backs.
And let them wait.