The Neglected

Foreigners stampeded into Habeesh’s town in the middle of the day. Their large camouflaged vehicles sent a trail of dust into the air as they passed. The last truck had a pack of armored men huddled in the back, eyeing him as they careened by. He heard the man inspecting his hanging chickens sputter profanity in the trucks direction and then throw a few coins on his table.

He knew the man was Pakistani by his thick accent but he had less contempt for the man then the American strangers, who he had such respect for years ago. How they had rode through this village like heroes, throwing candy to the children and gaining respect from the elders in the town but now that welcome had eroded. There were so many broken promises, so much neglect taken that it became obvious that they didn’t care about his people.

Four months ago, Habeesh’s daughter fell ill. He carried her in his arms to the hospital in the other town, a hospital newly renovated by the Westerners. It was overcrowded, with sick and bleeding people begging for mercy. The ceiling sprang leaks, leaving puddles of pungent and nauseous smells. Raw sewage flowed freely from the bathrooms and into the hallways. Doctors, with hunched shoulders, helped with what they could, seeing his daughter in a tent outside. They couldn’t help her because the medicine had not arrived yet but they made her a comfortable death bed.

Habeesh pulled the chicken down, handing it to the Pakistani and watched the man stroll down the road, disappearing into the crowd. He was a man torn, sandwiched between two worlds, just looking for someone who truly wanted to help.