What is justice ? I have recently been wrestling with this word. In many respects, I think justice is defined individually. Sure there are universals symbols and acts of justice, or even injustice ; however, many a debate rises over people’s personal opinions surrounding the actions of these words.
There are many more examples of injustice surrounding me than not. Injustice is very blatant and frequently accepted, or rather ignored.
What triggered my initial pondering of injustice was a ride to the airport about one month ago. The airport is 9kilometers (about 6 miles) from the base but takes a good 30minutes to travel due to the poorly maintained roads. This is the main road leading in and out of Isiro to the surrounding areas, including the forest where a large part of the population goes in search of supplies. It is quite common to see pilgrimages of bicycles loaded down with firewood, bananas, or bush meat.
This particular trip to the airport was different, or perhaps I was different – more aware. This time marching out of the forest pushing laden bicycles were children. It seemed that the overwhelming majority were boys, and even girls, under the age of 13.
Going into the forest to collect food or wood is no walk through Central Park. Many start the journey before sunrise and re-enter the town at dusk. I was catching a glimpse of these travelers on their final leg of the journey, only about 4kilometers left to reach the city center. You could see in their eyes a sense of determination to complete their task. They knew they were almost there.
Despite all the time that I have lived and worked in Africa, the site before me still struck a cord in me. This is so unfair. These are children. They should be sitting in classrooms with their blue and white uniforms. They should be doing household chores like washing the dishes, cutting the grass, or cleaning the house not trekking 30kilometers in search of a consumable product forcing them to do the same thing again a few days later. For the first time I realized I was witnessing blatant injustice.
Only a few weeks later I was challenged along this same theme. I was the guest in the house of a Congolese family. Through the help of some translation as they didn’t speak French, I was informed that the father of the household was 27years old, only 2 years my senior. He proudfully proclaimed that he was the father of eight children, his oldest already twelve years old. Despite his boasting, I never saw him once verbally address or physically touch one of these eight children.
Throughout the course of our exchange, I was asked the expected question if I was married, to which, with equal pride as my host, responded « no ». I was not asked how old I was but that wasn’t important information. I was visibly older than marrying age. The only words the wife of my host addressed to me my entire stay there were words of disapproval, shock, pity, and a bit of disgust that I was unmarried. They eagerly offered to save me from my demise and find a husband for me as soon as possible before I was too old to be marketable. I gracefully declined.
I took all of this bantering in stride until the conversation switched from me to their 12 year old daughter. A friend of the host pointed to her and exclaimed that even she was close to marrying age, at which point the conversation lost any sense of humor. I do not think this innocent child could understand our discourse in French but she surely new the topic of our discussion and she now being being the center of it. She was already demonstrating her wifely abilities, serving us food and tending to her fathers every need as his own wife was incapable to do so with suckling child number eight attached to her breast.
Out of respect for my host, the father of this twelve year old and seven others, I held my tongue of which now I regret. There are so many things I wanted to say to him. So many questions I wanted to ask. In my own quiet way I am sure I showed my disgust as my face tends not to hide my opinions very well, even those unspoken. For the sake of this girl, I wish I had vocalized my thoughts. Perhaps I am naive to think that I could change the opinion of such a strong cultural inbreeding on the role of woman and the family, but for the sake of just this one child I wish I had tried. I would rather be kicked out of someone’s hut in an effort to spare a childhood arranged marriage than stay there in respectful silence to only three years later see this beautiful adolescent carrying an infant, herself brainwashed that this is normal and the only option for her life.
It is so easy to know such injustices exist but until it stares you right in the face through the eyes of a twelve year old girl soon to meet her fate in arranged marriage and early childbearing, possibly risking her very life in an effort to fulfill societal demands, only then is it truly believable. This family could not shame me in mocking my own un-wedded status but they did manage to shame me in my silence in defense of their own daughter. Never again.
