Storytelling...the need to tell

Hey guys- parts of this blog will be a bit graphic

so please be aware as you read it!!

Stories help people to become animated, alive and full of different kinds of emotions. Many places in our world are based on oral communication. For years and years every time Robert and I did a registration we asked the family to tell us their story, how they got to America. When we began with the Haitians in 93' we didn't know the importance of this request. As a matter of fact until Robert went to a conference in October by Dan Allendar based on his book "Wounded Heart, dealing with victims of sexual abuse" we still didn't truly realize the importance of telling your story.

A Haitian story is about a man who had a radio show. When the unrest began to happen with Jean Bertrand Aristide, this man let everyone know his opinion over the airwaves. He supported Aristide. The rebels came for him and his family. They had to run.

A Bosnian story... A lady sat in front of us "needing" to explain the Bosnian war. She talked about how under Tito things had been good. In the fifty years of his reign life had been easy. Then he died and leaders began to fight over land, money and power. They used the ancient religions as leverage. She had grown up with a brother named S. He had a best friend who had lived next door to them all of their lives. The two boys had be born within days of each other. In truth this lady had two brothers. F, the next door neighbor and her own brother. F was a Serbian while S's family was Muslim. When the war finally after years came to their village-- one day the fighting began and the last she saw of her brother was him running in the city square away from his best friend. F shot S in the back right between the shoulder blades. S fell to his knees and died. F left his body in the town square and moved on to others. That day this woman lost her father, mother and brother in the same way. She was able to escape the village with her husband and brand new son. She is a haunted woman today.

An Iraqi story... one of the police officers came. He had been an officer in one of the cities that had rebelled against Saddam. The Americans were due to come in and overtake Iraq. They had promised. On the night the invasion was supposed to happen, he was on duty, waiting... the word finally came from the Americans. They had made a deal with Saddam. They were pulling out of Iraq. He ran! He couldn't go back into his village. He had to leave his family. They didn't even know where he was for years. They didn't know if he had survived that night.

An Afghan story...The family woke. The mother helpe her sons get safely to school. This was a very dangerous thing for her to do but she did it daily. The father was just leaving their home for work when a few members of the Taliban broke in. They killed him that day and threw his body in the back yard. During that day the wild dogs found his body. After school the eldest son of the man found his father's body in the back yard. I must tell you that it was at this story, listening to the anger, hatred, and festering pain in the wife/mother that I began to not want to hear stories. She told me that story for two hours, in perfect detail. It still rolls around in my head occasionally. I had a very hard time removing the graphic details that played a movie for me. Sometimes this work can be gut wrenching.

A Congolese story... He was a student. She was pregnant with their first child. They were newly married and beginning a life together. The war broke out. He was from one tribe and she was from the other. She had the baby and within days the war came to their city. They took the baby and ran. At one point they were starving, her belly was very bloated and sore, she was trying to feed the baby. They found fruit that had been eaten and discarded. It was decomposing. They ate it. They found an open sewer with other people drinking from it. They drank too! They prayed "God deliver us!"

This couple was amazing. As they sat on our couch blessing us with their story they got very animated. Emotions crossed they face... anger, hatred, bitterness, terror, disgust, peace and thankfulness. It amazed me that day what the human spirit can take and get past.

An African story... a young woman lost her husband to the rebels in Sierra Leone. She took her baby boy and they escaped to a refugee camp. They had no family so the camp was more dangerous then normal for them. They were starving because she was unable to fight for enough food in the camp. One day a man came to her tent. He had rice. He offered it for sex. She accepted. The next day another man came and then another. It had gotten out of hand. She was now a camp prostitute. She had more children. Now she sits in front of us. We ask her where the father of her children is. She makes up a convoluted story that we know doesn't work. We wonder. She is ashamed. The older kids know where they came from... they are ashamed. But she and her son survived. They are in America in a home, going to school and eating food.

Our story. We have been listening to these kind of stories weekly since 1993. As I said after the Afghan story I began to not want to hear them. They were too hard, too disgusting, to frightening, to painful and too ugly.

Then life got hard for us, for Robert and I. Our world was turned upside down, our finances were in trouble and even our marriage. We just stopped asking about stories and got through our day, our duty.

During this time, we turned our face to God. We talked and even fought with Him. Eventually things got better. Robert went to this conference and brought back with him many things but one of the most important was the power of story.

He asked a Congolese family their story last week. Another Congolese man who had come to visit us at the same time we were doing the registration sat and listened to the story. He explained cultural things to us that we did not understand. At the end of the story time he prepared to take his family home. When he stood with Robert at the door he asked Robert, "Why did you ask them their story but you did not ask me about mine." Robert was amazed. This man was jealous. We set up a time to go to their house for dinner and listen to their story. They need to tell it and we are able to listen. Perhaps we need to hear it.