This is ten-year-old Saah Exco of Liberia.
His story breaks my heart and hurts my head. I have been trying to figure out why his story and images of him haunt me, and how his story crystalizes some very deep existential concerns I have had for most of my life.
NPR has covered Saah Exco's story this week, first here and later, in a follow-up here. There is a video of Saah in the second link. Seeing pictures of Saah's struggle is extremely sobering. Seeing objects in motion in the video, such as people moving, makes his story even more staggeringly sad. You should listen to the audio snippets in each link.
As one NPR reporter noted, Saah was "sitting on a bucket. And he was not wearing any clothes. He was surrounded by about fifty people. Sitting there naked, alone, shivering, and sort of...I wouldn't call it breathing, but panting. It was shocking...It was just heartbreaking to see...He had really no life in him."
Saah Exco died a few days ago, likely from Ebola, in West Africa. His mother and brother had previously died of the disease. Like many other people who have heard his story, the fact that Saah spent his last days and hours in severe pain, confusion, and alone is agonizing to me. Because of well-placed fear (and warnings from otherwise generally untrusted medical staff) of contracting Ebola themselves, it appears that hardly anyone touched Saah.
As a parent, my heart aches that Saah was not comforted by human touch, at least as reported in the images and audio and video available. As a parent, it haunts me that this little child, who had just lost his own mother, was stricken by a deadly disease and had to face it pretty much on his own, until someone fought their own fear and compassionately brought Saah to a clinic, far too late for effective treatment. Too weak to even dress himself with a flimsy shirt. Too tired to move a muscle to swat the gathering flies off of his body. Pretty much abandoned on a dirt path in a cramped alley, one of countless alleys in that city among so many other alleys in his country and on his continent and on his world. I think the only comforting thought I have is that Saah Exco is no longer suffering, and that he is hopefully now reunited with his mother and brother and others who loved him.
I am hesitant to post any more pictures of Saah. This blog isn't the place to do so. It feels like I'd be trivializing or sensationalizing his death somehow.
***
Before Saah's story, of a little boy left alone to face a horrific disease at such a young age, I was following the Ebola outbreak story. Keeping up on world events has always been important to me. But because of distance, age, and other circumstances, most news stories throughout my life have been observed through some protected, foggy shield. It has all been so abstract. Whether it was 15 people dying in an accident or millions dying in a civil war, I have spent some brief moments thinking about those people in a general sense, and feeling some small measure of sadness for their passing and their loved ones' loss.
But it seems that major events can touch more deeply into a distant observer's heart and mind, crossing distance and even time. Anne Frank or Czeslawa Kwoka make the numbing catastrophe of the Holocaust real in a way that the number 6,000,000+ killed cannot. Ryan White changed millions of people's perceptions about AIDS in the 1980s. To me, it is no surprise that it is very often children caught up through no fault of their own in a crushing crisis that really snaps people out of their own little worlds, at least for a few minutes. Saah Exco has had that effect on me.
***
Hearing about Saah's story on my drive home tonight, a flood of questions surfaced almost instantly. Why Saah? Why a ten-year-old child? Why does any child have to die? Why was he alone, unwanted? Why wasn't Saah saved? Why was Saah born in to the conditions of his life: in a shanty town, in a poorly undeveloped country, on a continent that has long struggled in so many ways? Why wasn't Saah born somewhere else?
Why do I think of Saah now with such sadness, but haven't stopped to consider the likely hundreds of other young children who have died...today, this week, this month, this year... from Ebola? Why not the countless young children who have died in wars in those same time spans? Why are children so often hurt, abused, stricken, killed?
Why is there such hurt and sadness and evil in this world? Why is this world so shockingly unfair?
Why doesn't God intervene? Why doesn't He stop this anguish, on an individual basis, on a national scale, on a world-wide level? Why do I feel guilty and afraid to ask those questions?
Why not me? Why not my own children? Why was I born when I was, and where I was, and to the parents I was born to?
Long-time readers may recall my oft-cited admiration for the late Robert F. Kennedy. Before his assassination in 1968, RFK had travelled through Apartheid South Africa and slums in West Virginia and Mississippi, among other places. He later said, "Through no virtues and accomplishments of our own, we have been fortunate enough to be born in the United States under the most comfortable conditions. We, therefore, have a responsibility to others who are less well off."
Why does Saah's story resonate so deeply with me? Why don't I have the means to do much to help? Why does my compassion and tears for a little boy now gone feel vacant? Why have I been blind to needs like Saah's in my own neighborhood, town, state, country? Why don't I have more time, money, attention to do more? Why do I now feel compelled to know exactly how my tithing and other donations to my church are allocated?
***
The late folk singer Harry Chapin (you know, the guy who sang "And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man in the moon"?) was a prominent activist. The world needs more people like him. He once told a studio audience about how he had been involved in a canned food drive at a local school. All of the kids were excited to help out the less-fortunate, and there was some ceremony to present hundreds of cans to the charity. Harry then added something like, "And the principal then got up and thanked everyone for their help. But he ended his speech by asking, 'This outpouring is fantastic. But what are we going to do for these people next week? Next month?'"
***
Right now, I wish I had all of the means to alleviate any suffering, anywhere. I hope that does not sound narcissistic or power-hungry. That's not what I am pining for. I fall far short of what I think God wants me to be as a mortal, let alone being like an actual higher power. It is not possible, and I don't think God works that way, through us. But reading about Saah's struggle and death has hit me hard. I wouldn't wish his anguish on anyone. It just makes me wonder about some hard facts and questions.
I believe in God, and I believe that He loves Saah as his own child, and that He was aware of Saah's torment. And while I believe Saah is now free of all hurt, and in a better place, I can't prove it. I can kind of see why non-believers scoff at the idea of a heaven at a time like this: "It's just a comforting way to make sense of a tragedy, give some hope for something better beyond this life--especially when someone dies as young as Saah--and cling to some misguided belief that the bad is all over and it's all good now, forever." I just sincerely hope that Saah's turmoil is over, and that he is now healed, that he will live on in a greater and more serene place, that he will feel eternal love and peace.
I am cognizant that what started out as a post about the tragedy of a young child's life and death has evolved into my own selfish musings and questions. I am deeply aware of my surroundings and blessings as I have written this, undisturbed by anything or anyone, in complete safety and health, for the better part of two hours.
And I'm still talking more about me and what Saah's death means for me than anything else. Don't we always do that, though? In a different sense, each celebrity's passing becomes a chance for the average person to open up about their own struggle, or a memory they have or favorite song or movie or some nonsense. I'm just trying to make sense out of a singular moment in time, of a single young life that precious few were aware of until a few days ago. Hopefully Saah's death will encourage people to do some act of kindness, somewhere, to someone.
Why do I feel that any act I make, or donation, or kind gesture to someone, will pale to what I wish I could do? Because it's true. Why do I think that within a few hours or, certainly by Monday, I'll be on to other concerns in my own life and news from around the world and caught up in my own challenges? Because it's true. Experience proves it, for me and for everyone else.
Why do I feel like it will be difficult to post anything about my family for a while? Because it will. It will feel trivial. I think my best option in the moment is to just hit "publish," sign off, and pray. To pray for Saah Exco, his family, and for God's will to be done, that relief will come to far-off people who I will never know or meet, but who are my sisters and brothers. I really believe that.
