in the afternoon Every now and no light. UPS makes its beeps to alert you that he thinks to protect the data on my pc.
Now the hospital becomes dark and officials within their shacks.
biologist and I are planning to see us later, for a ride to the field of neighboring schools.
Then, suddenly, screaming.
try to decipher what happens and lower the arms surrendered to the heartbreaking cry of someone who is crying his son. like every day.
Beyond the fly, which lets me spy on the window to the outside, there's a guy who struggles, furious and heartbroken, and then surrenders to the embrace of a friend who even knows.
The cry of a father is different from the smooth and tribal women of Angola. Repeated and melodious dirge that accompanies which owes its creation. Recall the ground, washes his feet and throwing himself down weeping over, shouting to the sky to capture the attention of their ancestors, so to gain the strength she needs to fill up a bit.
While this slim and only father, is full of misery, and does not accept screams, cries and despairs like us Europeans who do not call anyone. We just want back what was ours. There can not believe. Yesterday he talked to the pediatrician, he had listened carefully to how to help your child learn to eat again, after such a withdrawal.
Why is the little dead? There was no tuberculosis, there was no 'HIV, no infections, only ... malnutrition. While the pope tried to make him swallow the dose of milk in the afternoon and something went wrong. Something is blocked, perhaps in the pit of the stomach or in the respiratory tract. It 'so dead, suffocated. And there are still those who believe that ending hunger and deaths that follow one another is easy. It 's a long process, they are working on getting a lot of technical and yet it is not in charge here.
... now I'm screaming I want a little to fill.
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