Present Day
My name is Imara, and I live among the hunted. There are sixty of us who
live here now--in an isolated and guarded camp hidden in Dar es Salaam--the
former capital of Tanzania. The dusty, gravel-filled, makeshift camp is
surrounded by high walls and protected around the clock by guards with guns.
It’s supposed to be our home, and for some, it’s the only home they’ve ever
known. The Tanzania government funds our camp. They go through great pains to
make sure that we are comfortable since the walls that protect us have turned
into a prison. Once inside, we are never allowed to leave. We are refugees in
our own country.
A select few of the hunted, who thirst for a life outside these walls, wake up at
the break of dawn to catch a glimpse of the outside world as the walls separate
and the visitors are searched one by one and allowed to enter. Everyday we have
visitors--most of which are our counselors and teachers. I don’t think most of the hunted could survive this place
without them. They are the connection to the outside world that we desperately
need. They teach us how to read, write, and count, but most importantly, they
teach us how to love. How to love each other and how to love ourselves--which is
almost impossible to do after being ostracized, ridiculed, and abandoned because
of an affliction that is more like a curse: Albinism.
In a country full of color, the albinos
are the colorless--devoid of pigmentation in their skin, hair, and eyes. Some say
they are otherworldly--demons, sorcerers, or perhaps haunts of European
colonists. I question this comparison--wondering how many of them have ever seen
the aforementioned to make such a juxtaposition. Nevertheless, because of this
and the myths perpetuated by witch doctors that certain body parts of the hunted transmit magical powers and
bring prosperity, they are maimed, murdered, and dismembered. They are hunted
like animals. A complete set of all four of their limbs, genitals, ears,
tongue, and nose can fetch as much as $75,000.00 on the black market. They are
living, breathing dollar signs--the personification of wealth and power in one
of the poorest countries in the world. They aren’t safe anywhere--even among
their families. Most of the hunted
are missing limbs--arms, hands, legs, and feet because of the people they
trusted the most.
I have been here ten years--arriving
when I was eleven years old. At one time, I had a life beyond these walls. A
life that I’m determined to get back as soon as they realize that they’ve made
a mistake. As soon as they understand that I’m not like them. I sympathize with
their plight, but I don’t belong here. If you’ve been paying attention up until
this point, you should be curious about my use of the pronouns: them and they. The
utilization of them delineates a distinction and separation from them and me.
Given the preceding, you should be
asking yourself one question: If she is not one of the hunted then why does she live among them? Don’t worry, I will
answer your question, but first I must start from the beginning.
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