Writings on the Wall > The Daily Burden

It was at the beginning of the 90’s.  The Berlin Wall wasn’t there anymore. The Soviets were gone.  The cold war melted everywhere for lack of enemies. But it was colder for us than ever before.

There was no electric power, no medicine, no soap, no soup. We were ten million hungry people, ten million people who, irrationally, held to their principles and beliefs. Mainly, we held to our fears.

The sick were dying. The healthy were buried digging tunnels beneath the old city to save us all from the bomb that would never be dropped.

Modesty and sweat were flavored with rum, sunlight and splashes of Atlantic waves. There was nothing left to be ashamed of. The end was near. Our minds were empty. Enduring scarcity was better than humiliation, than licking the cleaver of the executioner. It was not a dictator who kept us together. It was pride, horror, fear, and above all, it was the executioner’s fault.

God acts in mysterious ways. His bread has mysterious shapes.

Augusto Bordelois