At work I try not to react to jungle outside, even if for a few minutes a day. Sometimes I succeed. But today the events came rushing in and rudely intruded upon my precariously sustained neutrality.
I was called from home to be told that a nephew of mine was killed in the explosion in the city center. The explosion went off in a central, much frequented market, so there was no doubt it was targeting civilians. Then they called me to say it may not be him after all because there was no way to identify what was left ... only his cell phone in the pants' pocket.
Now I'm waiting, fearfuly, for confirmation either way.
The problem doesn't end there.
If it isn't him, it's someone's son anyway. But if it is him ... whom are we willing to risk going to the Morgue to receive the remains?? If and when we receive him ... where do we burry him?? Almost none who take the path to Abu Ghraib Cemetary return unscathed.
Perhaps we should revive the tradition of burrying our dead in our gardens. It's certainly a lot better that loosing other members of our family on the way to the cemetary or on the way back.
All this is contimplation. For I'm still waiting.