I'm feeling depressed lately.

This piece initially meant for the 6th chapter of 'You, Me, and the City' but the somber atmosphere doesn't really fit in.

Disclaimer : *sigh*

I am not really well informed about Africa and the conflicts there, and any incorrect facts in this fic is in unintentional and I apologize if there's any.

Abu Shouk refugee camp, a few kms from Al Fashir [Coordinates: 13°37′50″N 25°21′0″E]

February 2006

The first time I set my foot on the camp I was rendered speechless.

I thought I was prepared when I said I'm ready to come as a medic-volunteer in this refugee camp, but the real thing was farfetched from what I had imagined before. Yes, I understand the risk, I understand what I will have to face once I start to work there, but reality bites harder than stated facts and gathered info.

All I could see was an endless sea of make shift shelters. Wood, poles, old irons from building's ruins, or whatever else they could find were covered with cloth, blankets, clothes.. anything to make shelter they need from haboob –it's how they call sandstorms- and blazing desert sun. I saw red, green, blue shelters.. but it wasn't colorful at all. They were all dusty and somber, and something inside me had been twisted so painfully at the sight of it.

I was shocked by what I saw, and I admit that I was struck by those sudden fears: what if I'm unable to save any life? What if I'm the one who will be unable to be saved from this madness called war and.. and unable to go home? Those fears fogging my mind for the first few days, but eventually I got over them and realize that it was what I studied medicine for, to contribute something for the world and humanity.

The desert climate stung my unaccustomed skin and it burned and caused me some powerful migraines and heat stroke. It was hurt and everything was uncomfortable but I toughened myself up. There were thousands of people who need medical attention at the camp. I had no time to be weak.

April 2006

I couldn't say that I'm getting used to the life in the camp, but let's just say that time had made the camp a more bearable place somehow. The colors of the make shift shelters were still ugly to me, but I saw more colors beneath them: families huddled together, sharing stories with another unfortunates about destroyed villages and missing relatives and hopes and fears.

I didn't get along with the people. I was always bad at conversation so I didn't have any close friends among the volunteers, and most of the local people only speak in Arabic.

But it was okay because I really like the feel of seeing those people getting better when they left our medical tent. I was able to do something and I was content. I can handle some more desert life.

The end of April 2006

From the moment their helicopter landed on the open space near the medical tent I already felt a strong resentment towards them: journalists and their gadgets, reporters and their fancy cameras. What were they doing in this camp? Were they going to take pictures and make some comments about the camp's condition? Those people could only talk and taking pictures with their gadgets, and when they sniffing their noses around us medic-volunteers they became a hindrance.

I especially hated one particular person of their group; their blue eyed cameraman.

I hated that person so much because of some strangest of reasons. I hate the fact that he had such a fair, sensitive skin that he had to use some fabric like Sudanese women's hijab to protects his skin from the harsh, hot sun. I hate the way he fiddled his camera, long slender fingers checking every inches of it to maintain its condition. I hate the way he smiled so bright and carefree. I hate that his hair shone and his skin looked so soft under the moonlight. I hate him. I hate him.

That strange hate seemed to overflow from my heart when an accident took place in the camp. Someone was shot, and he was quite in a critical condition, and that man just stood there with his camera rolling. Once all of the necessary actions were done I snapped at him for the first time. With anger and annoyance clouded my mind, I didn't recall what I said that time. But I remember telling him to go home already because if he couldn't save any lives –like us doctors and paramedics trying to so all the time- he became just another refugee to the camp, another person who we need to feed, need to consume the already rare water and need some shelter.

I saw something flared in his eyes, like he was going to attack me back, but to my disbelief, he closed his eyes (have I told you that the blue of his eyes reminded me of the sky back home? Ah, was that why I hated him?) and took a deep breath before shaking his head slowly. He left the tent with a straight back and dignified demeanor that it made me feel ashamed of my lack of self control.

I guess it made me hate him even more.

May 2006

I saw him several times after that incident. He never once came again to the medic tents, but at night when the wind was calm I saw him sitting cross ledged on the open plain near our tent –it was where their helicopter landed few weeks before- with cigarette on his mouth and sadness, faraway look in his blue eyes.

I stared dumbfounded at the sight and I finally got it.

The journalists and reporters and their kinds, it wasn't easy for them either. Just like everyone doing their job at Abu Shouk camp, they must do theirs too.

Guilt gnawed inside me so I resolved myself and approached him. For the first time in my 28 years of life I swallowed what stubborn pride I had and bowing to him in apology.

His shocked face was so comical. It would've been funny if I wasn't busy mending my shattered ego.

And then the impossible happened.

I didn't understand why that time, but somehow the red, green, blue, of the camp weren't so dull anymore. I saw more smiling faces I didn't bother to look for at this refugee camp before and days went faster. He and I became friends of some sort. We didn't talk much -we didn't have anything in common to talk about- and we sat side by side in that silence for hours when we were off duty. Sometimes I scolded him to stop smoking and he showed me the pictures he had taken and told me about things caught in his camera.

Then I began to understand what he was trying to accomplish by coming to the camp: he wanted to show the world. We doctors and paramedics were trying to save as many lives as we could. He and his colleagues were trying the same thing by gaining the attention from all over the world. We had the same goal -different ways to get there, though- but the thought warmed my heart so much.

I began to respect him, admire him. I admire his courage to go as close as possible to the scene at each incident, and when people ran away to find a safer place he fearlessly stood still and rolling the camera as his reporter colleague sending the message to the world: this war has to stop, these people needed our attention.

I admire his endurance each time there were news to be chased and he had to hurry and had no time to prepare his skin from the merciless heat of the sun. Few weeks after they came to Abu Shouk camp, the home of thousands of war refugee in Sudan, the fair skinned cameramen I used to hate was no longer there. His soft lips had dried and cracked, his skin red and burnt, his silky brown hair now often caked with dirt and dull and dusty.

But the blue in his eyes never dimmed and he grew even more beautiful in my eyes; the soft spoken, smiling friend of mine.

The 2nd week of May 2006

The civil war of Darfur had worsened. More injured people delivered to the medic's tent and we worked day and night to save those innocent civilians. There were moans and whimpers and cries and groans of hurt everywhere, the air now smelled of blood and fear.

I had just helped my coworkers emptying the helicopter with medical supplies when he -my cameraman friend- approached. He gave me a warm, goodbye hug and telling me he was off to the center of the conflict in Darfur. He asked me to wish him luck and said that he hope to see me again. Sweet air left my lungs and I realized that this, this is war. Anyone could die out there. He might be unable to run fast enough carrying that camera of his, he could be hurt, he could be another victim of this madness they called guerilla conflict.

But my friend is stubborn and I know I couldn't do anything to stop him, so I cupped his face with my hands and I kissed his forehead, my eyes blurred and I whispered him a 'good luck, come to me if you're injured and I'll fix them for you'. He laughed softly then, his blue eyes wet but shone even more beautifully and he ran to the waiting helicopter, waving his hand to me but never looking back.

That moment I breathed my silent wish to God. I wanted him to stay alive, I wanted both of us to stay alive and went to another place where it there were peace and we could be together in a much happier moments. The rising sun painted an orange hue on the sky where the helicopter ascended to and I was staring at it with my heart laid bare in my hands. I was in love and it was painful, so painful.

One day and several hours later the helicopter was back with injured reporters and my knees grew week at the sight of him on the stretcher. He was unconscious and bleeding and we raced him to our medic's tent. As we struggled to save him, he grew weaker and I was crying shamelessly as I gave him a CPR. Please live, please open your eyes, please, because when you do I will tell you that I love you.

I love you, I love you. I want you to stay alive.

Kanagawa prefecture, Japan [Coordinates: 35°42′2″N 139°42′54″E]

February 2011

The Darfur conflict of Sudan is not over and now had spread over the border to the east part of Chad. Hundred thousands of people had been killed, mostly from diseases, and here I am, another powerless residence of the world who could only watch the news on TV and wondering if my little amount of donation had reach those who need it, if it saves their lives.

A gentle squeeze on my shoulder pulls me from my silent pondering and I squeeze back with my hand, smiling. I touch his soft lips with my fingers softly and felt his eyes on me.

Today, almost 5 years after that day in Abu Shouk refugee camp, both of us are unable to actively contribute in that camp where more than 70.000 of people struggle for live.

On May 2006, a week after he gained consciousness, I was sent with the helicopter to Darfur and there an incident happened. My left hand was injured, and while it remains attached to my body it's now paralyzed, and a paramedic with only one capable hand is not really a big help.

Our wounds had healed, but they remain scarred. Just like me unable to use my left hand, his right leg never healed from that incident in Darfur and that time, I held him as he wept silently knowing that his crippled leg won't be able to let him run and hunt for news anymore.

But things are okay now. We both lost something but never once I feel pitiful because he's here with me now. He loves me and I love him, and the world remains chaotic with wars, but here holding him and feeling his warmth within my arms I feel at peace like never before.

At night we sleep side by side, and before we succumb to it we trace each other's faces, marveling silently of how lucky we were, how lucky we are, and hoping that there so far in Sudan and anywhere else in the world the war will eventually turns to peace. I memorize every millimeters of his beautiful face and body with my eyes and my whole being while softly whispering his name, 'Shusuke, Shusuke' and carved it into my soul. And when our gazes lock, his beautiful blue eyes remind me of the sky above Abu Shouk camp, several kilometers from El Fasher city in Sudan, where we met. And he kisses me, deeply, gently, passionately, and he sighs my name before he sleeps.

'Mitsu..'

Then I know that he loves me and I love him, and the world remains chaotic with wars, but here holding him and feeling his warmth within my arms I feel at peace like never before am content. I am content.

Goodnight, world. May tomorrow become a day when you will finally be embraced in peace.

I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear

-Hands, Jewel-