The hardening of the heart is often like the calluses upon ones hands. The calluses are the results of hard work, and while painful at first, as they build up they strengthen the hands ability to work in difficult and otherwise painful situations. Such often seems to be the case of the hearts of those working here in Darfur. During the day we head to the field to battle Cholera outbreaks, deliver much needed food aid, build sanitary water pumps, and provide schools for those who have never had a chance to open a book. Compelled by their heart, most workers here understand the suffering of humanity and have taken the step of action, willing to entangle their lives with the lives of those who are hurting.

Yet when the day is over we walk back to our compounds, past dilapidated huts lining the river bed covered in garbage, past the barefoot children holding out their hands for food, and past the very misery that sits right outside our doorsteps. We try not to look, or kindly tell the children “no, not today” and go about our way, through the doors of our own personal sanctuaries. Each individual exhausted in their own way by the day’s labors and frustrations. And as the days go bye the huts, and hands, and horrors simply become part of the scene of daily life, almost like the country side passing by the window of a speeding car. We have all learned to “live here” and yet, as our hearts become more callused I often wonder what the price has been.