Today feels heavy.
Not because of personal reasons, not because of the changing weather or anything that’ll pass by morning — but because the weight of a nation’s struggle is pressing against the borders of the world’s attention, and too many people are still looking away.
By now, it’s not breaking news — it's been breaking for months. But that doesn’t make it less urgent.
Across the country, an economic collapse has slid into full-blown humanitarian crisis. The kind that statistics try to quantify, but which you only really understand when you hear the voices behind the numbers. Seven million people. That’s how many are in need of humanitarian assistance as of this month. Seven million faces, stories, families — not just data points in a UN report.
Markets are bare. Supermarkets have turned into echo chambers of scarcity. Basic staples are missing. What is available has become unaffordable. Inflation has burned through people’s pockets faster than they can adjust. A bag of rice costs more than a week's income. Mothers are skipping meals so their children can eat, and even then—it’s not enough.
The malnutrition is visible now, especially in the children. Bones where there should be cheeks. Eyes that carry an exhaustion far beyond their years. Clinics are overwhelmed, under-resourced, and losing ground daily. Livelihoods, particularly in agriculture and fishing—two of the backbone sectors of this region—have been pushed to the brink. Storms come, and nets come up empty. Crops are planted, but nothing grows when the soil is tired and the soul of the land is drying up too.
It’s not just food. It’s dignity. It’s safety. It’s survival.
What’s worse is how numb the world can become to suffering when it’s constant. But this isn’t a background crisis. This is now. This is today. This is 25 October 2022, and the silence around it feels like a second injustice.
People aren’t asking for miracles. They’re asking for support, visibility, access to basic needs, and the dignity of being seen and heard. Of having their humanity recognized beyond the lens of foreign aid or photojournalism.
So today, I’m writing this. To remember. To say: this is happening. To hope that someone who reads this might feel compelled not just to care — but to act. To amplify. To demand better.
Because indifference is a luxury we cannot afford.
Not when millions are just trying to make it to tomorrow.
0 Comments