Photo by Ashley Gilbertson/VII Photo
At MSF’s cholera treatment clinic in the Carrefour area of Port-au-Prince, the head doctor, who comes from Ghana, treated this emergency patient on Wednesday. People continue to deal with this deadly disease that first appeared in Haiti after the 2010 earthquake. The photographer said: “It’s inspiring, though, knowing that every single person in the hospitalization ward will survive because they’re receiving medical attention. It’s been some time since I’ve worked with MSF, and I forgot how much I respect the organization and how moved I am by their work.”
Photo by Jacob Zocherman
These two women in the maternity ward of Bria hospital in Central African Republic have just had miscarriages. One of them must recover on the floor because there are so few beds in so few health facilities in the area. This photo was taken shortly before MSF opened an emergency project in Bria.
Next time, we’ll know better. We’ll dream better. We’ll dream higher. We’ll aim better. We’ll be better.
Next time, I’ll be everything I can’t be now. Next time, I’ll be everything.
But for this time, we’ll be ourselves. We’ll dream of ordinary things. We’ll dream of laughs coming from our tummies and dream of days filled with sunlight. We’ll aim for success and we’ll aim for love. We’ll aim for what we know to be possible. We’ll aim. We’ll fight. We’ll be enough.
Next time, you’ll show me the way. You’ll guide me to being a better me. But that’s for next time. This time, we’ll just smile at each other when we meet by the road, we’ll sigh inside for the time long past gone. And we’ll walk away, knowing that we were enough. Just never enough for each other.
We’ll stare into the emptiness of what we have become. And smile at the nothingness, smile for the time long gone by. We’ll be happy inside. We’ll be happy.
Next time, you’ll have it all. Next time, the tears won’t exist. But for this time, we’ll look at each other through clearer eyes and reminisce on the laughs gone by. We’ll laugh for the sake of laughing. And maybe we’ll fake caring for the sake of it.
Next time, things will be better. But then, next time will never come.
Next time… Next time… La prochaine fois, je t’aimerai de tout mon coeur, mais d’abord, Il faut que j’apprenne à m’aimer
The monotony, it’s going to kill me. I know. It;s the enemy of all things. Monotony.
Dearest, understand my feeling. Understand how my heart beats when you come close. Understand how I wish you knew things. Understand that I wish.
The greatest of all creations is the one who can differentiate from right and wrong and act on it. But why does this hurt so? Why does it hurt so to watch you walk away? Why does it hurt so knowing that this will never be ours?
The monotony, I’m going to need saving. I need to see the light. I need to feel. Feel. Feel.
Tell me, do you see it in my eyes? Do you feel it too? Or is just my imagination? Is it me or is it you? I feel like the desert we’re in is pouring with rain, and I am so lost because the desert doesn’t usually see rain, does it?
The water pouring on me is so astoundingly strong. How could I ever handle not walking with you? How could I ever handle watching the horizon fade from everything to nothing?
But tell me, do the stars fascinate you the same way they fascinate me? Because I’ve seen you look. Not at stars, but I’ve seen you look. I’ve seen you observe. I’ve heard you hesitate before you say something. I’ve felt your confidence from all sides of me.
Then why, why, why does this hurt? Why does it make me feel suffocated? Why is it that when I am not with you, I feel like I can’t breathe? Why is it that you mean so much? When clearly, I’m just one drop of your rain.
After working continuously in Somalia since 1991, the international medical humanitarian organization Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) announced the closure of all its programs in Somalia, the result of extreme attacks on its staff in an environment where armed groups and civilian leaders increasingly support, tolerate, or condone the killing, assaulting, and abducting of humanitarian aid workers.