I go, because these experiences must be recognized, must be honored. On one of my first trips to northern Uganda, an elderly man told me that if a dying person tells you their story, and it’s not passed on, you’ll be haunted. Well, I do pass on every story that I hear but the knowledge, the awareness, remains to haunt me.
You cannot read anything I have written, Mariella, of course. It will be some years till your judgment of me as a father, as a man, comes to maturity-when these struggles and sacrifices are put into context. When that time comes, please know that I tried to be the best that I could-though I faltered sometimes-that I wanted to make a better world not just for my daughter, but for all the daughters and sons of all the fathers and mothers; that I carried you in my heart everywhere I went; that when I walked through refugee camps, hospitals, schools and saw the eyes of curious child fighters, I saw you. You were with me everywhere. And seeing you, knowing my love for you, I held to the faith that a world could exist where I would want you to live, where men stand up for the women they love.
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