"We had one of the worst bombing experiences toward the end of 2000. On that day there were many children from the nearby school around the compound. When the bomber suddenly appeared, we filled the two bunkers near to us, but there wasn't enough space; many of us sprawled stomach down in the dirt and covered our heads. I was lying next to Sister Madeline and put my arm around her. A young girl, about eight years old, crawled between us. I could feel her heart pounding.

"Other youngsters were all around us, and some were crying. We prayed a litany, which helped all of us stay calm. The bomber circled, coming lower and lower. It dropped twelve bombs just a short distance from where we were cowering.

"One of the bombs did not explode. I took a picture of it sticking out of the earth, broken and sharp, desecrating the ground. On the one side is our compound, an oasis, a vision of a future, and on the other the unexploded bomb. It is like two sides of humanity, the one positive and reinforcing, the other deadly and self-destructive.

"After a bombing, there is a deep silence. Not even the birds are heard, and it feels, sometimes, as though our hearts have stopped beating. Tears roll down the children's faces as they emerge from the bunker. We have nothing to offer them but our love and warm embrace, a presence that says, 'We care!' Together with them, and their parents, and everyone who lives here, I am learning not to allow the fear of the bombing to control me. I pray especially that the Sudanese people's suffering and their willingness to forgive the perpetrators of this war will eventually break the cycle of violence."