pearls around the neck • 105
Inspired by the massacre committed in
Mabanga, North East of Congo in 2010.
Rape is a weapon of war.
I great you Mary full of Grace
Myriam, Marouchka, and Maya full of yourselves, of your sufferings, your injuries, covered with scares,
Scratched, hit, trampled, raped, disemboweled.
Still full of grace.
The Lord is with you
Was the Lord with you? Are you certain he was?
Didn’t the Lord abandon you slightly? Where was He during that forced abortion?
Where was He when they came, machete in their hands, barbed wire and sharp blades? While you were
trying to pull the broken bodies of your newborn children from the rubbles, where was He?
You are blessed of all women
You are blessed, every woman that gives her son to the blind world of men. You are sacred of all people,
you who at the crack of dawn knead the daily bread and fan the flame of the morning fire before
assuming your duty of a mother, of a spouse, of a whore or a bitch.
And Jesus, the fruit of your loin is blessed
And Joshua, Mohamed, Pedro or Gombe are blessed, fruits of your organs, of your bloodied guts, of
your uterus that blooms like a fruit despite itself.
They are blessed or doomed your cherubs or your bastards; you have no choice, those unannounced
offspring, and orphans of destiny.
Holy Mary, mother of God
Holy are all the women who have spread their legs: holly female Virgins that gave to the world
defenseless little beings, the innocence, not the good, not the bad and thus God was reborn. Mothers
Pray for us
Pray, recite the original psalms, sing praises, murmur the verses, shell the beads of the rosaries, light the
candles, torch the churches, burn down the temples, set the mosques on fire, yell your pain, scream out
the injustice, denounce the war of men, claim the right to raise your children in the softness and the
gentle innocence of the day.
Now and at the hour of death
Now, right now, without waiting, no, do not wait for another death, not one more burial. Stand up