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  • The victims were slumped over in their chairs. Mostly young men and women dressed in their best, celebrating Africa's first hosting of the World Cup.

    Blood covered their clothes, sticky and still wet. Others looked unharmed, asleep as they watched the final. Spain against the Netherlands.

    But they were dead. Soon their lifeless bodies would be piled underneath stairs in hospitals, stuffed into overcrowded morgues.

    I walked through Kampala's largest hospitals, led by a patient whose late night wanderings were interrupted by this stab of violence into a normally peaceful Uganda society. He held my arm and pulled me past guards, rushing doctors and nurses. He led me past an American women who lay on a strecher in a hallway. I took a photograph. A blond well dressed women who worked for the embassy shooed me away and into the next room where hundreds bled onto a white floor.

    There is something about a bombing, something evil, the way the violence targets a population and not an individual. It makes it hard to grasp. Hard to process. What do you do with 50, 60, 70 dead? Where do you put them in your mind.

    Of course there is the Geo-politics, President Musevni's US backed war in Somalia, Al Qaeda's new relationship with Al Shabaab etc.

    But what does that have to do with the young people underneath the stairs in this hospital. Their beauty and youth, the orange shirt that looked brand new, the ironed slacks. And news only want's numbers. Who wants to really make this people count. Only their families. To the journalists, and their readers, the politicians, and the most of the world; what space do we have in our lives for so many dead. More than anything else, bombings turn people into numbers.

    This is what I carried for the days after the bombing, as we chased rumors of other bombs, and conspiracies. Before I had no use for the word Evil. It made no sense, it was too abstract from the myraid causes and effects that make up reality. There is always a reason for something I thought. The word Evil for me was an excuse to be ignorant, to avoid looking too deeply. But in the closed peaceful faces of the victims, I could only see the Evil.

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