Thanksgiving is in two weeks. It's my favorite holiday because it brings people together without the pressures of gift-giving. I could care less about stuffing my face full of gravied turkey.

Our family will come together in New England, and for me, this picture is the view from home. It hasn't always been home; but supposedly, "home is where the heart is."

I read an article in The Economist dated June 11, 2005 entitled 'Africa's Unmended Heart.' A fight for power leaves occupants of Congo struggling to stay afloat in a sea of violence. "...[T]he atrocities in eastern Congo are shocking. Zainabo Alfani, for example, was stopped by men in uniform on a road in Ituri last year. She and 13 other women were ordered to strip, to see if they had long vaginal lips, which the gunmen believed would have magical properties. The 13 others did not, and were killed on the spot. Zainabo did. The gunmen cut them off and then gang-raped her. Then they cooked and ate her two daughters in front of her. They also ate chunks of Zainabo's flesh. She escaped, but had contracted HIV. She told her story to the UN in February, and died in March."

Somehow, this woman conjured the strength to live long enough to tell her story. It makes me wonder how many untold stories there are... in Congo.

Presuming Zainabo was close to her home when this happened, I can only hope she was reunited with her heart when she died.