Routine

I had conversations with a priest in a conflict-ridden nation

We were stuck in a riot caused by the rebels

Stuck in the church with limited rations at hand

Meals from three times a day went to one

We couldn’t bear the hunger

Even cigarettes couldn’t stop the same

But then I looked at the priest, who seemed calm in all this turmoil

I spoke to him in my broken French, flashing my rosary at him to show that I was a Christian

Thought it would help him trust me

He laughed and said, I was still an intruder here

No cross can save you from that fate

I then asked him, how was he so calm?

He said that this was normal

After two weeks, when the situation died down

We came out to move back to our settlements

I thanked the priest for his company

As he walked back into the church, we marched in our vehicles back to our base

He was still having one meal a day

As we had a banquet.