A Person or a Project?
Her name is Habiba.
She has a name. She has a face, a body, a heart, a mind. She has a soul.
She is a person. She is a woman.
Her name is Habiba.
She has feelings and emotions. She has thoughts.
Her name is Habiba.
Somehow, somewhere in the work, in the service, she may lose her name.
Somehow, somewhere in the mix of things, she may lose her identity.
Habiba may become a number, a statistic.
Habiba may become an object, an issue.
Habiba—a person—may become a project.
Oh, the danger!
How do I intentionally keep her name, her face, her identity ever before me?
How do I intentionally remember that she is a person—100% person?
How do I guard and protect her from wearing a number, from being stamped by a statistic?
Habiba, oh Habiba!
I am sorry that we have stolen your name. I am sorry that we have stripped you of your identity. I am sorry that we have erased your face. I am sorry that we have torn out your heart.
I am sorry.
Please forgive us.
You are not a project. You are a person.
You have a name.
Your name is Habiba.
I will keep your name on my lips. I will keep your face in my mind. I will keep your heart next to mine. I will keep your eyes in my sight. I will keep your thoughts in my mind.
You are not a project. You are a person.
You have a name.
Your name is Habiba.
Your name means, “My Beloved.”
May we never forget that Habiba is not a fictitious character. She is not a nameless, faceless immigrant fleeing the brokenness of her homeland. She is not a statistic, a number, one more refugee, one more dreamer, about to drown in the raft boat off the European coastline . . . on her way to El Dorado.
May we never forget that she is a person.
She has a name.
Her name is Habiba.
Please don’t forget her name. I beg you. Please don’t forget her name.
Her name is Habiba.