by Donna Hruska

Those Biafran children haunt me. They came into my family room and stared back at me. Their black skulls, bare where hair no longer grew, seemed too large for their bodies—or what was left of their bodies. Except for swollen bellies, they were just bones that could not be live, but, somehow, still moved.

It is the eyes that will not leave me, those eyes grown dull with seeing nothing. They do not accuse. They simply stare. Have you noticed that those children rarely cry? Neither do they beg nor sing. Their mouths have forgotten how to chew.

You see, it was not the first time that I’d seen those children. They came once before as I sat there in the midst of my wood paneled walls and red carpeting, sated with situation comedies and serious documentaries on the state of the economy. They came with their swollen bellies and dull eyes and I was moved. I was outraged that children should starve. I shook my head in sorrow and the tears flowed down my cheeks. I could not go to Biafra, but I could pray for them. At the very least I could send money for food. I meant to, even though it would have been hard. After all, there is the car payment and my pledge on the new church hall—our children have to have someplace to go in their idle hours. I intended to mail a donation…but somehow it slipped my mind. It was shoved aside by all my weighty problems… like Christmas shopping and what to fix for dinner tomorrow night.

A long time ago I thought I learned a lesson. I was very ill and could only be on my feet for five minutes at a time. Many people called. Almost without exception they closed the conversation with “If there is anything I can do, let me know.” They were sincere. They meant what they said at the time they said it, but, of course, I never called to ask for help. I didn’t want to bother them.

There were two friends who were different. They called, too, but only to say, “Don’t worry about dinner.” At five o’clock that evening and every evening until the crisis was over they rang my doorbell to deliver a hot meal for my family, including homemade bread. I vowed then, that never again would I say those hollow words, “If there is anything I can do, let me know.” I would act.

It seems the lesson didn’t take.

We measure life in payment books, in seven no-trump bids, in inflationary spirals, the outrageous price of steak. Meanwhile, the children wait—not just in Biafra. Only a few miles from my cloistered walls, other children starve—less spectacularly, perhaps, but in the end they are just as dead. I have not taken them food, or knowledge, or love.

They come into my family room and stare. They do not cry. Their voices neither beg nor sing. They simply wait—wait for me to move.

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Who were the Biafran children?

ChatGPT said:

The Biafran children were the young victims of the Nigerian Civil War (also known as the Biafran War), which lasted from 1967 to 1970. This conflict erupted when the southeastern region of Nigeria, dominated by the Igbo ethnic group, declared independence as the Republic of Biafra. The Nigerian government opposed the secession, leading to a devastating war.

Why are Biafran children significant?

They became global symbols of humanitarian crisis and famine, particularly in 1968–69, when images of starving Biafran children—with severely bloated stomachs from protein deficiency (kwashiorkor)—were broadcast worldwide.

Key facts:

• Cause of suffering: A Nigerian blockade cut off food and medical supplies to Biafra, leading to widespread famine.
• Death toll: Over 1 million people—many of them children—are estimated to have died from starvation and disease.
• Global reaction: The images of emaciated Biafran children triggered a massive international humanitarian response. Groups like Doctors Without Borders (Médecins Sans Frontières) were partly born out of this crisis.
• Media impact: Biafran children were among the first to be portrayed in global media as victims of modern famine, marking a shift in how humanitarian crises were publicized and responded to.

The suffering of Biafran children not only exposed the brutal human cost of the conflict but also reshaped international humanitarian aid, pressuring governments and NGOs to respond more urgently to famine and war-related crises.