A Part of me

The drive back to the hotel took a few hours. My mind was racing, and my body was numb. I don't remember the traffic in and around Kampala. Hearing the horror stories of these people had left me in utter awe.
The kind of evil some of us are capable of is beyond comprehension. These women are all determined to live their lives and succeed. The scars are just a part of who they are, and they wear them proudly—proud to have survived, proud to have overcome the pain, and proud to continue living.
Even when I was taking their pictures, they were posing for me, showing their scars as if they were their best features.