October 2000 Invisible People, Invisible Christians By Crissa Hoy Working late in the newborn nursery at the hospital, all I had left to do before going home was to check the babies who were spending the night in their mothers' rooms instead of the nursery. The last room was dark, the mother asleep, so I crept over to the crib to look at the baby's chart. My stomach immediately tied in a knot as I felt a sick wave of dread pass over me. The nurse and I came back to the room, turned on all the lights and saw, in the mother's bed, curled up next to her, the baby, safe and sound. When the lights were on, it was easy to sort out things, but darkness had a way of making people invisible.
Invisible people are, first and foremost, silent.
Although this described the social conditions for women in South Africa during apartheid, it is often true that those who are not heard are not seen either. Because she could not sit up, she developed large sores which became infected, and the infection eventually spread to her bones. The only time she communicated with me at all was when I would turn her to relieve the pressure from the sores, and she would let out a heart-breaking moan. Large, silent tears would stream down her face. She had long ago retreated to some private, unreachable place within herself and hardly ever spoke aloud.