26/07/2025
He once filled the neighborhood with joy, giving sweets to all the children. He died today, starving.
A friend sent me a message from a land gripped by famine. It read:
"Do you remember my neighbor? The kind, wealthy old man who always had candy for the kids? He died of hunger today."
I paused, my fingers frozen over my keyboard. "How?" I finally typed.
Her reply came:
"He left his home at dawn, searching for anything to feed his little granddaughter. He spoke to me on his way out, clutching a threadbare blanket. 'I will trade this for anything,' he said, his voice weak. 'A handful of flour, some lentils... even dried orange peels.'
He only made it fifty steps from his front door.
On the fifty-first step, he collapsed. He didn't cry out or complain. He just fell, as if his contract with life had been abruptly canceled by starvation.
We rushed to his side. He was still alive, his eyes open, his lips trembling with a few final words. I leaned in close to hear him whisper:
'She has been fasting for three days... please, don't let her die of hunger like me.'
And then he was gone.
My friend ended her message with a plea:
'Can you please write about him? Because he didn't die alone. Here, hunger is killing people as if they are nobodies. But we need to tell the world that this man... he was somebody.'"
