beloved brethren, since the day I conducted the mass burial of the 22 innocent Christians murdered in Kawel Community of Mushere District, Bokkos Local Government Area, I have not been myself.

 I have tried to sleep, but sleep has escaped from me. I have tried to find peace, but the cries of grieving mothers, widows, and children continue to echo in my heart. Every night, the images return to me. I see the graves. I see the tears. I see the lifeless bodies. I see the pain that words cannot fully describe. The truth is that something inside me broke on that day.

 22 innocent Christians who were brutally murdered on the night of June 21, 2026, I have not been myself. I have prayed, but the pain remains. I have tried to rest, but sleep has become a stranger to me. Every time I close my eyes, I see the graves. I hear the cries. I see the faces of the victims. I see the tears of widows and the confusion in the eyes of orphaned children.

Today, I said to myself, "Ezekiel, you must speak."

Some people say I talk too much. Some say I should stop speaking. Some say I should move on. But how can I move on when the blood of innocent people is still fresh on the ground? How can I remain silent when I have seen things that no human being should ever have to see? How can I keep quiet when mothers are burying their children and children are burying their parents?

Yes, I will continue to speak.

I will continue to speak until help comes.

I will continue to speak until the cries of our people are heard.

I will continue to speak until the world knows what is happening.

That terrible night, while the people of Kawel slept, believing they would wake up to another day of farming, worship, and family life, death was already moving toward them. Shortly after midnight, the sound of gunfire shattered the silence. Families woke up confused and terrified. Children cried. Mothers grabbed their babies. Fathers rushed to see what was happening.

Within moments, chaos had swallowed the community.

The attackers moved through the village, and innocent lives were cut down.

One story that continues to break my heart is that of a husband who heard the gunshots and immediately knew danger had arrived. Instead of thinking about himself, he thought about his wife. When armed men forced their way into their home, he stood between death and the woman he loved. He fought with everything he had. His wife escaped through the back of the house while he remained behind. Before sunrise, he was dead.

His wife is alive today because her husband chose to die so that she could live.

Tell me, my brethren, how can I hear such a story and not weep?

Another heartbreaking story is that of a pastor who refused to abandon his family. His wife begged him not to go outside when the shooting intensified. She pleaded with him to stay hidden. But he looked at the danger surrounding them and chose courage over fear. He stepped out to defend his home, knowing fully well that he might not return.

By morning, his body was among those lying lifeless on the ground.

His wife survived because of his sacrifice.

What kind of pain must that woman be carrying today?

What kind of loneliness fills that house tonight?

There was also an elderly man who had already served his community and spent his life protecting others. Even in his old age, he stood watch outside his home, hoping to keep danger away from those he loved. But he too became a victim. His family watched their protector fall.

As I walked among the grieving families, story after story pierced my heart.

A mother cried over the body of her child.

A wife cried over the body of her husband.

Children cried over parents who would never return.

Some of the victims were shot at close range.

Some died while trying to flee.

Some died while protecting their loved ones.

Some never even had the chance to run.

My brethren, I wish I could explain the cries I heard at that burial ground. They were not ordinary cries. They were the cries of broken hearts. They were the cries of people whose lives had been shattered in a single night.

I watched as bodies were prepared for burial.

I watched as grieving relatives gathered around the graves.

I watched strong men struggle to hold back tears.

I watched elderly women collapse in sorrow.

I watched children stare into the graves, unable to understand why their fathers and mothers were being taken away from them forever.

One child kept looking around as if expecting a parent to wake up and come home.

That image has never left my mind.

Since that day, I have asked myself many questions.

Who will comfort these children?

Who will wipe away the tears of these widows?

Who will help these families rebuild their lives?

Who will speak for those whose voices have been silenced forever?

My brethren, these questions follow me every day.

The Bible says in Proverbs 31:8, "Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves."

That is why I refuse to be silent.

If speaking for the widows means I talk too much, then I will continue talking.

If speaking for the orphans means I talk too much, then I will continue talking.

If speaking for the innocent dead means I talk too much, then I will continue talking.

The graves of these twenty-two Christians are speaking.

The tears of their families are speaking.

The pain of Kawel is speaking.

And I cannot ignore that voice.

Today, I am appealing to every person of conscience: remember these families in your prayers. Remember the widows. Remember the children. Remember the elderly who lost their sons and daughters. Remember the community whose joy was turned into mourning overnight.

Do not grow tired of praying.

Do not grow tired of caring.

Do not grow tired of standing with those who suffer.

For God sees every tear that falls from the eyes of His people.

Psalm 34:18 tells us, "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

Today, many hearts are broken.

Today, many spirits are crushed.

But we hold onto God because He is all we have.

Though my heart is wounded and my eyes are filled with tears, I will continue to speak. Let them say I talk too much. Let them criticize me. Let them misunderstand me.

I will keep speaking until help comes.

I will keep speaking until justice comes.

I will keep speaking until peace returns.

And I will keep speaking until the world hears the cry of Kawel and the cry of every suffering family whose loved ones were taken from them.

May God comfort the bereaved.

May God heal the wounded.

May God protect the vulnerable.

And may the souls of the departed rest in eternal peace.

Rev. Ezekiel Dachomo