We have words for life’s happy moments, and we have standard expressions for life’s trials—condolences for the bereaved, well wishes for the sick. But what do we say to a friend whose child has been kidnapped? What do we say to a family whose loved one is among the 173 people reported missing since the beginning of the year?
According to police figures, 83 of these individuals remain missing to this day. Faced with the disappearance of a human being, words seem suddenly trivial. They fail us. They become powerless before the anguish of waiting, the lack of explanation, and the hope that refuses to die.
Our language names many dramas, but there is no word for parents who lose a child. It is as if some pains are so profound that no language has ever managed to name them. Disappearance is a trial different from death; while death brings a final, albeit unbearable, certainty, disappearance traps families in an endless wait where hope and fear wage a silent battle every day.
In a culture like ours, where the spoken word is essential, we find ourselves facing a tragedy that language itself seems unable to contain. These 173 families live in constant anguish and anger—an anger we all share in the face of a phenomenon that seems to overwhelm us all. Each family lives its torment in almost absolute solitude, like an island lost in the middle of the ocean.
Yet, I believe there is a path forward. If these families were to share their stories—their waiting, their hopes, and their wounds—they would do more than testify to their suffering. Together, they would give a face and a voice to this silent tragedy. A pain told remains a pain, but pains gathered together can become a national conscience.
Captured & Published at: 2026-07-22 06:26:59 (Madagascar Local Time EAT)
Original Source: https://www.lexpress.mg/2026/07/des-tragedies-sans-nom-madagascar.html