On one evening, he lay there.Two legs, one upon the other. Covered in bruises. Broken aorta and a pool of blood. Pressed down by pieces of wood.

IT was not a full day yet in Gunung Sitoli, Nias. The clock stopped before the night reached its peak. It was 11:10pm on Monday last week. The two legs, God knows whose they were, seemed to repeat Bertold Brechts four-line stanza:

In the dark timesWill there also be singing?Yes, there will also be singing