Sit down. It won’t be convenient. Because it’s not about convenience. It’s about a fairy tale.

So I will tell you a fairy tale. A fairy tale about little Manusia. It’s called “and never again.”

You probably don’t know Manusia. Until today, I have not known her either. I met hundreds of ponies, but Manusia hid somewhere at the edge of the world, in her small yard, by an old cottage, by endless meadows where gloomy winter rains and snow are raging.

This fairy tale is not for children. Children should believe that anything is possible. After all, our tomorrow depends on them. Better for them to believe that. But Manusia is big and she is a horse. She doesn’t believe it anymore. She was stripped of the hope that she would see spring again. She could watch it as long as she gave birth to foals, as long as she stuck to the chain in the meadow in summer and as long as it pleased visitors. After all that was over, the title “And Never Again” appeared.

Manusia will no longer see her chain in the endless meadows when spring comes. And the endless meadows will never feel the weight of her little hooves again. The summer sun would never again force Manusia under a sprawling low tree, where she could rest with her chain in the shade of leaves. The barn would never again host Manusia on a frosty night, where Manusia could stare at the twinkling stars through the ajar door. And you will never see little Manusia by her wooden fence again as you pass this old cottage in the east of Poland.

Therefore, you need to hurry. Because eastern Poland is beautiful and often untouched. Here life and death naturally mix up.

The old man who lived in this cottage called us himself. The son ordered Manusia to be sold. Because “it is not profitable to keep an old mare”. It was the old man who told us about the “never again” that happened to his Manusia. And it happened to him. Because there are no alternatives here. Because there is neither health nor money left. But there is time for difficult decisions.

Manusia was already taken by a trader. We don’t judge anyone. The old man softly wipes his tears, we hear on the phone that every word is a challenge. We get the address. We drive there.

And we find Manusia. Manusia, who is staring at the wall right in front of her, instead of the starry sky above her barn. Manusia, whom the sun will not see anymore and whose mane will not be tangled by the cold wind. Never again. She stands, completely defenseless, and looks straight ahead. She is terribly reconciled with her fate. There is no scuffle here. There is no despair. There is consent to passing and a silent death that no one in the world will notice. The kind of consent that comes when you know that no one will come for you anymore. Because nobody knows you’re here. Nobody will even know that you ever existed.

Manusia’s life and Manusia’s transport are together 3900 PLN (951 USD). We have time until February 10th, so every penny counts.


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Donation Total: $10.00