The luminaries of the ruling Sudan People’s Liberation Movement (SPLM) in South Sudan have repeatedly made public utterances calling for South Sudan’s Diaspora to return home and contribute to its development. On the surface, these calls seem genuine because running new institutions in a new country need requisite skills which some people in the Diaspora tend to have. However, on further examination, one finds that those advocating for Diaspora’s return actually do not have a policy framework on how to attract South Sudanese with those required skills. What they mean when they invite Diaspora is an ad hoc voluntary return, which few people in Diaspora could do.
As I wrote privately to one of my friends last year, this approach has serious shortcomings. Here are the reasons I say so:
It assumes that those in Diaspora have no responsibilities or commitments in their new adopted countries.It gives the Government some comfort that its current ad hoc persuasive call for South Sudan’s Diaspora to return is working. It puts the onus of patriotic volunteerism on Diaspora, some of whom go back and wait for months without getting jobs.It also gives those working for the government and who hold the view that skilled Diaspora are their natural competitors in the job market an opportunity to scuttle meaningful Diaspora engagement.
Of the four reasons I have provided above, I would like to examine the last point for the purpose of this piece, because it is the biggest impediment to the successful Diaspora engagement as well as to public service reform.
The majority of those who currently hold government positions were not appointed on the basis of merits. Some got their positions based on military hierarchy during the war, a good number was appointed on whims of politicians, while others got in because their relatives call shots in the corridors of power in Juba. This is not to say that those who partook in the war of liberation do not deserve certain recognition or are qualified. All I am saying here is that their recognition must be compatible and commensurate with their skills.
Those who got their positions on the basis of approaches I have listed above are highly intolerant to merit based system. To them, merit, presents a grave threat to their entitlement. The resistance it evokes whenever merit is mentioned is exemplified by how Madam Awut Deng, the former minister of public service was frustrated when she attempted reform the civil service.
Partaking in war of national liberation versus merit based system
The culture of resistance to reform on merit-based system is supported by the logic that government appointments as they stand today must be based on one’s participation in the war of national liberation. The logic goes: I am a war hero, therefore, I am entitled to a government position, which in turn confers powers on me to seek advancement for my relatives regardless of whether they can do the job or not. While this logic is an accepted modus operandi in job allocations in Juba, I think it needs rethinking.
The picture it presents ignores many crucial questions. Were those who fought and fell during the war fighting for their self-enrichment when independence is achieved or were they fighting for greater good for South Sudanese? Secondly, are government positions entitlements to be enjoyed without accounting for the deliverables? Thirdly, does one’s credibility as a war hero translates into heroism in the post-war era without the delivery of what was promised during the war? These questions are worth asking, because they speak to post-independence experiences of many African countries.
In his analysis of Ngugi Wa Thiong’o “Petal of Blood”, Craig V. Smith captures the frustration Ngugi felt at the excesses of the Kenya’s post-colonial leadership.
According to Smith, Ngugi questioned the relevance of credibility conferred on Kenya’s anti-colonial leadership solely on their contribution to the national liberation without a corresponding assessment of whether they have stuck to the ideals they fought for. For Ngugi, credibility as an anti-colonial leader guarantees no automatic credibility as a national, post-colonial leader. According to Smith, Ngugi questioned the legitimacy- deficit of the post-colonial leaders who ignore their constituencies, mix politics with private enterprise, use their positions to enrich selves and families, and focus on preserving their privileges rather than extending and developing human and economic potential. To keen observers who have been following developments in South Sudan since 2005, all the things Ngugi was inveighing against in 1970s are the same challenges South Sudan is wrestling with today and it will continue to wrestle with them for a foreseeable future.
For example, it is an open secret that constitutional post holders mix politics with private enterprise. Some government ministers own businesses that win procurement contracts from the ministries they are heading with no regards for values and ethics.
Some politicians sit on the board of directors of foreign companies that require the protection of a big man. This is done notwithstanding questionable business practices these companies exhibit. All this is done with no due consideration to consequences of blurring the lines dividing public and private spheres, especially for those in the public service.
When legitimate concerns are raised about these practices, those who question and bring these issues to light are either dismissed as people who did not participate in the struggle or they are intimidated like Deng Athuai, the leader of South Sudan Civil Society Alliance who was recently kidnapped and tortured for speaking out……part II to follow
Madut Majok
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Statement on Mr. Deng Athuai Kidnapping in Juba
As we take pride in South Sudan's first anniversary, we also need to express our collective worries over the trend and methods employed to silent those who express public sentiment about corruption in the country.
We should be worried, because the ability to speak one's mind on national issues without any fear of being persecuted is the litmus test to true freedom and citizenship. It is something South Sudanese should defend irrespective of their political leanings. Personally, this year's anniversary has been tainted by the callous actions of those who kidnapped and gruesomely tortured the leader of South Sudan's Civil Society Alliance, Mr. Deng Athuai.
South Sudan can not afford to emulate Khartoum with respect to how its treat those who express divergent opinion. Many people who fell during the war, both combatants and non-combatants didn't die for the replication of the system they abhorred. No one who voted for independent South Sudan would like to see the continuation of policies they rejected from Khartoum in their country.
The current leadership in Juba needs to reassure the apprehensive public that they are different from Khartoum by expeditiously investigating and bringing to book those who are behind Mr. Athuai kidnapping and gruesome beating. The same applies to the case of Mayol Kuch who was murdered by those who show no hesitation to torture citizens at will.
We should be worried, because the ability to speak one's mind on national issues without any fear of being persecuted is the litmus test to true freedom and citizenship. It is something South Sudanese should defend irrespective of their political leanings. Personally, this year's anniversary has been tainted by the callous actions of those who kidnapped and gruesomely tortured the leader of South Sudan's Civil Society Alliance, Mr. Deng Athuai.
South Sudan can not afford to emulate Khartoum with respect to how its treat those who express divergent opinion. Many people who fell during the war, both combatants and non-combatants didn't die for the replication of the system they abhorred. No one who voted for independent South Sudan would like to see the continuation of policies they rejected from Khartoum in their country.
The current leadership in Juba needs to reassure the apprehensive public that they are different from Khartoum by expeditiously investigating and bringing to book those who are behind Mr. Athuai kidnapping and gruesome beating. The same applies to the case of Mayol Kuch who was murdered by those who show no hesitation to torture citizens at will.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Equality of Opportunities
We South Sudanese pride ourselves in our ardent belief in equality of opportunities and this belief was one of the reasons among others that caused the protracted war that was resolved by partitioning the country.
However, the problem our people fought successfully to eliminate is rearing its ugly head presently. It seems our "benefactors": Non-governmental Organizations, chief among them the United Nations Mission in South Sudan have taken the mantle of discrimination from where they north left it off. These entities have created a sub-category of employment referred to as “national" where they fit any person of South Sudanese origin regardless of his/her qualifications or the passport he/she holds.
Amazingly, Kenyans and Ethiopians qualify for the perks allotted to the so called expatriates at the expense of South Sudanese, some of whom are graduates from the same universities as Kenyans who are preferred by our “benefactors”. This binary of nationals versus expatriates is creating uncalled for marginalization of south Sudanese, because it confines them to the lowest end of pay-scale as well as limiting their advance career-wise.
And wait a minute; what makes this issue interesting is that it is actually sanctioned by South Sudanese politicians who seem to have imbibed the narrative of South Sudanese as unskilled. I have not heard of any politician who has been quoted in the media questioning the basis of consigning the talented Southerners to the so called national category in the NGOs’ employment. This silence presupposes approval of this repugnant practice that prevents south Sudanese from being hired at the level commensurate with their skills.
It is high time that the government of the Republic of South engages its partners in the NGO world to end this discriminatory practice. No rational government would ever condone the marginalization of its citizens.
However, the problem our people fought successfully to eliminate is rearing its ugly head presently. It seems our "benefactors": Non-governmental Organizations, chief among them the United Nations Mission in South Sudan have taken the mantle of discrimination from where they north left it off. These entities have created a sub-category of employment referred to as “national" where they fit any person of South Sudanese origin regardless of his/her qualifications or the passport he/she holds.
Amazingly, Kenyans and Ethiopians qualify for the perks allotted to the so called expatriates at the expense of South Sudanese, some of whom are graduates from the same universities as Kenyans who are preferred by our “benefactors”. This binary of nationals versus expatriates is creating uncalled for marginalization of south Sudanese, because it confines them to the lowest end of pay-scale as well as limiting their advance career-wise.
And wait a minute; what makes this issue interesting is that it is actually sanctioned by South Sudanese politicians who seem to have imbibed the narrative of South Sudanese as unskilled. I have not heard of any politician who has been quoted in the media questioning the basis of consigning the talented Southerners to the so called national category in the NGOs’ employment. This silence presupposes approval of this repugnant practice that prevents south Sudanese from being hired at the level commensurate with their skills.
It is high time that the government of the Republic of South engages its partners in the NGO world to end this discriminatory practice. No rational government would ever condone the marginalization of its citizens.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Generosity
The year 1991 will live in the memory of many Sudanese refugees. That’s the year we were forced out of the Ethiopian refugee camps after the collapse of the communist regime in that country and went back to our native Sudan. For thousands of us who re-entered the Sudan through Pacholla, a border town on the Sudan-Ethiopia border, our challenges were immense as soon as we set foot in the town.
A garrison town, Pochalla was heavily mined by the Sudanese army before it was sent packing by the Sudan People’s Liberation Army, the SPLA. It made moving around extremely dangerous. Adding to our discomfort was that we arrived along with seasonal floods.
These two phenomena curtailed the options of many relief agencies which had established their presence in the area as soon as we arrived. The threat of mines, for instance, prevented the expansion of a small airstrip which could have allowed bigger relief planes to land. The flood, on the other hand, made the relief agencies cautious of sending in a relief convoy via dilapidated seasonal roads, which were the trademarks of south Sudan then.
In the face of these formidable challenges, the presence of the International Committee of the Red Cross could not erase the ominous shadow of starvation hanging over us. We wore gloomy faces as we talked with nostalgia about the food we enjoyed in Pinyudo refugee camp in Ethiopia. Food was the preoccupation in every discussion we held every evening. It crept into every sentence uttered in every conversation. Despite the danger, we didn’t even contemplate our safety in Pochalla. Indeed, there was an air raid one week after we arrived and we didn’t speculate about the likelihood of the Sudanese army repeating the raid. All this was relegated to the bottom of any discussion. Any faint spark of energy left in our bodies was devoted to the next morsel of food we could scrounge and would it ever be enough.
Some of us who contemplated returning to Ethiopia were held back by the thought of being repatriated to the Sudan by the new government. At least that was the message that was rammed into our feeble minds: the new government in Ethiopia was formed by a Sudanese-based rebel group which would not hesitate to deport us to Sudan given their long held ties with the Sudanese government. The accuracy of the statement on outright deportation to Sudan by Ethiopian authorities is still debatable to this day, but that is not the point of this story, dear reader. The point of the story is how our desperation was met with generosity, although it would take us awhile to recognize it.
As in most times of hardship, the quest for survival tends to weaken the ties of friendship between boys in a big group. We started to dread larger gatherings for the obvious reason that such association makes it hard to share whatever minimal food we had beyond the rationed common share. The comradeship developed among us boys who crossed to Pochalla from Ethiopia was replaced by a tighter, smaller group of friends who shared the little that was available. These small groups also discussed survival strategies in low tones. There were four of us in our group. Majong Lual, Tong Aleu, Tang Nyuot and myself. Majong, who was a little bit older than us, was the natural leader and often took the lead in the inevitable discussion of what we could do to survive starvation. Again and again, we toyed with the idea of returning to Ethiopia. But each time we talked about it, the fear of being repatriated to the Sudan held us back from executing our plan.
Majong told us one day that the only option left for us was to go to the neighbouring Anyuak villages to sell our labour. The Anyuak are a Nilotic-speaking people who are found both in Sudan and Ethiopia and whose economic activity revolves around crop production, game hunting and fishing. They grow corn-maize at the start of the rainy season which they harvest in July and then immediately plant sorghum. Since it was a harvest time in the Anyuak villages, Majong correctly envisaged the Anyuak might need extra hands. On the other hand, there were reports of theft of Anyuak maize by some boys who preceded us to the village. This created strained relationships between villagers and those who were there to sell their labour. We heard reports that the Anyuak were killing boys like us.
Was it worth going? We met inside Majong’s makeshift shelter to thrash out our plan.
“You know as I do why the dire situation we are facing at the moment demands action,” said Majong, as we sat knee-to-knee on the ground. “We are responding to this predicament the way we are, because the result of inaction is certain death from starvation.”
“Do not use exaggerations to block candid debate on a crucial topic like this,” Tong Aleu interrupted. “There are other boys in this settlement who are stoically withstanding the pangs of hunger rather than risk going to the Anyuak villages.”
“If you are not willing to take risks in order to assure your survival, then you are in the wrong place, my friend,” Majong retorted. “It seems you have learned nothing from all we have been through,” he added. “For some of us in this room, taking risks is part of our survival strategy.”
He pauses to let his last sentence sink in. “Of course, we are not throwing caution out to the wind,” Majong continued, “but in a mindless fashion.” He seemed to have been affected by Tong’s statement. “What I wanted to say is that the risk we are taking must be guided by caution. Our quest for survival must be linked with our conduct in our daily interactions with the villagers. To ensure compliance in our conduct towards villagers, I want to make it clear to all of you that from now till we return to this settlement, I will have a final say in all matters affecting us while in the village. Without exception, anyone who wants to remain in this group must adhere to this rule.”
Known among us for flaunting rules, Tang protested. “It is inconceivable to consult one person every time we want to do things,” he argued appealing to us. Addressing Majong directly, he asked. “Why are you not allowing people to use their own discretion in certain situations?”
Majong’s rigidity of opinion is common knowledge to us and we didn’t want Tang to scuttle our last hope of doing something to escape our perpetual hunger. To hasten our departure, we sternly reprimanded Tang for trying to foil our plans and marshalled an agreement to all the conditions Majong demanded. No sooner had we agreed then a decision was arrived at that we would go to a village called Oguti, which is 12 miles from Pochalla.
We quickly ran back to our respective shelters to collect our meagre belongings and leave before we our resolve dissipated. We quickened our steps as we left the settlement to make sure that no one saw us and asked us where we were heading to. Each of us carried a long walking stick which doubled as a weapon in case of animal attack. Much of the journey was spent wading in water.
Exhausted and still hungry, we sat under a tree just beside the flood watermark. We did not rest for more than 10 minutes when a tall muscular man with an AK 47 slung on his shoulder appeared from the same direction we came from. He was wearing worn-out military fatigues which exposed his hairy chest. We could see as he approached us with jaunty strides that his eyes were bloodshot. He stepped out of the water and walked straight to us. He stood in our midst and peered at us as if we were not clearly visible. He looked away briefly and from then on avoided any eye contact. He didn’t utter a word or sit down to rest like we were doing. He just stood tapping the barrel of his gun gently.
We could see that the man was in deep thought, but we could not tell what he was thinking about. Was he pondering how to finish us off? Was he waiting for his colleagues who were possibly still behind before he started shooting at us to ensure none of us escaped? All these questions raced through our minds. Our hearts were beating wildly and we were all scanning the surrounding bush in case we needed to escape. Using the experience we gained from repeated violence inflicted on us by war, we feigned composure. Terrified as we were, we knew that any show of panic in a situation like this would hasten our demise. This tense situation dragged on for about 15 minutes until Majong summoned his courage and told us in a measured tone that he was going to stand up and walk towards the footpath and that we must follow him.
No sooner had he stood up and started walking towards the footpath, than we also shakily arose and wobbled in the same direction. I was shaking! We were all certain that our departure would prompt the man to act, but to our surprise he joined our ragtag parade silently. With the man walking towards the village with us, we resigned ourselves to prolonged agony. We couldn’t guess his intentions, but we cherished every minute he was sparing us. We walked for almost an hour when we saw smoke rising from the nearby village.
As we approached the village, the man quickened his steps and passed all of us, then turned around and addressed us in Juba Arabic. “Boys,” he said expressionlessly. “Follow me.”
We obeyed. He led us off the main foot path to a narrower path that led us to the first homestead at the edge of the village. There, we saw a crippled man sitting under a big fig tree and beside him was a rifle. The sight of the man with the rifle confirmed to us that our anxieties were not unfounded. We stood nervously as the two men exchanged pleasantries in the Anyuak language. For the first time, we realized that man was from the Anyuak ethnic group.
After their short conversation, he turned to us and told us to sit down. We sat down obediently, our nerves in complete flux. The next thing we heard was the crippled man shouting instructions to three boys who were playing at the edge of the corn-maize field. The instructions were said in Anyuak, of course, which none of us could understand, but the appearance of those boys 10 minutes later laden with corn-maize cobs suggested to us that perhaps this man was not who he seemed to us. Could he be our saviour? The boys put down their load and went off to find firewood which they would use to roast the corn-maize.
As the boys continued with their work, it dawned on us that the Anyuak whom we suspected as cold blooded murderers were the opposite. They were treating us as guests and displaying the pinnacle of hospitality in South Sudanese society!
Our hunger, which had been pushed down by fear, roared back ferociously at the sight of the corn-maize roasting. Even so, we were still a little bit suspicious. Majong was in the middle of warning us that these people may give as food to distract us and then execute their plan, when the man who brought us to the homestead stood up and addressed us.
“Boys,” he began. “My name is John Obot and I am the SPLA solider from Jamus (buffalo) battalion stationed in Pochalla garrison.”
“I am on my leave and travelling to my village near the Rad Mountains,” he continued. “I believe you have been wondering since I met you at the edge of the flood watermark why I waited for you and walked with you to this village. The reason is simple. I am aware of the starvation that has befallen the population of the displaced persons that moved back to Sudan from Ethiopia. I am also aware this situation has affected you, the unaccompanied minors, more than the general population.”
“So, when I saw you, my heart was saddened. In your faces I saw what I knew, what I expected.” His emotions almost overcame him as he was saying these words. We could see he was fighting back tears as he spoke. “I saw hunger in your faces,” he went on. “And I thought all I can do is to bring you here and get you something to eat before I proceed with my journey.”
“Now that this is done, I will continue with my trip. Please take care of yourselves during your stay at Oguti.” After these remarks, Mr. Obot left without even waiting to eat with us.
A garrison town, Pochalla was heavily mined by the Sudanese army before it was sent packing by the Sudan People’s Liberation Army, the SPLA. It made moving around extremely dangerous. Adding to our discomfort was that we arrived along with seasonal floods.
These two phenomena curtailed the options of many relief agencies which had established their presence in the area as soon as we arrived. The threat of mines, for instance, prevented the expansion of a small airstrip which could have allowed bigger relief planes to land. The flood, on the other hand, made the relief agencies cautious of sending in a relief convoy via dilapidated seasonal roads, which were the trademarks of south Sudan then.
In the face of these formidable challenges, the presence of the International Committee of the Red Cross could not erase the ominous shadow of starvation hanging over us. We wore gloomy faces as we talked with nostalgia about the food we enjoyed in Pinyudo refugee camp in Ethiopia. Food was the preoccupation in every discussion we held every evening. It crept into every sentence uttered in every conversation. Despite the danger, we didn’t even contemplate our safety in Pochalla. Indeed, there was an air raid one week after we arrived and we didn’t speculate about the likelihood of the Sudanese army repeating the raid. All this was relegated to the bottom of any discussion. Any faint spark of energy left in our bodies was devoted to the next morsel of food we could scrounge and would it ever be enough.
Some of us who contemplated returning to Ethiopia were held back by the thought of being repatriated to the Sudan by the new government. At least that was the message that was rammed into our feeble minds: the new government in Ethiopia was formed by a Sudanese-based rebel group which would not hesitate to deport us to Sudan given their long held ties with the Sudanese government. The accuracy of the statement on outright deportation to Sudan by Ethiopian authorities is still debatable to this day, but that is not the point of this story, dear reader. The point of the story is how our desperation was met with generosity, although it would take us awhile to recognize it.
As in most times of hardship, the quest for survival tends to weaken the ties of friendship between boys in a big group. We started to dread larger gatherings for the obvious reason that such association makes it hard to share whatever minimal food we had beyond the rationed common share. The comradeship developed among us boys who crossed to Pochalla from Ethiopia was replaced by a tighter, smaller group of friends who shared the little that was available. These small groups also discussed survival strategies in low tones. There were four of us in our group. Majong Lual, Tong Aleu, Tang Nyuot and myself. Majong, who was a little bit older than us, was the natural leader and often took the lead in the inevitable discussion of what we could do to survive starvation. Again and again, we toyed with the idea of returning to Ethiopia. But each time we talked about it, the fear of being repatriated to the Sudan held us back from executing our plan.
Majong told us one day that the only option left for us was to go to the neighbouring Anyuak villages to sell our labour. The Anyuak are a Nilotic-speaking people who are found both in Sudan and Ethiopia and whose economic activity revolves around crop production, game hunting and fishing. They grow corn-maize at the start of the rainy season which they harvest in July and then immediately plant sorghum. Since it was a harvest time in the Anyuak villages, Majong correctly envisaged the Anyuak might need extra hands. On the other hand, there were reports of theft of Anyuak maize by some boys who preceded us to the village. This created strained relationships between villagers and those who were there to sell their labour. We heard reports that the Anyuak were killing boys like us.
Was it worth going? We met inside Majong’s makeshift shelter to thrash out our plan.
“You know as I do why the dire situation we are facing at the moment demands action,” said Majong, as we sat knee-to-knee on the ground. “We are responding to this predicament the way we are, because the result of inaction is certain death from starvation.”
“Do not use exaggerations to block candid debate on a crucial topic like this,” Tong Aleu interrupted. “There are other boys in this settlement who are stoically withstanding the pangs of hunger rather than risk going to the Anyuak villages.”
“If you are not willing to take risks in order to assure your survival, then you are in the wrong place, my friend,” Majong retorted. “It seems you have learned nothing from all we have been through,” he added. “For some of us in this room, taking risks is part of our survival strategy.”
He pauses to let his last sentence sink in. “Of course, we are not throwing caution out to the wind,” Majong continued, “but in a mindless fashion.” He seemed to have been affected by Tong’s statement. “What I wanted to say is that the risk we are taking must be guided by caution. Our quest for survival must be linked with our conduct in our daily interactions with the villagers. To ensure compliance in our conduct towards villagers, I want to make it clear to all of you that from now till we return to this settlement, I will have a final say in all matters affecting us while in the village. Without exception, anyone who wants to remain in this group must adhere to this rule.”
Known among us for flaunting rules, Tang protested. “It is inconceivable to consult one person every time we want to do things,” he argued appealing to us. Addressing Majong directly, he asked. “Why are you not allowing people to use their own discretion in certain situations?”
Majong’s rigidity of opinion is common knowledge to us and we didn’t want Tang to scuttle our last hope of doing something to escape our perpetual hunger. To hasten our departure, we sternly reprimanded Tang for trying to foil our plans and marshalled an agreement to all the conditions Majong demanded. No sooner had we agreed then a decision was arrived at that we would go to a village called Oguti, which is 12 miles from Pochalla.
We quickly ran back to our respective shelters to collect our meagre belongings and leave before we our resolve dissipated. We quickened our steps as we left the settlement to make sure that no one saw us and asked us where we were heading to. Each of us carried a long walking stick which doubled as a weapon in case of animal attack. Much of the journey was spent wading in water.
Exhausted and still hungry, we sat under a tree just beside the flood watermark. We did not rest for more than 10 minutes when a tall muscular man with an AK 47 slung on his shoulder appeared from the same direction we came from. He was wearing worn-out military fatigues which exposed his hairy chest. We could see as he approached us with jaunty strides that his eyes were bloodshot. He stepped out of the water and walked straight to us. He stood in our midst and peered at us as if we were not clearly visible. He looked away briefly and from then on avoided any eye contact. He didn’t utter a word or sit down to rest like we were doing. He just stood tapping the barrel of his gun gently.
We could see that the man was in deep thought, but we could not tell what he was thinking about. Was he pondering how to finish us off? Was he waiting for his colleagues who were possibly still behind before he started shooting at us to ensure none of us escaped? All these questions raced through our minds. Our hearts were beating wildly and we were all scanning the surrounding bush in case we needed to escape. Using the experience we gained from repeated violence inflicted on us by war, we feigned composure. Terrified as we were, we knew that any show of panic in a situation like this would hasten our demise. This tense situation dragged on for about 15 minutes until Majong summoned his courage and told us in a measured tone that he was going to stand up and walk towards the footpath and that we must follow him.
No sooner had he stood up and started walking towards the footpath, than we also shakily arose and wobbled in the same direction. I was shaking! We were all certain that our departure would prompt the man to act, but to our surprise he joined our ragtag parade silently. With the man walking towards the village with us, we resigned ourselves to prolonged agony. We couldn’t guess his intentions, but we cherished every minute he was sparing us. We walked for almost an hour when we saw smoke rising from the nearby village.
As we approached the village, the man quickened his steps and passed all of us, then turned around and addressed us in Juba Arabic. “Boys,” he said expressionlessly. “Follow me.”
We obeyed. He led us off the main foot path to a narrower path that led us to the first homestead at the edge of the village. There, we saw a crippled man sitting under a big fig tree and beside him was a rifle. The sight of the man with the rifle confirmed to us that our anxieties were not unfounded. We stood nervously as the two men exchanged pleasantries in the Anyuak language. For the first time, we realized that man was from the Anyuak ethnic group.
After their short conversation, he turned to us and told us to sit down. We sat down obediently, our nerves in complete flux. The next thing we heard was the crippled man shouting instructions to three boys who were playing at the edge of the corn-maize field. The instructions were said in Anyuak, of course, which none of us could understand, but the appearance of those boys 10 minutes later laden with corn-maize cobs suggested to us that perhaps this man was not who he seemed to us. Could he be our saviour? The boys put down their load and went off to find firewood which they would use to roast the corn-maize.
As the boys continued with their work, it dawned on us that the Anyuak whom we suspected as cold blooded murderers were the opposite. They were treating us as guests and displaying the pinnacle of hospitality in South Sudanese society!
Our hunger, which had been pushed down by fear, roared back ferociously at the sight of the corn-maize roasting. Even so, we were still a little bit suspicious. Majong was in the middle of warning us that these people may give as food to distract us and then execute their plan, when the man who brought us to the homestead stood up and addressed us.
“Boys,” he began. “My name is John Obot and I am the SPLA solider from Jamus (buffalo) battalion stationed in Pochalla garrison.”
“I am on my leave and travelling to my village near the Rad Mountains,” he continued. “I believe you have been wondering since I met you at the edge of the flood watermark why I waited for you and walked with you to this village. The reason is simple. I am aware of the starvation that has befallen the population of the displaced persons that moved back to Sudan from Ethiopia. I am also aware this situation has affected you, the unaccompanied minors, more than the general population.”
“So, when I saw you, my heart was saddened. In your faces I saw what I knew, what I expected.” His emotions almost overcame him as he was saying these words. We could see he was fighting back tears as he spoke. “I saw hunger in your faces,” he went on. “And I thought all I can do is to bring you here and get you something to eat before I proceed with my journey.”
“Now that this is done, I will continue with my trip. Please take care of yourselves during your stay at Oguti.” After these remarks, Mr. Obot left without even waiting to eat with us.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Stay Tuned
This is an announcement to the readers of this blog that I will shortly be posting a short story based on my displacement experience. This marks a major shift from what I intended this blog-spot for. When it was created in 2007, its goal was to help me share my first visit to Sudan in 20 years with my friends.
This time, I have made a decision to include short-stories, which literally turns this blog-spot into a forum where I am going to share my past, especially all the things I experienced during my four-teen years of displacement with you the readers.
The first story entitled "Generosity" will appear on this forum soon. So, please stay tune!
Madut
This time, I have made a decision to include short-stories, which literally turns this blog-spot into a forum where I am going to share my past, especially all the things I experienced during my four-teen years of displacement with you the readers.
The first story entitled "Generosity" will appear on this forum soon. So, please stay tune!
Madut
Monday, February 23, 2009
Why the Indictment of President Al Bashir will be a welcome relief to Sudanese People.
The news that the International Criminal Court (ICC) is going to rule on the long awaited case of Sudan’s President, Field Marshal Omar Hassan Al Bashir is historic. It is historic in the sense that if the judges, as anticipated, deliver the verdict calling for the arrest of the President, that ruling will not only signal the end of impunity in the Sudan, but will also act as a relief for all the marginalized Sudanese whose rights have been unjustifiably suppressed with sword since Sudan gained independence in 1956.
As everyone awaits the court ruling, the elites in the governing National Congress Party (NCP) and the so called experts of Sudan’s affairs personified in Alex de Waal are sending mixed signals to the international community. At times, they evoked the prospect of retribution to UN peacekeepers in the Sudan or paint a gloomy picture of Sudan descending into anarchy or for the case of NCP, threaten to revisit their Islamic roots if Al Bashir is indicted. But all these are outdated manoeuvres aimed towards postponing the urgency of the situation the NCP has created in the first place through its initial pursuit of exclusive theocratic governance which sanctified the killing of those considered to be the other. It is the sanctified killing of S. Sudanese during the SPLA –GOS war that was transferred to Darfur with vigour at the expense of religious solidarity. In light of these, all the arguments presented by the NCP and De Waal are not of any substance.
Take for example, the threat of the NCP returning to its Islamic roots. Who will really support that return to narrow minded approach whose consequences the party is reeling on at the moment? Besides, the NCP with its facade of being a rampart for the Islamic religion in the Sudan is not oblivious of the fact that the use of religion as a subterfuge for controlling national resources and political power has been fatally wounded by its own actions in Darfur. The NCP continual referral to it (religion) is meant as a deterrent to policy makers in foreign capitals.
The NCP is aware that the prospect of Sudan reverting to its previous support for terrorism will create anxiety in certain countries and is effectively prepared to use it as a bargaining chip in demanding the deferral of the indictment against the President. However, despite this strategy, the truth still remain that the majority of Sudanese support the arrest of this President. They consider the indictment of the President who called himself a leader of all Sudanese people and who has never felt any hesitation to murder the very people he purports to lead as the opening of a new chapter in the Sudanese history, the chapter in which dialogue and not force will take the centre stage in the resolution of national challenges.
It is incumbent at this hour for all the Sudanese of good will from all the corners of our great republic to stand on guard at this moment of anticipation. Never lower your defences in the face of this alleged turmoil promised by the oppressors of the marginalized and their so called experts who are leaning credence to the nonsense of Sudan descending into anarchy if Al Bashir is indicted. This is our moment. The NCP has no capacity to destabilize the country in our watch! The habitual tendency to kill ordinary citizens who oppose divisive and callous policies has come to an end in the Sudan. The language of violence is no longer a monopoly of the few who have utilized it for a very long time to the detriment of others. We all speak it today. The only different is that the oppressed speak it within the confine of justice while the tyrant in his desire to oppress ignores justice and this has finally brought him to the verge of his waterloo. Long live the Sudanese people
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
US of A Elections
I am joining millions of people around the globe who are gripped by the anxiety about the outcome the historic elections in United States of America tonight. I believe whichever way it goes tonight, history has been made and barriers have been knocked down.
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