By Philip Thon Aleu
‘What elders see while seated is seen clearly by young people only while on a tree.’ I wish we were on tree before this commotion began in Latdingwa. Instead, we ran to the trees when it was too late. This elder, Abathou-dit, pleaded to this armed angry Moro man. He made final curses to Dinka people occupying his forest with cattle and retired to his hut after rubbing off the imaginary border he had drawn on the floor. We trickled out of the bush and began collecting our belonging before we fled entirely.
A few hours later, some of our colleagues branched into nearby cattle camps. I and other three guys headed for Kotabi, reaching the following morning on December 30th 2003 (Eleven days after leaving Magalatore Displaced Persons Camp (MDC). Unfortunately, I could not even rest for a day in Kotabi (some 15 km west of Munnduri). I learnt that one of my brothers disappeared with our kraal. I later found that he was heading to Bor. But before I could pursue him, I decided quickly to visit my sister. Her husband was heading westwards to Maridi with the entire herd of cattle. If I were to rest in Kotabi, it will take days to trace them. So I left at 3:20 PM (I could remember the exact time because I had my dairy always in a small bag that rest on my shoulders. My departure time is that last minute I am able to see the top of the last hut).
It turned out that they pastorals were chasing their animals like hunters. I spent a night at my niece kraal and continued the following morning. That woman, Aluel Makuei Guet, took care of us and there sufficient energy to deal with those miles ahead of me. To my bad luck, I reached my sister’s camp being readied to leave at 8:00am on December 31st. So I sat on a tool and I was served with fresh milk which I took down immediately. Within minutes, I was on another journey. In the evening, we camped up somewhere and I took no chance. I summoned my sister and her husband and we agreed on few things. In the morning, I took the burden of returning to Kotabi. This journey was always my duty and I was becoming accustomed to it. Instead of spending a night on the way, I decided to increase my speed, just like a car, and I was in Kotabi by 6:30pm on January 1st, 2004 (some clean 12 hours footing). I was extremely tired and I had to warm my thighs with hot water to be able to bend flexibly. It worked.
But the toughest trip of the 19 days I spent walking from MDC to Bor was still ahead.
On January 3rd, I and my friend Mach Ayuen, a veteran on this long journey like me, were joined by another elder called Pandek Tiit. The three of us say our prayer at 3:00PM and by 6:00PM, we were in Munduri. The following day, January 4th, we left Munduri at 6:15am, crossed that flowing river with our trousers removed and shirts rolled to the upper part of the body. You can imagine the movement across River Munduri! Hehehe. By 11am, we were deciding which direction to take. The three of us have never passed through snaky connections from Ziingki to that road between Amadi and Tali. That was the shortest route. You will walk for six hours non-stop and rest in the middle before continuing for another six hours to Tali. This man, Tiit, have used the other road from Zingki to Tali (heading toward Juba in the east and then turning left (south) to Tali).
That would take three days and two nights and we ruled it out unanimously. By our standards, there was always no one with veto powers and even if this mzee insisted on using that dangerous path he knew, we ignored him. It would be more stressful marauding bushes for day! Why not use this short path and have the result within twelve hours? This twelve-hour route has enormous challenge too. First of all, we don’t know it. Second, there are no known water points in this dry season. Third, those villagers are said to be hostile and etc. But we took it and left everything in the hand of God and fate! It was a brave decision and the results were quick too.
By 2pm, we were passing through huts. These villagers are very funny and feared for a reason. Every time we approach a compound people dashed off to the bush. Probably after studying us behind those trees, one elder would return and inquiry what we are up to! “Which path is going to the main road?” we would ask. “That one” was always the answer as the direction is pointed. Always furious about the route shown to us, we would first establish that there are many footmarks and always leading to the south. If we did not do like that, we would have found ourselves ending up in Juba which was not a good destination for us before 2005. By 5pm, the five-liter of water each one of us had was empty. The sun was draining every single water contain in our veins and things were very tough. It was extremely a harsh situation that we hated ourselves. We were now moving like soldiers advancing on the enemy with at least five meter space between. Unlike the army, our pace varied and the distance separating surged abnormally and by the time you expect the next guy following you, it will be 20 minutes without seeing him.
Personally, I took the blame for insisting on this route. Second, it was a Sunday (January 4th, 2004) and I thought that God was punishing us for moving on the day of prayers. All that blame did not change the challenge ahead; to complete the miles and get water. To our only lucky, we reached the road between Amadi and Tali by 8:30pm. We got some three turn-boys whose car (Hino, the type commonly used by soldiers during the war) had broken down. They were cooking and a borehole was not far. After first refusing to sell us their food, they sympathized with our condition and served us a plate of posho (it is called Ugali these days) and some beef. It was a brotherly offer! By 2am, we were on our feet again, dodging stone in darkness and reached Tali by 9:15am on January 5th.
On January 6th, we started our journey to Bor. For me, it was a first time to return to Bor in twelve years. For those who don’t know that thick forest between Tali and Mabior (currently in Awerial county), it a seven hour walk. By 11pm, we were arraigned by a looter in front of his hut in Mabior. He demanded our travel permits and fees to that effect. South Sudanese are sometime unique! This man, calling himself ‘police officer’, does not know how to write or have ever enrolled in the rebel movement. Instead of looting those small bags, he decided to be smart and we exploited that ignorance to his disadvantage.
We pulled out a page from my dairy (with some writings on it) and handed over to him (that was the permit). He looked at the sheet of paper (holding it upside down) and asked one of us to sign. He did not have a pen. He helped him to sign and mark that “these people passed through Mabior.” He demanded ‘migration fees’ which we turned down. The fact of the matter was that, we did not even have any single coin in our pockets. After a marathon debate lasting to 1am, we offered him two capsule of anti-biotic to treat his sick animals. We deceived him that we shall spend the night at his home and see what to do tomorrow. But by 2:30am, we were thirty minutes walk away from his home.
In the evening of January 7th, we were looking for a home to rest our limbs in Gulyar (at that spot now known as Mingkaman where IDPs from Bor are sheltering.). But before we reached a house belong to a guy from our Payam, we met some sailors. They ‘booked’ us for their trip crossing Nile River to Bor on January 8th. As we were discussing where to meet, Mach Ayuen, who would have won a model for this funs on this trip, loose his grips on a walking stick and hit one of the sailors at the forehead. That man said something that I will not forget but it was reflective of what we went through on this 18th day of our journey. It summarizes our physical appearance.
“Yin cak geek. Ee gup eke thol,” he said in Dinka which I can translate as “I will not blame you. It’s the body which is malnourished.”
We were malnourished and that is indisputable because you cannot survive for three weeks with one meal a day or non and remain obsessed. But these sailors were malnourished too. They did not have the energy to push water backward and move the boat forward. The wooden boat, which usually takes 5 hours to reach Goi near Pariak, took 11 hours reaching at 5:20PM on January 8th, 2004.
Did we get the school and fee and went back to school immediately? My answer is; that is another story.
END
© Philip Thon Aleu 2014