My First Home Visit: A Story of Family, Hope, Healing and Soul Discovery
Amer Mayen Dhieu, Brisbane, Australia
August 26, 2015 (SSB) — The two last weeks of July 2015 were critical in my life. After I learnt with deep sadness about my grandfather’s sickness, Grandpa Mading Agok, I found it hard to go to sleep. I remembered staying up one whole night thinking of what my world would be if I didn’t get to see him on time, at least to get to ask him some of the burning questions I have always love to know about my family background as well as himself, his past and his current world.
One week later, I managed to get hold of my traveling documents and approval of compassionate leave at my workplace. After two days thereafter, I got the ticket and packed for my first home flight to Juba through Entebbe. It was a life-changing trip that shocked, overwhelmed, challenged and inspired me for the better person.
I left Brisbane International Airport at 9:35 pm on the 9th of August and arrived at Abu Dhabi at 6:am the following morning. On the plane, I was excited for many things. Seeing my grandfather was one besides many numerous others. But there was one more thing my soul was grateful to experience: seeing my ancestral homeland for the first time after many decades away from my land of birth since the 1991 destruction and displacement of my people from Duk, Twic East and Bor counties by Riek Machar.
As a child who was born, and grew up, in war, such abrupt homebound trips triggered lot of emotional flashbacks about all the heartbreaks and tragedies we have been through during the war as people of South Sudan. I was excited to see Juba too because it was my first time to be in Juba since birth.
After arrival at Abu Dhabi International Airport, I alighted from the plane following the airport’s sign. There was hardly anyone to talk to in Abu Dhabi because of the language barrier. I didn’t like the experience at all because I wanted to ask about the city, the culture and its beautiful people.
When I reached the middle of the airport, it was as if I had entered into a wrong place. People were weirdly staring at me from toe to head. In Australian’s culture when someone stars at you, it either means he or she wants to offer you a compliment or simply admiring something from you. Thus, you are expected to smile back at him or her. Naturally, I assumed these people were amazed by my sterling height—I am six foot plus seven inches, which is besides my high heels.
Compelled by assumption, I smiled back at them and waved enthusiastically, but their body languages were totally different when I did that. They would either look away and keep walking or just stood there looking sternly at me. I was culturally shocked and felt like a complete fool.
After two horrendous hours waiting at the airport in Abu Dhabi, I finally managed to board my connection flight to Entebbe, Uganda. I was super excited and couldn’t keep my eyes off from viewing the beautiful landscape on my little TV screen in front of my seat.
After three-hour cruising through the Arabia desert to Somalia, our plane arrived somewhere between Djibouti and Nairobi. On the digital map, I could see Entebbe with the famed Equator line passing at the center, an observation that brought into focus a stream of memories about my primary schooling in Kenya where we learnt about the Equator line in a subject called GHC.
Seeing the Equator line was when I knew I have finally arrived at the land of my ancestors. I was going through many mixed feelings—of excitement and emotional reminiscence.
If there is anything that can put human soul at peace, then send them where there is nature. As we neared Entebbe International Airport, I could see River Nile zigzagging in the jungle of green, lush trees and swampy areas. I could also identify small mud-and-thatched houses built alongside laterite road (known as murram road in East Africa) with red soil.
‘That was exactly the place I called home when I left,’ I whispered to myself reassuringly. When the pilot announced that we were about to begin our descending into Entebbe, I quickly tightened up my seatbelt, impatiently waiting for my dear tired feet to touch down the soil of Mother Africa. I couldn’t wait anymore. It was my first time in Uganda too, and was therefore a double excitement.
We landed at about 12:35 pm and were asked to follow the sign to the bus. On my right, I could see airport workers staring at me. I began to randomly say “hello” to them with a beaming face. For some reasons I was blushing. I smiled at everyone but the situation was the same as in Abu Dhabi. No one smiled back, for God sake.
People at Entebbe airport rarely smile. I was expecting more friendly and welcoming environment until the man at the migration counter yelled at me when I asked him to repeat something I didn’t hear properly, perhaps his exotic English accent.
I was disappointed, terrified and almost broke into tears. I have spent seven years away from home and had lived in an environment where yelling is unacceptable although it sometimes happened at work. I was not expecting to be yelled at in my ancestral homeland of Africa, at least not to be greeted with it at the airport.
I refused to let him ruin my excitement. I continued to smile, saying “good afternoon” to anyone who stubbornly stared at me even if I was not getting a single response. After I got my visa stamped I went to collect my baggage but wanted first to go to the loo. I couldn’t see the toilet sign so I went to ask the lady next to me of it whereabouts.
Similar scenario: the lady pointed at the direction of the toilet with a loud voice—“There! Can’t you see?” I was numbed at my feet. My built-up expectations and anticipations started to wane sharply and my mood started to swing from sheer excitement to apprehension and disillusionment.
I was thinking of this welcoming environment where I would be treated like an African daughter, a returning princess if you will; but the minute they hear me talking in Australian accent, their reaction got worse. The whole experience was a terrible shame.
Journey to Juba
The following morning, I took a plane to Juba. I was not excited anymore. Truthfully, I was expecting worse incidents at Juba International Airport than that at Entebbe International Airport. When we arrived at Juba International Airport, we were directed to the right following the directives from airport staff.
At first we arrived at this more like a camp room with a guy standing solidly. He was directly looking at me so I knew he is one of the staff waiting to do some security check or so.
When I arrived at his checkpoint he immediately pointed something only God knows at my forehead. I could only see the red dot light coming through my chest. My heart was shattered. I wanted to run away but then I realized there was nothing serious. I look at the person next to me who seemed by the look to be an American. I ask him for an assurance, “Am I okay?” and he nodded a “yes”.
Less than two minutes the guy asked me to go before calling on the next person; that is when I knew it was a normal health check. I was relieved. I later learnt that they were checking for Ebola signs and symptoms.
I took another stride before reaching the main building where they do migration thingy, and began holding my breath for more shocking experience. I was wrong. People started to greet me in Arabic. Others stared at me smiling while some other strangers were nice, behaving as if they were welcoming home Queen Amer Mayen Dhieu. I said thank you great staff at Juba International Airport if you are reading this piece.
I walked to pick up a paper that one must fill from one guy but another man at his 50s took it off my hands and ordered another younger guy to fill it for me. I said politely to him that I could do it myself. He was a little embarrassed when another guy whispered to him that I was from Australia and that I can read and write.
In less than five minutes, my passport was officially stamped and I was free to go home—home to my Beloved Grandfather Mading Agok. My uncle received me and took me to my aunties who have been eagerly waiting outside for my arrival. We were good to go.
Life in Juba
In less than a week, I was able to called Juba a sweet home. There were many personal healing processes within the family after meeting my maternal relatives, most of them for the first time in my life. I had great time and memorable conversations with my grandfather.
On my welcoming party, I had intimate discussions with Uncle Philip Aguer Panyang, Uncle Bek Atem, Uncle Mayen, Uncle Garang Mading Agok and the entire Paan Geu Ayuel and Pan Agok Achiek including my mum’s uncles and aunties. It was a huge reunion and great blessing for their little Amer Mayen Dhieu.
I also had great time with my brother Nuul Mayen and Uncle Lual Leek who sacrificed their precious time to take me around to sightsee some historical places in Juba such as where the G10 were jailed, the Juba maximum prison, the (in)famous SPLM house, Juba cemetery and the Presidential Palace.
Life outside family
For some reasons, it was very easy for people to identify my face almost in few places that I had visited in Juba. Life in Juba was not as bad as anyone would think, especially those in the West, on social media, Facebook in particular. When you go out you will see children running around giggling. You would see people walking in groups or alongside the road even at 8pm to even midnight.
My observation was that people there have great sense of family; they are at peace with themselves although some do go to bed with empty stomach and at fear of violent robbery given the great tragedy our country is undergoing currently. You see happiness in everyone face when you approach to talk to them.
Besides, there were few things that were very unpleasant. Things I thought people in power should get to work at and fix immediately. Some basic things such as water and electricity cannot be an issue in a country rich with oil and a city that is close to the River Nile where hydroelectric power can easily be harnessed.
There is no valid reason to convince anybody of why a large city like Juba can be without running water and virtually no power station, 10 years after the CPA.
Another disturbing issue I found out was the issue of children. It is easy for one to conclude that in thirty years time to come, the poorest population in Juba will still be as poor as they are today because children are not being sent to school. There are clearly no laws protecting children.
I visited one of the restaurants in Konyo Konyo market and found the owner has employed girls of ten years in a very bad working environment. I couldn’t get to eat what I was craving for. I was completely heartbroken and visibly shaken.
For these imperative national issues, I would sincerely recommend the government to look at the issue of children in particular. It seems like children in Juba are making a living out of being waitress at restaurants or conductors at public buses. However, in the long run it will have huge adverse impact on the country.
We can’t afford to squander our future. Children are the future of our country, the leaders of tomorrow. Children need to be educated if poverty, diseases and illiteracy have to be combated and eradicated.
In one sentence my dear readers, I was at home and I felt at home. East or West, home is the best. Juba, South Sudan—what a sweet home!! You should pay a visit if you have not been there before. It has changed my life; it may change yours too, like mine, for the better.
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