Letter to my South Sudanese Revolutionists
8 min readBy Riak Marial Riak, Juba, South Sudan
September 28, 2016 (SSB) — Last night, of the lust seen in the Kush republic, was a term so harsh to define, not so, had the vacuum opened to breathe away this dull wind. I saw no way illuminated to surrender my little mind, had the sake produce the consequence, however, the must still cast out to the public. In respond to their betterment sold to the bunch of seats in the gleaming contained tower, I rally the ailments to caressing motions and sit among the world of “Atheists or Intelligentsia”.
This, notwithstanding the fracture, is a land doomed and the revolutionists throw to corners their eyes of which the light never escorts the sight. I congratulated the society for its “conservatism” and “realism” over the life decadence, in the meantime, thinking of the benedictions sprayed onto these seats, is a way so tattered to move not even in the day but also stumbles even though in a plane.
A conversation was held by the author and the life (lived) by society of Kush republic, all seems our sail to destiny, if not should be taken on shallow capacity. It’s reflection on what the society reel, this is so far a monolithic environment and condensed scene the society seems to struggle with. I will there later, with due respect to the constitutional society and the branded stewardship of the patricanities (patricians) explore the set missing within this society.
I had never thought of this letter to harm in any means whatsoever, however much the content strict so much to the careless “Atheists” would never produce a mindset, I believe this letter is a highlight over the society of moral decadence and the bestialities swam in.
Dear most honoured Sir, it’s with due respect, along the baseness of this letter a commentary on the life to this society, it’s not a self-manning I wish for, or a complete dressing of the decay in the society my call stood for, but a gap expanding day after day with eyes seeing around the revolutionists. Most honoured Sir”, the theatre we are watching in happens to be our dwelling place, it happens to be our paradise, it happens to be our forbidden garden, but the foil has taken verdict on the Kush society by sitting with sun diverging the road to destiny.
Your Excellency, nothing is vexing than the spill of promises never groomed, nothing is flawing than a duty not well exerted to reserve the conducive theatre for the society. I had been immature hitherto, in withstanding the fate and the drum beating after the man in this society; it’s the spin of our life when the booms happen to lull our ears.
The future of better constituting and governance yield prudence polity, of less a kind, if so would meet the exactness. The brewing decadence and the slaughtered happiness generate this dictates of fate, I confessed, most hurting motion become our lust for stability and to grow a last chance in the decorum. We cannot be justly when our minds are in slavery, we cannot judge senses when our minds boil in fear, it’s simple we shed the tears and glue our life of vague love and fake standardization.
The last and appalling scenario would come when we see bitterness and instead dictates silence, “quoted”. It’s now your turn to nurse this infancy dreaded by a small disease known as hatred, it’s never our duty to claim the ingenious we smell in the broom, it’s your synergy to leave your thoughts to charm the life’s hate. We are feeble to ourselves than what you could offer, it’s not a bright side we live because “we are blind fools of fate and slave of circumstance, it’s now our duty to fiddle this shame for both of us to dance”.
But, most honoured Sir”, there’s much worry to this, not on the countenance of the fate but on the junction the society matches. In the shoe which is levelling carelessly about the feet of the society is a doctrine wanted to groom a suitable scene to play in. Most honoured Sir”, the problem with our constitutional congratulations is the bit not possibly worked up, this to say, is the crowning of Juba as the Republic of South Sudan. The seats within Juba I am seeing are not enough to accommodate people in this country.
Most reservedly, those seeing the right definition of society as comfort zone, I am not saying Juba should not be the state, what I am trying to argue on is the state to be the country not the country to be the state. Most honoured sir, through observations and feasibility study done on the daily life; I arguably surrender the laudable luxury as a knife to any political statesmanship and may cause a “cause” probable in a political stratagem.
“The road not well taken” might live down to the generations to come, as an individual citizen of this Republic; I am seeking a truth and conscience from the hands of revolutionists who had not taken the society to be their granary. I ought to go by this, corresponding to what fate tied the foot of the society, mostly the gems cornering from the birth of the fate. We ought not to see this country as a play place, we ought not to understand this country as a land where you cut a piece of land and go about lying to get armours for political situation, “quoted”.
We ought not to see this country as where we work our selfish emotions, we ought not to see this country as where we make names to the outside society, we ought to see this land as a land that belongs to us and cannot be sold by a bottle of beer, “quoted”. Not even a man in this society will sell the land, however much, the business in you is strong you won’t sell the land. You can sell the people in the land but this land would still remain as it has been before and after then.
Most honoured Sir”, this letter that I had written may suffer some injustice on the way, or from the hand of the publisher, or if it has reached you safely then. I dully asked for your benevolence office to consider Juba as only a capital of this nation not the warehouse. I mean not to sleep from every state to the states but to consider reviewing the “National security”, by moving forward with a plan to trap down terrorism on the high ways. This is not duty of the world; it’s your duty to protect your citizens from being slain in the bushes all days.
It’s crystal clear that here in Yei, people move from bush to bush in search of what to survive on, it’s like when you, most honoured Sir, were fighting the oppressors. It seems like our government is still in the bush, traders cannot go to bring a commodity from a short distant, if one tempt to embark on this journey then you won’t survive the knife in the bush. I have never wished this would happen in a land where our revolutionists are half inch to our eyes.
“Kush Republic is not a man republic and no man shall sell it for a bottle of beer”, we will continue with broken hearts when we see our beautiful flag flying in the air, we will mix this tragic comic scene with lies. The glue we will live is laughter to tears, happiness to solitude, slavery to contempt and standardization to negligence. It’s our self-delusion to live with raptures of bleak hearts and storm our right in a nation worthy of our living. I cannot however deny the strange facts surrounding our love, the grave calling us and the justly nothing which rapture long then if we know living.
I am obliged to live with torn heart and to seek again a story of having no time with identity; I could call whatever circumstance the world is taking us to, the selfish reading of our learnt. It’s our vain love that we go preaching nothingness to the world, we are educated to betray our society, we sat in the class to poison the poor in our society, we slept in the bush to struck the soul of our children, we go on deceiving our land by slapping our chests in search of civility.
We are nothing than the burst of the wind, we console ourselves by the stories of our revolutionists, we stood with them even in the dreams but still we are slain like animals in the bushes. It’s never a blessing to live in this world of solitude, it’s never a statement to the world from coming out of darkness three days after the whole nation trill they have a nation to move freely, and it’s a curse though.
The author, Riak Marial Riak, is a South Sudanese, self-taught philosopher, poet, dramatist and writer, he can be reached at riakdeng23@gmail.com
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