Believe me, the race is heating up
Riak Marial Riak, Juba, South Sudan
August 4, 2017 (SSB) — Still I could sense that, this is depletion, hunger had caused many people to beg in the wake of sunlight, (fear and stability are brothers). I could see the rabble, a crowd of our men holding guns and attacking their mothers and their fathers Emmy and what is left of me than to numb, Robert concentrated.
As the rising sun stood out of the Neem trees in the sun city our faces glowed and penetrate through the dark walls to the inside of the snowy streets, we moved, jumped and seeing little children clapping and dancing to the sounds of gunshots and still, our ears did not abandon the weeping drums and the flutes.
The siren and night coming with the wind flaked us down and we also became snow, snow white or snow black was not our major goal to know but to move blindly in the wood touching hands and slapping the beaks and the feathers of birds and crying owls, going up the mountain to sing to the dancing igloos and clap to the jumping ibex, far there the sun comes and Imatong stood between the two proud lighters of the earth, the sun, and the moon. Should we go?
The undeniable question burst with weeping wind and twitters with downtrodden swallows, should we go ahead with other heading states? Again the nocturnal come waving by the window beating the opened ventilators and in a mournful voice chirped that we must go. “I know why we are going back Robert, and wouldn’t want to be told.
There are lot of looters, the unknown gunmen, the black marketers, the women selling fuel by the roadside, the Kumsaris, the other elites ‘sorry for inappropriate name’ are all a downfall to our nation.
I have seen them, coming out at night to drill the land and take out all in it and when brightness come we are left with nothing, with nothing than to chase bongo buses, (it could be a trauma to your day, or call it stress when you chose to mull into Hiace), pulling our grandmas and grandpas to leave for us the way, we gentlemen.
Robert, a few months ago I saw one of the gigantic gentlemen of our city pushing an old limbed woman leaving dust to greet her face and still the man pointed to the woman, ” how could you push us, gentlemen. We have muscles, these big arms are meant for such battle, we gentlemen”.
Out of shame she stood off and stared at us, we gentlemen, and, as I was to voluntarily donate my chair to her the Kumsari, the driver was on their way but still, her heart lamented after us, we gentlemen.
Pity, it was not his making but someone coming out in the night forced him to push her down, we gentlemen”. As my soul go down on the shiny chair of luxury I saw myself and other friends running with sweat hasting from our faces.
The markets with its whiteness and blackness still showed me a place to stand, and as I could see, I stood along the bank of Nile and see good living and poverty meditating, seeing the half of the moon bending and a few minutes later my state raced ahead of me, the “things fall apart” and the people partying their homes.
The dwindling businesses and many institutions coming every now and then with their receipts. Life is all about living it whether it is stumbling or wanting to crumble one ought to go with it instead of abandoning it. One is called a loser when he gives stress place in his/her heart, and that could cost you years to bring back your medal of being a life winner.
Life is like a gown and ought to be worn by both, wife and husband, friends and enemies, public and the government but one shouldn’t be made to carry the burden alone Emmy, I wanted people to know that all that is gifted by God is ours and their responsibility is an obligation from any living citizen and for us to talk of nationalism, Robert reminded.
On my days of resting I could hear the sounds coming from my house in a sweet tune, the striders singing in the water of the stream nearby and natural melodies recited by the mango trees give me a scene of many years ago.
The water puttering in the corridor and the stones obstructing the lapping still reminded me, and a swimming cloud would freely tell me that never think of the past, ” we are racing back and others are racing ahead” the wind revealed to me my guess or how I imagine my state.
There are many birds in the forest, they want to eat themselves, the wilderness and a wildness seem to have been a thing frozen in our veins. We must come back to the road, as it has been “a road not well taken”.
That is it, Emmy even if I die hundred times, a refusal to die one, I would still tell those masterminding these wars, the ones being fought in south Sudan that it was a chance to benefit they created for themselves.
Injustice grabs all that belongs to human development and living standard; rest be assured that war increases one’s comfortability. I believe in telling truth now to denounce untruth, Robert still assured.
Riak Marial Riak is a south Sudanese poet, actor and self-taught philosopher and the coordinator of New Kush films production. He then graduated with diploma in Human Resource management; his works had appeared in literary magazines such as Kalahari review and African writer. His poetry collection is in consideration for publication and also with fictional work titled “In Hai Nyakama” being scheduled for also the publication. Riak is currently residing in Juba and with regular visits to his hometown. You can reach him via his email: Riak Marial Riak <riakdeng23@gmail.com>
The opinion expressed here is solely the view of the writer. The veracity of any claim made is the responsibility of the author, not PaanLuel Wël: South Sudanese Bloggers (SSB) website. If you want to submit an opinion article or news analysis, please email it to paanluel2011@gmail.com. SSB do reserve the right to edit material before publication. Please include your full name, email address and the country you are writing from.
About Post Author
