Hidden Tears, Divine Intervention: The Journey Within

By Bior Agwer Kwir, Adelaide, Australia

Born in war-torn Sudan, an ancient land of Kush, conflict stretched like the endless sands of time, consuming the visions of “peace and prosperity.” An oppressive atmosphere of discouragement hung in the air, mirroring the wearied faces of my people, with disaster lurking in every corner. It seemed as though nothing harmonious could be found. From birth, we were inundated with tales of Anya One, the SPLA, and Dr. John Garang.

Like those who came before me, from the moment I entered this world, I grappled with displacement, encountered the haunting spectres of lifeless bodies, and witnessed the dissolution of dreams. Swarming fears of hopelessness enveloped my homeland, choking the life out of it. “Freedom reflects faith,” the echoing anthem of my people, served as a constant reminder.

One scorching Saharan afternoon, I found solace seated beneath a humble hut, nestled in my mother’s loving embrace, as she hummed a soothing melody. Abruptly, the serenity was shattered by the blaring screams of hundreds, panic-stricken by the horrors unfolding at the nearby hospital.

From birth, I duelled with fear, and the screams for independence never ceased. In my refugee camp, it seemed as though everyone had lost their souls, including us, as we clung to the frail lifeline of temporary existence. Kakuma Refugee Camp stood as a stark statistic of political and religious persecution.

Upon our arrival, weary-eyed and worn, we joined thousands searching for refuge. Even as a toddler, I sensed that something was amiss. We were herded like cattle, forced to endure long queues for registration. How had we reached this point in our lives? Were we not human beings? Were we such a burden to society?

The relentless African sun tormented us, its searing heat bouncing off our skin. Our clothing felt inadequate against the relentless assault of nature. Amid this harsh arrival, pleasant hospitality remained a distant dream. My young mind raced frantically, consumed by the uncertainty of our future. As I gazed towards the heavens, searching for answers, chaos unfolded in my thoughts.

Amid the chaos, a glimmer of hope emerged, reminiscent of the “Lost Boys of Sudan.” Conviction arrived at my aid when I received news that I would go to Australia—a land of freedom, peace, and promise. Rescued from the grip of desperation, I left my parents behind and embarked on a journey to Australia.

As I arrived at the Kenyan International Airport, I marvelled at the fresh surroundings as if I had been summoned to a new world. Towering machinery and high-rise buildings now surrounded me, in stark contrast to the refugee camp. The terminal exuded luxury with its white tiles and plasma screens, a hidden world of wonder. In my moments of confusion, it felt like divine intervention guiding me towards a better tomorrow as people hurriedly rushed with their luggage, seemingly escaping something.

The shuffling feet of passengers raced around me, a symphony of motion. Random high-frequency announcements echoed over the speakers, murmurs in foreign languages piqued my curiosity, although I remained suspicious of their motives. Boarding passes and visas were presented, granting us authorization to ascend towards the sky.

A sudden screeching call for take-off rattled my nerves as I sat upright, alarmed. Peering out the plane’s window, I watched the long runway grow smaller and smaller, as if we were floating towards the heavens.

In the belly of this flying machine, soaring towards a new beginning, I felt both reluctant and restrained by my seatbelt, rocketing towards the peaceful clouds. On the flight, everyone was engrossed in their electronic devices, books, and magazines, lost in their own worlds.

Hours later, the captain announced, “It’s cloudy outside with a slight chance of rain.” Outside my window, the sun’s rays broke through the fluffy clouds, a celestial light of hope that had been absent since birth. As we descended closer to the ground, the captain’s voice came over the intercom again: “We are now approaching Sydney. Cabin crew, prepare for landing.”

When we arrived at Sydney International Airport, the eagle-like machine came to a halt with an elegant “woo!” We had arrived, though I wasn’t entirely sure where “here” was. My first step on Australian soil felt foreign and unsettling, the concrete beneath my feet an unfamiliar sensation. Uncertainty loomed, but I knew it was a hurdle to leap over with faith, much like learning to walk.

We needed to believe in the impossible, just as I had crossed the waters to chase my dream. Australia offered a distinct aroma of blossoming flowers, trees, and rain. Upon arrival, I was greeted with cheerful joy, hearing the words, “Welcome to Australia.” My transition across the Atlantic Ocean to Australian shores was nothing short of transformational.

A victim of war and society, I couldn’t tell which had left a more profound mark. The sea had divided my realities into two, and I was now in the land of opportunities, a stark contrast to the chaos I had known. My first meal in Australia, a taste of my new world, brought serenity. When my aunt asked, “How does it taste?” I replied, “Like freedom.”

Awakened like never before, I began to walk, talk, and act differently. I strolled into my purpose with a divine swagger, knowing that education was the key to building my dreams. Immunity gained through a marvellous intervention had brought me to Australia, where constant adaptation was the order of the day.

My primary school years were a testament to where I stood. In a classroom with a plastic aroma and air-conditioned atmosphere, I stood out with my traditional necklace proudly worn around my neck and my dark complexion. I struggled to navigate my new surroundings, and questions like “Where are you from? How was Africa?” became commonplace.

My peers tried to grasp my life, but I could only respond with a subtle, “It was good.” Deeper questions, like “Where is your family? Why did they not come?” probed my profound sense of loss. I answered, knowing that I walked with a sacred intervention, “I’m not sure.”

From birth, our elders shielded us from pain, but as I settled into Australian culture, I realised that I couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. My mother would not be joining me on this journey. I faced a choice: let my circumstances dictate my path or empower my own purpose for a better tomorrow. The resilience of my people during the war coursed through my veins, and I learned early on that by acknowledging and accepting myself, I could aid in my own growth, focusing not on limitations but on possibilities.

Bishop T.D. Jakes once said, “The Lord never made a chair or table; He simply offered man a tree.” It was an opportunity to create a dream into existence. I pondered, “What if?” What if this narrative didn’t define my eternal purpose? What if I could write my own story?

A revelation emerged: perhaps my truth and calling were speaking out. I felt a stirring within me, an intuition whispering, “I shall prosper and adapt, a descendant from the Kush kingdom. I have divinity rushing through my veins, and I shall overcome, just as my ancestors did before me.”

Bior Agwer Kwir is a South Sudanese Australian poet, author, and inspiring public speaker who can be reached via his email bioraguer98@gmail.com. His third book is scheduled to be published in 2024.

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