Posts Tagged ‘Tears Ayuen’

Tearz Ayuen: Why I Reject Foreign Religions

Posted: April 16, 2012 by PaanLuel Wël in Tearz Ayuen
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LETTER OF COMPLAINT TO NHIALIC

By Tears Ayuen

Nhialic, you know me very well. I don’t complain a lot. You created me. I appreciate who I am and what I have. I accept anything that comes my way just the way it is or I work out a few modifications at least to suit my taste, without bugging people close to me. I sometimes simply change my attitude whenever I find a problem too hard to cope with. That’s how I have been surviving this unforgiving world for the past twenty-something years. But now I am afraid, I have failed to tackle something, something that is increasingly attacking my originality.  And that’s why I am presenting it to you, as my creator, to look into it seriously. It is this thing called religion.

Remember I was born into a Dinka family. Dinka people are religious souls, naturally. They believe in two divine bodies; you, Nhialic and Jok. We believe in life after death. According to Dinka mythology, you are the creator of everything, including our cows. You are all-powerful and the controller of all events. You prohibit and condemn wrong-doings of any kind. You hate dishonesty, stealing, killing, adultery, lying, disobedience, name it. You encourage love peace and harmony amongst brothers and sisters. You also love good neighborliness. You, who normally appear to us through parents, write down your expectations in every Dinka fetus’ essence, of which the parents help instill into the child through upbringing.  That’s why Dinka parents beat their children thoroughly whenever they go astray. Frankly, you don’t have to be the parent to spank a Dinka brat. Anyone can beat the cream out of it provided that you caught the young rascal misbehaving.

Jok is more of your opposite. He is some greedy super being that talks to its followers through signs and sorcerers or magicians. He is in form of python, turtle, cobra or monitor lizard, depending which clan. He angrily violently reacts when annoyed. He demands for bulls to be slaughtered to appease him.

What one worships depends on a family or clan. For me, my great parents were followers of you, Nhialic, until some strange, pale-skinned, tall, aged creatures with bushy faces and long big knob-like noses showed up in my motherland about two hundred years ago. They settled and quickly began to preach the contents of a big black book that is white inside. The book, popularly known as Bible, condemns everything Dinka, you in particular. Those who believe in biblical teachings are called Christians. Christianity attacks your divinity, claiming you’re a false super being and places the white man’s first.  The bible calls him God. I have read the bible several times, cover to cover. It talks about the same things you planted in me- knowing right and wrong.

Bible was written by some crooked sneaky white people who, I feel, deleted and or added some valuable information. It is supposed to be a history book just like any other book that talks about the past. I don’t hold any grudge against Christians and their bible but the problem sets in when they consider my beliefs uncouth and unacceptable, and try by all means necessary to have me believe in theirs. There’s nothing they like about me. They want me to change the way I am; what I am called, way of life, what I believe in and so on. Whenever I introduce myself as Ayuen Panchol Anyieth Dhol, everyone rolls on the ground laughing. They suggest Jewish names like Jeroboam, Ecclesiastes, Ananias or Maccabees, of which I find unreasonable since they hold no substance to my lineage. They say my identity sucks.  They use the biblical passages to force me into accepting their ways. They talk about some place called hell. That if I don’t believe in their super being, I would go to hell. Where the hell is that?

One thing that makes it hard for me to believe them is the bible itself. Its contents do not refer to me as a Dinka in anyway. Take for example the first commandment in which their God threatens, “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. You shall have no other gods before me.”  How the hell does that concern me? I am a Dinka, a cattle rustler by birth. Have the Dinka people ever been in Egypt? If yes, then they must have been the ones who enslaved God’s people, and not the ones told to worship one God.

Another reason why I reject their ways is that they don’t practice what they preach: “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.”  See? Their God prohibits them from making idols, a command they defiantly piss on by embracing this thing called cross which is worn on the neck. Some carry larger cumbersome wooden crosses. I heard that cross was used by romans to kill their holy ghost’s son. What if the son was shot between the eyes, would they be wearing bullets on their necks?

Homosexuality issue is another thing that makes me question the reality and trueness of their religion. Leviticus chapter 18 verse 22-23 says “You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female; it is an abomination.” yet the world’s largest church, catholic, supports it. A 2011 report compiled by the Washington DC-based Public Religion Research Institute, using past polls and studies showed that nearly three-quarters of Catholics favor either allowing gay and lesbian people to marry (43%) or allowing them to form civil unions (31%). Only 22% of Catholics say there should be no legal recognition of a gay couple’s relationship. Recently, the UK Prime Minister in an interview with BBC was said to have threatened to cut aid to anti-gay countries, stating that countries receiving UK support should adhere to proper human rights. What human rights? If human rights give criminals absolute immunity to punishment, what do you expect murderers to say? Form their associations that would present their issues in the parliament? Where is the credibility of what they believe in? Do I really need to believe them?

A number of big church elders indulge in a lot of bad practices. They sleep around with married female members of the congregations. Somewhere in my current location in 2010, a married pastor was caught red-handed, making love to a policeman’s woman. Community members offered him neither mercy nor grace, especially because he was heard preaching against adultery in a crusade the day before. They beat them both, stripped them naked and forced them to kiss in public. See? And how many cases of that kind go unnoticed? Thousands!

Wait, there is more.  In July, 2007, A Zimbabwe’s state-controlled television broadcast photographs showing Archbishop X in bed with a married woman. The woman’s husband later filed a lawsuit that sought about $80,000. How about this thing called “vow of celibacy?” what happens to it?

Somewhere in the bible, the whole mankind traces its way back to two first beings; Adam and Eve. Where did their sons, Cain and Abel, find girls they got married to? How did that happen? Bible does not say.

These people called believers never cease to make me smile. They do things just to show off superiority. A bunch of those who are tired of doing big bad things spent months, begging and kissing another arrogant group to not launch a dangerous missile into the orbit. They defiantly held their middle fingers up high and launched the rocket, but failed due to some unknown reasons. Maybe you were behind their failure. Weren’t you, Nhialic?

They manufacture guns and distribute them to hostile communities who attack the peaceful ones for fun. My people no longer defend our livestock and ourselves from the unfriendly neighbors who now use sophisticated weapons like RPGs and rocket launchers to attack and drive away the cattle you gave us. And quickly go on radio and television, condemning the act. Thanks to their gods.

They nicknamed me pagan, atheist, non-believer, infidel and so on. There is another religion whose male believers tie white turban around the head and they keep long tidy beards. One of their celebrated men was shot down by a tall black guy in 2011. They are also trying harder to talk me into becoming one of their own. My female workmate provocatively calls me kafir, meaning an unbeliever. She dresses up like a ninja. I hardly see her face. I fight back by telling her that her face is either too ugly to show or she has a big wound on her head or she can’t afford to pay a hairdresser.

Now, why are they telling me to leave you and worship theirs? Is it because I am black? Or are you inferior to their gods? They have managed to convert my brothers and sisters though, particularly the older ones. I call them religious slaves because they got cheated or misled. They go to church Monday to Monday, when they should be working, farming. The book of Titus says “Our people must learn to devote themselves to doing what is good, in order that they may provide for daily necessities and not live unproductive lives.” The owners of the religion they abandoned theirs for work hard and go to club every day and go to church maybe once a year. Do you feel me, Nhialic?

In my third-eye perspective, since bible scriptures directly refer to Israelis, then it was meant to be the national constitution for Israelis, and holy Koran for Iraqis. I have my own laws outlined in a book called National Transitional Constitution of South Sudan. The constitution adds nothing other than annotates the moral grammar you wired into my neural circuits by evolution. It is evident that Africa is the place where world super powers show off their influences. During the past centuries, they greedily scrambled and partitioned it with intent to suck her resources dry, of which they did. That was an economical competition. A religious one followed. Old men preached word of their gods which condemned African ways, while their sons pleasurably enslaved, raped, killed and sold Africans. Nothing much has changed today; same song, different verse.  These people are so hypocritical. They condemn corrupt and thieving African politicians but on the other hand help them hide the stolen billions of dollars in their banks, leaving the ordinary man with nothing but protruding ribs. Others grant asylum to African butchers, the committers of genocidal actions. What’s biblical about that? Nothing! So, why do they speak against wrong-doing in their big black books but offer first class protection mechanisms to the wrong-doers? Whose beliefs are worth rebuking? And who should abandon his and adore the others’? Who is better off?

That’s it. I have rejected their ways and their gods. Keep an eye on me lest their pastors, priests, imams, bishops and converts confront me in any way.  And remember to base your judgment on my deeds, not beliefs, when I ceremoniously die of old age like my grandfather Anyieth Dhol, in about 80 years to come.

Tearz Ayuen: JOHN GARANG DIED IN VAIN

Posted: April 11, 2012 by PaanLuel Wël in Junub Sudan
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JOHN GARANG DIED IN VAIN

I seldom think about the late John Garang de Mabior, but whenever I do, words like dishonor, contempt, disrespect, degradation, belittlement, disloyalty, betrayal and even treason cross my mind. They come in great numbers and at once, such that they cause a heavy word-traffic jam in my head, as my grammatical brain tries to choose one word that can clearly describe how individuals have defecated and continue to defecate on the freedom fighter’s achievements and dreams. Needless to mention de Mabior’s end result of his rebellion, struggle and leadership, no single person amongst his stewards seems to be interested in fulfilling his dream. Don’t worry. I will explain. Just stay with me.

First of all, no one is perfect and never ever shall anyone be. De Mabior was both a Satan and Angel. The seven-headed serpentine satanic de Mabior castrated and slaughtered many many many prominent people in our societies. On my side, one was my uncle and the other, a neighbor from my neighboring village, Palee. These personalities arrived at their cruel deaths, perhaps because they disagreed with de Mabior on some issues pertaining to liberation of the common man. It is history anyway. On the other hand, you yourself know, hear, see, feel and taste the work of the angelic De Mabior. I don’t have enough time to spend, counting his good deeds. His work is just priceless.

In my book, de Mabior died in vain. Look, having his image printed on the country’s currency alone does not say that you really feel and remember him. Hanging his portrait in every office does not show that he is honored. Bowing or kneeling in front of his mausoleum doesn’t indicate that you respect him. Giving Nyandeng and the sons a trillion dollars would not make him pleased.  Shedding tears or even crying a river before his grave would not make him receive homage from you. Mentioning his name during national functions does not help. Naming South Sudan after him would not make him smile down there either. Relax; I am getting to the point.

I repeat, Garang Mabior died in vain. If you think I am wrong, you take a trip to his birthplace, Panyagor. Check it out and tell me what it looks like.  Panyagor remains the same. Nothing has changed since de Mabior left it for studies in Tonj in the late1950s, or is it early 1960s? I saw Panyagor months ago when a WFP plane picked me up from Bor and dropped off some passengers in Panyagor first before flying straight to Juba. Even though my unplanned visit lasted five minutes, I captured a lot with my mental digital camera. There were three concrete buildings with iron sheet-roofing. The rest were traditional grass-thatched mud houses. Old useless electric poles exhaustedly stood along an open passage that looked like a road. I can’t conclude that what I saw was a road because nothing showed that a car passed. No tracks though the ground was damp. If it is a dirt road, it must be the least used road on earth. All I saw was a herd of cattle and goats taking rest on it, lying and chewing cud uninterrupted.  If they were niggers, I would say they were chilling out. Another thing that caught my eye was the presence of few people in the area. I think great depopulation took place here. All I saw were really very few people, mostly the elderly.

My argument is, if the political, economic, social, educational, and religious situations in the then region of southern Sudan forced de Mabior and the rest to take up arms against Khartoum regime, why then can’t he be honored by at least changing the lives of Tuei? Tuei are amongst south Sudanese who suffered the most during the struggle. They were victimized by de Mabior’s enemies within, who politically blindedly decided to demoralize, hurt him by going for a killing spree in Bor North, no, Twic East. Forgive me. That was a slip of the tongue. If de Mabior was alive today, that would be a different story. We would all be tight-lipped and watch as we now are, wondering when or whether our president will embark on developing his village. So, why are Tuei being raped socially, economically? Why disrespect the hero? Why belittle his legacy? Why do we pretend to worship him? Yes he fought for all of us but the fact that he died, leaving many things unaccomplished should place Panyagor on top of the list of places to develop in South Sudan.

On his way to the grave, de Mabior told his juniors to take towns to the people; a great message that, I think, got soaked in a bottle of whisky, drank up and flushed down the toilet that evening. It ran down the sewer straight to the Nile River which in turn carried it to the Mediterranean Sea.  I call it the misplaced message. Leaders now try to remember where they kept it. Others have a really very bad memory; they are doing the exact opposite of the message by taking villagers to the towns as they fail to protect them from a number of things, including rustling, revenge attacks and tribal wars that consequently make them not grow their own crops. Acute poverty, indicated by starvation and diseases set in, sending them packing, to towns.  Tuei are not any exception here. About ninety percent of them live outside their county.

Politicians should have made de Mabior’s dream come true by starting off rural developmental projects in Panyagor. This would be a token of appreciation for the great role he played. Tuei themselves would understand why their son joined the struggle.

I know construction of South Sudan is in place but with the current speed of development, with the way rural affairs are being handled by Members of Parliament, I think modern living standards will reach Panyagor around the year 2100, about 88 years away from now.

Irrespective of all the things politicians try to please de Mabior with, wherever he is; hell or heaven, he is not a happy living dead. He feels betrayed, dishonored, belittled. He never smiles. He frowns at the leaders seven days a week.

In conclusion, if de Mabior did not die in vain, if politicians have not forgotten him, if our leaders do not really sing the “everyone for himself and God for us all” song, if politicians really want him to Rest In Peace, then the only way they can prove and show the whole world that they still hold him close to their chest is by prioritizing development in Panyagor. In fact, I suggest the National Assembly should draft and pass a bill into law, let’s call it Panyagor Bill. The bill should be a real thing that defines a number of developmental projects, namely; paved roads and streets and avenues, power plant, water project, five state-of-art hospitals, ten 20-storey glass buildings, schools, agricultural machineries and recreational facilities. Immortalize him by renovating the hut he was born in, in Buk village, Nyuak payam. Researchers, historians and tourists would travel from all corners of the universe to come and see the birthplace of one of the world’s greatest men.

Contrarily on the education agenda, leave Tuei alone. They are ahead of the game. You shouldn’t be surprised if anyone told you that Twic East is the only county in South Sudan with the lowest illiteracy rate.

Tearz Ayuen: REVISE ISAIAH 18!!!

Posted: April 1, 2012 by PaanLuel Wël in Socio-Cultural
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By: Tears Ayuen

The biblical message written in the book of Prophet Isaiah that says God shall unleash His tsunami of hate, anger and bring to ashes the people of Sudan, titled “God Shall Punish Sudan” is both gruesome and traumatic. It is a threat. It could even be a religious conspiracy to eliminate the tall people. It kills me softly. It keeps me wondering; why is God to punish the strong and powerful nation, tall and smooth-skinned people living along the Nile River, feared all over the world? What sin or sins have the people of Sudan committed that they appear in the God’s list of those who will taste His wrath? And when was that? What is the magnitude of the sin committed?

All right, when will God punish Sudan? Hasn’t he punished the Sudanese yet? Isn’t the God’s law that might have been violated by the Sudanese not one of the Ten Commandments? If yes, isn’t it forgivable? Isn’t God forgiving?

It also keeps me guessing; perhaps the Sudanese of that time contributed to the enslavement of the God’s chosen people, the Israelites, when they were in the land of Egypt. Or maybe warriors from one of the Sudan’s kingdoms, let’s say, Napata, walked distances, crossed the seas and beat the cream out of Jews, destroying them to nothing, a battle which I suspect the authors of the bible maliciously omitted. What really happened? Or is there any other Sudan other than the present day Sudan whose city is Juba? I am dazed and confused.

I know you would love to know who this inquisitive person is. Yes, I am tall and smooth-skinned, born somewhere along river Nile. Thus, I am the one Isaiah 18 talks about?

Every time I open that part of the bible, I feel sick. It nauseates me. I get discouraged. I feel like a patient, with some complicated diseases of the body systems, who got informed by a doctor of the number of days or months left to die. In fact, it discourages me from reading the bible. What eats me up most is the Grammar; the title is in future form yet I feel already punished. From the time I was born to the very moment you are reading this sentence.

I was born during the war, in the jungle where neither clinic nor hospital was heard of. Nothing scientific was in the vicinity accept war tanks and war artilleries. No vaccination no immunization no nothing against any childhood diseases and ailments. No birth certificate too. I don’t know my birthday. Mama has no clear memory of where and when I was born. All she remembers is the sound of gunshots and a tall tree she bore me under.

In addition, I was raised up in the forest. Just picture a baby born and brought up in the forest, where there are no drugs and medicines, no house to shelter from rain, no coverings at least to keep the cold away…..only breast milk.  And how about the mother? What does she eat in order to keep the breast milk “factory” functional? Grass or mud? Who knows? Isn’t it punishment? Yet the bible boldly insists, ‘God will punish Sudan”.

Hasn’t He punished the Sudanese yet? These tall and smooth-skinned people feared all over the world are scattered all over the world. Aren’t they facing untold sufferings? Aint they treated with contempt wherever they are. Hasn’t God punished them yet?

How about the Sudanese you know of? Most of them are maimed .many have lost limbs to the war. Some limp, some crawl. Aren’t they half-creatures now? We have been and are still suffering.

Sudan has never been peaceful since time immemorial. She is constantly at war, internal war. It is like the manufacturers of war weapons produce them having Sudan in mind as the market. Very funny! All types of weapons, from a 9mm pistol to the most dangerous atomic bomb are there. And to prove it, go to Sudan and see for yourself what it is like. The ground is covered with exhaust war metals, all over. Everything has been ruined. All is debris.

It is obvious to everyone that God has punished, has been punishing the tall and smooth-skinned people, yes? And I know I’m going to sound offbeat if I told you that the punishment is being exaggerated by Isaiah 18. Believe me; the fact that the title is in Future tense keeps the punishment fire blazing.

To get it right, let’s do something about it. What do we do?

I got an idea; that portion of the Holy Bible should be changed. I mean it! We gotta put it in past form like “God Has Punished Sudan”. I may be evil or of little or no faith to say that but I am serious. Give me a break! Only God can judge me!

The best way we can do that is by summoning the religious leaders; Buddhists, Muslims and Christians together for a prayer. The prayer should be said in unison and I suggest it goes like this: “Almighty father, you said no one must alter anything written in Your Holy Book lest he or she faces serious consequences. But Lord, we beg of you, allow us change only Isaiah 18 for it is a major threat to the Sudanese, and in your Holy name we pray, Amen.”

Thereafter, those religious heads should order publication of a new edition of the Holy Bible with everything in Isaiah 18 in “was” form. I assure you it could work. This gonna be a relief to the Sudanese. There would be no more pain and sufferings. Peace, love and harmony shall then rein forever.


PRESIDENT KIIR BULLIES BASHIR IN MY DREAM

Last night, I had a dream

In my dream,

President Kiir visits his ailing partner,

President Omar Hassan Bashir

Bashir contracted diarrhea,

A chronic diarrhea

Coz he drank unclean water from river Nile

He couldn’t afford bottled water

He is broke

Oil production got shutdown by Kiir

Bashir ekes out

Handouts from Arab League

After Kiir gave him emotional and moral strength,

He asks him what his say is

In regards to the outstanding CPA issues;

The Abyei,

Border issues,

Oil transit fees,

And nationality question

Before answering Kiir,

He gets up,

Runs to the toilet

Spends half an hour in there

He comes back,

Stands by the door,

And breathes heavily

It’s here Kiir sees his full body frame

Silhouetting in an ankle-length loose white Jalabia

The beer-belly he acquired

Through South Sudan oil money shrinks;

It’s disappearing

His ribs protrude

Kiir counts them

They’re ten

Two of them got surgically removed

After he got shot by Kerubino Kuanyin Bol

During a one-on-one meeting somewhere in Omdurman

In the 90s,

An incident that went unreported for fear of

Grand official butchering of reporters

Along with their families

“I beg your pardon, repeat your question,

Ya baba Mayar”, he asks Kiir

Before Kiir finishes shooting the same question for the second time,

Bashir dashes into the toilet again,

Leaving Kiir seething with rage;

Agitated,

Irritated

Kiir plunges into a sea of thoughts,

Trying to figure out how

 He will make bashir speak his language

Bashir comes back,

Holding a small bluish container

For keeping water used in place of toilet roll

He fills it up with water from an old pot

And places it near the door

He sits on an old mat

Made from reeds

People say his wife got the mat from a neighbor

Immediately after auctioneers

Stormed in Bashir’s house

 And confiscated the furniture;

They were sent by the landlord

Who grew impatient

After Bashir failed to pay February rent

Back to the point:

Bashir begins to respond to Kiir

He starts off by telling Kiir to go to hell

Coz he ain’t letting any other thing

Slip through his fingers

 Since he allowed south to go it alone as

An independent state through the 2011 referendum

Kiir begs him to reduce oil transit fee demand;

From $36 to 40 cents per barrel

Kiir also implores him to leave Abyei alone

But still, Bashir insists that Kiir goes to hell

And races to the toilet again

He spends his good time in there

Provoked by Bashir’s attitude,

Kiir grows smarter

He hatches a plan

And waits till Bashir comes back

Salva says he wants to use the toilet

Bashir directs Kiir:

“Go straight on; turn left, turn left again.

It’s the one with

 A green door next to the gate”

Salva leaves, taking along the Citizen Newspaper

He takes his time in there

Ten minutes elapse,

Still no sign of Kiir

Now the worst happens

Bashir gets pressed again;

Remember he has a running stomach

He rushes toward the toilet, the only toilet

Only to find it locked from inside

Salva is in, reading the newspaper

Atlala bara ya Salva. Ena taban

What are you doing in there?”

Bashir panics

But Kiir keeps mum

“Knock knock knock”

He knocks, he pushes the door

Kiir whistles

As he turns pages of the newspaper,

He scans through the stories

Pretending to find an interesting story to read

Finally, Kiir breaks the silence:

 “What do you think of my proposals?”

Bashir says they will discuss the issues back in the house

Kiir declines

And keeps reading the paper

Bashir begs Kiir, saying

“Please get out; I will sponsor 100 south Sudanese university students”

Kiir says thanks but that’s not what I want

With his left hand patting buttocks

And the right hand on the stomach;

Bashir begins to talk: “okay okay okay okay,

I’m proposing a meeting with you, just two us.

And it will be mediated by Obama himself”

Kiir resumes whistling

“Kiir please let me use the latrine,

Don’t let me do it in my pants

Kiir you are causing a scene;

My wives kids are milling around

And I can see my neighbors peering

I’ll do anything you want me to.

I will return all the barrels I confiscated,

 I’ve given up Abyei. I…….

…..Ding…….dong…..Ding…dong,

My mobile phone rang,

Waking me from the dream

By: Tears Ayuen

Tears Ayuen: I AM AN MP

Posted: March 8, 2012 by PaanLuel Wël in Poems., Tearz Ayuen
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I’M AN MP

I’m an MP, an elected MP

Constitutionally, I represent my people

I’m their spokesperson

I raise their issues

I’m a law-maker,

An examiner of the work of the government

I check out how it spends taxes raised by my people

I contribute to debates on national issues

I receive Constituency Development Funds,

 I’m in charge of how and what to spend it on

As its name suggests,

The sum is meant for development,

For the betterment of my constituents’ lives

It’s usually a large amount

For building healthcare centers,

Strengthening security,

Establishing schools

Building road networks to connect my constituency

With its neighboring areas

I’m an MP, an elected MP

I know that

Whenever a constituency has good road networks,

Better health clinics and schools for children to go to-

Or in short, if I spend the CDF well:

Workers work;

Nurses nurse

Traders trade

Teachers teach

Farmers farm

They gather good harvests

Granaries get filled up

Everyone eats enough food

Starvation emigrates

Men take pride in their brand new pot-bellies

Women develop big buttocks,

Just like my wives’

Surpluses are sold

 Local trade prospers

She winks and purrs

And beckons to the private sector

Investors come kneeling, begging

Factories come smiling

Smoke emitted by manufacturing

Companies is seen afar off

As you approach my small town

Employment opportunities call my people out

By their nicknames:

“Gutakalthi, Poni, Jacksee, Gatluak, Ukel, Wani

Come and work here. Please don’t turn down this chance

It comes with a lot of benefits;

Medical cover for you and your family, car, house allowances,

Free scholarships for your children up to university”

No doubt, living standards improve

Every face wears an infectious smile

Only few fall sick

Mothers give birth safely

To bouncing babies

Infant mortality goes on leave, permanent leave

 Babies develop cheeks the size of their buttocks,

Yep, healthy kids!

Maternal mortality hits the road

Girls and boys go to school

They study uninterrupted

Before leaving campus;

Some become athletes, international footballers,

Singers, dunkers

They graduate

As doctors, bankers, geologists, environmentalists

They work for international organizations

The likes of ICC and the World Bank

The cycle is broken,

A new page is turned;

No more cattle rustlers

Violent crime rate drops

Bandits confess and repent

Child abduction disappears

Forced marriage becomes history

Ethnic hostilities go missing

But who cares about the CDF anyway?

Who amongst my subjects knows what it is for?

Who knows when it is released?

Who knows how much?

Who follows it up?

Who knows when the last one was released?

Did anyone question me

Over its spending?

Does anybody really bother to know whether I’m actually engaged in

Any of the projects I propose?

The ones I get approvals from the parliament?

Could it be journalist?

This country’s reporters?

Ha ha ha ha ha ha

Do they really know anything?

I don’t think they are typical reporters

What do they know?

I do watch them

 No passion

No interest

I think majority are in the media business

Because it’s the only job that has presented itself to them

Only few try though

None of them has ever unearthed

Any of the greatest scandals my comrades and I commit

I think they just bluff,

Pretending to be rough and tough

There’s a one boy-journalist that wears dreadlocks

I do spot him during official functions

And in the streets collecting vox pops

He wears his pants below the waist

Traditionally, journalists are official enemies for folks like me

They are snoopers

But can this one, the pant-sagging type be of any harm?

Does he have what it takes to watch out for?

I don’t think so!

I’m an MP, an elected MP

My subjects are politically blind

I call them mere voters aka political customers

They’re still innocent, naïve

They are valuable during elections only

I sometime pity them

They flock to freedom squares,

 In the scotching heat of the sun,

 Lips dry as bone,

Hunger engraved on their faces

Longing to listen to speeches from an MP

An MP that promises heaven and earth

Poor electoral materials!

Now that I got my hands on the funds,

What do I do with it?

By the way,

My youngest wife, Cherryl Ogutu nags me, non-stop

She is a pain in the ass

 She makes me sick

She “hi honeys” me for a car

She claims her friends ride harriers

Why not her, an MP’s?

She is sending me to grave

I must cancel this early journey to grave

I’m going to buy her Toyota Wish

I’m an MP, elected MP

My Land Cruiser is old

And my neighbor, Jacob Chol Kur

Brags about his new Hummer

He thinks he is ahead of everyone

I am buying a train!!

Oh I’m forgetting

I’ll add extra floors

To my 6-storey commercial glass building in Adelaide

My custodian, Soleil Eshoud just called me

He has hired a contractor

A done deal

Election Day comes in few days

What do I do?

Wait a minute

I got an idea

In my previous tenure;

I erected a grass-thatched mud structures

As Forget-Me-Not primary school

 I also cleared three dirt roads

Now, I am going to buy chiefs and elders

 Something that will keep discussions running smoothly

Cartons of Red Horse will do

 They will drink away suspicion of any kind

2 cans each

And they begin to sing and praise my name

Before they depart crawling, retarded

I’ll ask them to

 Allocate a land for constructing a health center

They can’t hesitate show me the piece of land

I sketch the premise

Enclose the area with barbwire

No, with bamboo poles

Barbwire is costly

Order excavation of foundation

Election is here

Oops! Sorry

I’m “re-re-elected”

…….to be continued

By: Tears Ayuen

Letter To Jesus Of Nazareth

Posted: March 4, 2012 by PaanLuel Wël in Junub Sudan
Tags: , , , ,

By Tears Ayuen (Borglobe.com)

Dear Jesus of Nazareth,

Though I’m not your faithful, I want to talk to you today. My friends say you’re a good friend of theirs. They say good things about you. They even encouraged me to read your biography written in a book titled The New Testament. In that book, I learned a lot about you; you performed miracles: raised the dead, fed a multitude with only two fish & five loaves of bread. You even walked on water. Wonderful! Well, the most stunning thing I got to know about you is where you were born, in a manger!! Under poor conditions! Damn! And the then ruler wanted to have you slain because he learnt you were to be great, a king, forcing your parents to flee to Egypt with you. Sadly, you lost your life to some ungrateful folks, your own people. Sorry, mate.

You know what? We share one or two things in common; I was born in a forest, under a tall tree where there were no medicines, no food no nothing. Worst of all someone lied to my then president, Omar Bashir, that I would be great. So, he ordered his soldiers to make man-made rains of bombs and missiles rain on my village, causing my mother to sneak me and my siblings into Kenya. See? We share some significant similarities though your father was a carpenter and mine, a soldier. Your mother, Mary, according the book, was a church thing; my mother, Martha is addicted to your teachings. She spends most of her time around the church. Since I was a kid, she has been reading a big book named “Kitap de Duor” that I later learned it’s the “Thuongjang” translation of your life history.

Now to the point, having danced with angels, having drunk holy wine, having eaten heavenly birthday cake and having delighted during your two-thousandth and something birthday anniversary on Sunday, I want you to think about my countrymen, leaders in particular. Do me a favor; just concentrate on my country’s issues. Don’t even think about our neighbors. Kenyans are strong now. They hold any stubborn politician by the ear. Ugandans are super fine; they frog-march thief leaders to police stations. Forget about the people of the Democratic Republic of Congo. They’re gone. Corruption has swallowed them alive, whole and intact. It’s too late to rescue them. North Sudanese will be okay. They just realized that Bashir’s 22-year regime has been nothing but thievery plus dictatorship. The youths have been politically charged. They will topple the bhang-smoking Bashir the Ghadafi way. Wait and see. Give them few days. Though Ethiopians are practicing the word “exodus”, don’t worry about them. You will find out what they are running away from, later on. Deal, right?

I’m from South Sudan, an African state that just attained independence from the descendants and believers of Prophet Mohamed, the founder of Islam who happens to be your religious rival. No, the word rival is more of a sport; he is your religious enemy. By the way, I was made to understand the other day that his followers are converting more people all over the world as many turn away from Christianity on grounds of failure to uphold Christian values by church leaders. I heard that big church leaders, really big ones, sleep around with young boys, some, with married women. Someone said catholic is the worst. It’s crazy.

Back to the point, my leaders liberated us from Arabs, a fact that makes them think that they’re untouchable, unquestionable. They’re running the affairs of the nation the way that pleases them. They have customized the national affairs. They talk too much and do little or nothing at all. They invest outside the baby-nation. They have bought expensive houses in the neighboring countries; some have houses in America and Europe! The vehicles they ride are like those of the U-S hip hop musicians – highly costly. As the people they allegedly went to the bush for get consumed by acute poverty, most of them spend money, public money, on travels and unnecessary projects. I heard they recently had a retreat in Mombasa whereby they “burnt” millions of Shillings.

Something keeps telling me that South Sudan is a polite word for corruption. Everyone talks about it; in the streets, in bars, in matatus, under trees, everywhere. Everyone speaks against it; church leaders, politicians, women, boys and girls. And nothing happens. Every new day is just like the other day. Even the president, a bearded man who always wears cowboy hat, always says he’s fighting it but his efforts are ever abortive. I’m afraid, if the president doesn’t do anything about corruption in his government, I think, dogs, cats and even cows would begin to complain about it!

My leaders are busy. In fact, they have been busy, busy working on personal projects and stealing. Yes, stealing. Even the anti-corruption guys who supposedly prevent corruption are involved. One of them is, this week, in the news for embezzling millions of pounds. See?

Opposition leaders who are suppose to act as check and balance of the ruling party are useless. They represent tribes. They don’t have substantial agendas. They’re all nothing but a bunch of sycophants. All they strive for is position.

Civil society organizations are not any better. They are run by lazy mutes. I’m not sure if they really understand their roles. Or if they do, the fact that they get funding from the government deactivates them. They’re good at keeping silent.

If you’re going to do anything, please start with SSTV. Shut it down! News bulletin begins with a minister and ends with another. All they say is where they visited and when, where they will visit and when. What they plan to do. That’s all. Directors work hand in hand with the government. They waste the young reporters as they instruct them what stories to chase and what not to, leaving no room for creativity, thus “murdering” their potentials and stunting journalistic growth. The journalists are warned against asking big men “bad questions”. You should see them in the field. No questions are asked. If any, it could be after the minister forgot to include, in his yapping, the duration of his or her visit. They shamelessly blamelessly place a minister before a camera. He then talks, talks and talks, talks about nothing. No one understands the contents of SSTV programs. They are hosted by old dudes with ancient mentality. Don’t hesitate to shut it down. Please!

The riches of the newest nation are being looted by foreign nationals with the help of our leaders. Let’s talk about job opportunities. Companies are mushrooming. Organizations are already in place and others are coming soon, both local and international. Instead of channeling all these opportunities to the badly needy employable youth, our rulers give them out to their friends across the borders. This is how it goes; an influential guy orders his friend or brother in the department of immigration to process national IDs for his girlfriend, her friends and even friends of her friends. Remember, they’re not southerners. They are economic immigrants who escape economic crises in their states. These guys eventually get jobs because they’re highly qualified and experienced. All this goes undetected because the labor ministry seems to be reluctant on this matter. It should have a committee that monitors the activities of NGOs. Most NGOs think South Sudanese are incapable of working, or more precisely, unemployable. This is why foreigners have taken over almost everything in Juba; public transport industry, hotels. And leaders pretend that there is nothing wrong with it. Hail Mary!

The youth are good for nothing either. I think they choose to tolerate poor governance because the leaders are their uncles and aunts who sometimes support them. However, making necessary noise against corrupt individuals would be like biting the fingers that feed you. There’s a representative in the government. The dude is rarely seen. Nobody knows what he is up to. Perhaps he fits well in the skirts of, “if you can’t beat them, join them.”

In conclusion, please make them realize what they are leaders for. President Salva says his government is zero-tolerant to corruption. Make him mean it. Make him differentiate friendship from government business. I want to see him act upon any official who fails to account for his spending. Once more, make the MPs represent their constituents, not their football teams of children and concubines. The people they go to the parliament for are pretty poor. Living standards haven’t changed since your father created earth. No roads, no health centers, no running water. It’s worst in my birth place, Jonglei. Insecurity tops the list of things to worry about when you get to my state. It’s easier to kill someone than buy a bottle of beer in Jonglei. The issue needs a simple solution but no one seems to long for it. Thanks to too much nose picking amongst the top leaders……..! Don’t tell them what I told you lest someone shaves my dreadlocks with a broken piece of glass.

A moment of truth, I lied to you about who actually wanted to murder me. It wasn’t Bashir; it was the current Vice President, Riek Machar. He got deceived by some witch that I would one day be a problem to him. He ordered his soldiers to kill me. They went about killing everyone of my kind in Bor but they couldn’t harm me because my mum fled with me. His soldiers drove away our cattle, about seven-hundred and fifty heads; our only means of livelihood by then. I was born to be a cattle keeper or maybe a cattle rustler. His actions changed the whole thing. I’m now counted amongst learned South Sudanese. My friends call me white collar hustler… [Smiles].Besides, I’m friends with him now. And he happens to be my favorite politician.

http://www.borglobe.com/11.html?m7:blogcat=opinion-articles

Dear Uncle,

 By Tears Ayuen

You just offered me your old V-8 and credited my bank account with a huge amount of dollars but I don’t think that will stop me from speaking my mind. There’s something that I have been keeping to myself, something that I have always wanted to tell you, something that disturbs me, something my peers abhor you for. I defend you though. It is high time now I tell you in this short note. It’s going to be disheartening, however, close your eyes and take a deep breath before you proceed to the next paragraph.

Here we go…… it’s both ironical and incomprehensible how our grandfathers, fathers, aunts, friends, mothers, sisters and even yourself bled, sweated and shed tears, sacrificially, for more than a century in a quest to detach south Sudanese from the claws of Islamic rule yet you still dumbly ignorantly selfishly plug us in the socket of Arab world by indecisively rushing to their states in order to attract investments, given the hidden agenda that comes with their development proposals.

An Arab is an Arab; be he a sheikh, politician, hawker or shopkeeper. His mission is one and simple; to Arabize and Islamize anyone, anywhere. I don’t think you need a PhD in History to trace back how they came and the price of their presence in Sudan, of which we have paid dearly. Even your seven-year son can recite it before an international audience. An Arab always strives to change you, in and out; from names, color of skin, lifestyle, name it. You ask the people of Nuba Mountains.

Let me take you back a little bit by elaborating how ungrateful ingrates this folks are. Back in the day, the Arabs came to Sudan as single male merchants. I repeat; single male merchants. They arrived and settled in Khartoum, an area allegedly inhabited by Dinka people. That was before the cleverer race invented the calendar. As they carried on with their businesses, and after they showered the unsuspecting Dinka chiefs and elders with gifts of mirrors, sweets, salt and soaps, they requested the old dudes for a number of things. First of all, they asked for pieces of land for erecting shops. And then they asked for girls for marriage, a request I suspect the sly Dinka people gladly assented to since they felt it was the best way to rid of their ugly, promiscuous and lazy daughters. Remember, today’s Dinka folks practice that business. They marry off our unmarriageable sisters to foreigners. Doesn’t that remind you of what happened the other day?

Anyway, the girl-sweet-salt-business continued as long as the first guys found it lucrative. They invited over their brothers, uncles and friends back home to join them. They eventually multiplied and started showing their true colors – master-like behaviors. They began to control everything, both that moved and that didn’t. They did a lot with the natives. They sold some into slavery and made some laborers. But with the inability of cattle-rearing communities to succumb to change easily, the Dinka waged countless wars against their nieces but lost, forcing them to migrate to different parts of Sudan. See? Northerners are our biological nieces because their existence is as aresult of the aforementioned unions. I understand the Dinka were so arrogant, some still are, such that a slave would turn away leftovers, claiming that he should have partaken in the meals at the table with his master’s family. Since then, the feud rages on.

Now, wasn’t it yesterday that the Nile River overflowed with blood and bodies of innocent womenand children that were ceremoniously slaughtered by Arabs just because they refused to be Arabic? Or has it been too long to remember the root cause of the 21-year civil war that claimed 2.5 million lives and displaced 4 million more, including your children?

Then, what on earth makes you travel to their cities to lobby investments from their companies? Who has bewitched you, uncle? Does south Sudan have to attract investments from the Middle East? What world records have they set or broken in terms of development apart from high unemployment rates, Low wages and widespread poverty?

Or do you have shares in the Arab companies you bring in the baby country? In fact, rumors say so. I will stop here because I feel the few remarks will brainstorm you.

One more thing, I want you to talk to your daughter; the one who calls herself Lady Gaga. She drinks a lot lately. She has made a lot of broke friends who she drinks with day in day out. I doubt she attends her classes regularly. Haven’t you been wondering why she keeps asking you for more money? Apparently, she is an ATM machine. There’s this broke boyfriend of hers who has assumed the nature of a tick. The guy clings to her so badly. She pays his rent, buys him pants. I tried to talk her out of her brand new lifestyle but she instead hailed insults at me, calling me names.

Furthermore, she doesn’t wear enough clothes nowadays. The first thing you see when she appears is her breasts. They hang naked; with only the nipples covered. When asked why, she says our grandmas used to wear nothing at all. “So, why disturb someone who has at least dressed?” She asks. The next thing to worry about her dress code is her skirts. They are too short. You can see her underwear even when she is standing! And she calls anyone who dares rebuke her, uncivilized.

You must be wondering why I haven’t deposited all the money into your foreign bank account. It’s because the bank manager, on seeing stacks of dollars, and especially after I failed to account for the source, threatened to call cops on me. I lied to him that it was for a registered company based in Juba. He instructed me to get proper papers in order to bank the notes, and that was after I bribed him heavily. I have resorted to banking the money in bits pieces just to avoid possible interrogations by Interpol. I will have banked it all by June this year. If I may ask, where did you get this large sum from, uncle?

I almost forgot. I’m obliged to educate you about your concubine. Forgive my English. I would have used a better or at least mannerly reference had the English people created a polite word for concubine. She is playing you. I mean, she fakes her love for you believe it or not. Worst of all, the baby is not yours. The father of the baby is an old boyfriend who she broke up with after she conceived. I learned that the dude disowned her because he didn’t have what it takes to feed extra mouths; but he resurfaced when he realized she is alive and kicking.

Thanks to your unsuspectingness. Or is it negligence? You may find it hard to believe this: I, for no specific reason, tampered with her phone while she was in the kitchen. I entered into the “sent items” folder where I found an SMS that she sent. It reads “dear sweetheart, there’s no reason you should doubt my forgiveness. I told you last time that I do understand why you refused to take responsibility for my pregnancy. You were a student and had no money. Besides, the baby is yours….. I love you and want you so bad. The old fool left for Juba this morning, come home tonight and correct what the old man doesn’t do right…………….”

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