SELECTED
STORIES BY SOUTH SUDANESE AUTHORS
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Night
Visitors
By John Oryem
***
The tree trunks were wet, his tiny hands trying to slip; sweat kept on gushing out from allover his body. He allowed himself to be suspended by his toes; even his naked belly grew claws to cling hard on the tamarind branches. The vultures above him pitied him as he looked like a preying python in a veld. The birds were used to gunshot sounds; they always rushed to the battle scenes undisturbed. Death was feasting time. The boy’s testes sunk deep inside his body. The hard, uncompromising bark of the tamarind tree scratched his buttocks; he never felt any pain, perhaps ignoring it for life’s continuity. His breath and heartbeats competing for recognition. Some of the nomadic Arabs were ridding camels while majority just walked around his village plundering. Some of the nomads wore army fatigue while others just put on jalabiya, (Arab cloak) and turbans, others with tight caps. More than six carried RPG-9 and few with M-4. Some camels stubbornly kept swinging with mortars tied on their humps. The boy waited for his fate while those on horsebacks kept on demolishing all living things along their marching paths around his village; fire, smoke, ashes, leaving it desolate as in the previous year. Hot smoke from the carnage penetrated his virgin eyes; tears shattering his eyelids, long trace of tears paralleled his cheeks, scars left for memory.
As for those who lay dead, the pleasures of being at the softest, well-decorated part of the graves were to be forgotten. His tears were not for them anymore. If the salty fleshes of the dead were not eaten up by scavengers, then the minerals in their bones were ready to dissolve in the jaws of hyenas roaming paths of Malual Ajith in the dark. The boy clung firm on one of branches, praying for his ancestors to confuse the nomadic Arabs to spare him again. He was lucky to have escaped in the past, hiding between raided cows. When the nomads encountered a thick forest just at the edge of River Kiir, he vanished among the scarring gum shrubs; four days later, fighting with beasts, mud, mosquitoes and hunger, he found his way back into his native Nilotic land.
Malual Ajith, his homestead now on fire; dusts carrying ashes everywhere. He murmured in his own tongue; “Nhialic, Nhialic kony en!” Our homestead is on fire, help, help, God help me!”
While hanging still on the tamarind, he watched some nomadic Arabs picking up fight among themselves over acquisition of other captured age-mates of his village. From the tree top, he saw Achol, Deng, Anyang, and Ongwech chained and held by a single green nylon rope. Tall grass and elevated ot-nhial (grass thatched storey hut) separating him from them. They were his childhood friends. It was his wish to be beside them once their lower teeth and heads marked by Awan Akol’s ceremonial knife. Among the captured was Mabior, Chief Wol Athian’s greatest pride bull. Hate and violence never knew its fame. Another nomad, armed to his teeth, had Mabior forcefully chained to a nearby miserable pole, and made advanced towards the tamarind. The pole’s base was used for show-off by dogs of Malual Ajith when they shower it with their urines of their male-hood chauvinism. Mabior cowardly succumbed like a prisoner in a city at the stinking pole. It moved its head in protest, ejecting white fumes from its mouth. Years back, Mabior kicked hyena dead in the village near Athian’s kraal. The story went allover Jieng’s villages. Nothing could halt the overwhelming conquering power except for the witnessing clouds forming above Malual Ajith.
Above the tree with his fate, the boy wondered how Mabior succumbed to the guns and got tamed that very morning when the nomadic Arabs stormed Malual Ajith at dawn. Mabior had always bullied all animals in the village. Once, Mabior butted a donkey, leaving it crazy for the rest of its life.
***
“Let them not find me.” The boy prayed, invoking his clan’s totem and his ancestors’ spirits. He even dialogued with agany, (alligator) in his vision above the tamarind while praying: “Nhialic, Nhialic, spare my life o-o-o. Let me live o-o-o.” Not far from where he was, a group of nomads continued burning huts, granaries, stores, stables and even sorghum ears drying in the sun.
“I will take the girls.” One nomad shouted from his horseback. His cocked brand new AK-47 proving him right in front of the others.
“No, the boy is mine.” said another.
For some nomads, it was their first journey into Nilotic land. The man in turban and commando khaki got down from his horseback to show his seriousness and superiority. He pulled Deng Akok by his tied hands, like a cock being taken to a marketplace; he was dragged and thrown behind the man’s horseback. The fierce nomad fled to the direction of the burning village ahead. Deng was like a bag of salt from a distant. The nomad’s Kalashnikov was firm by his side, loading ammunition as he fled, throwing spent magazines on the ground behind.
Shortly after, another nomad appeared from an opposite direction, he was riding a brown Darfurian horse. Several guards surrounded him, he shouted in their nomadic pidgin Arab; “let’s move quickly, the kufar, (infidels) are coming. Abid, (slaves) are coming. Anyanya, (rebels) are coming.”
Minutes later, other armed nomads arrived with many booties, all assembling under the huge tamarind tree in the middle of Malual Ajith. It was the courtyard where all the village children played, young men initiated; where court cases were settled-tim cok. Up to a point, none of the wild Arab marauders ever looked up the tamarind tree. For hundreds of years, the tree remained bushy with enticing shadow.
***
After about fours from the start of the carnage, Malual Ajith roared with horses and the much-priced, powerful Dongola’s mules, donkeys, captured humans and Nilotic cattle. The camels used in the raid were like the ones used by brigands in the desert. Top, experienced nomadic Arabs with military expertise in the ranks of the Murahilin-Mujahidin Force, grouped up to decide for new route northwards to be followed by the nomads.
“We have to avoid Abuyey (Abyei) by all means.” One ordered.
“Who is the man there to disrupt us?” Another one asked. New beginning must start!
Below the tamarind, a fight broke out among several nomads. They were ferociously arguing over who was to take Achol for himself. Achol lost her mother and father in the last raid. Their corpses were still fresh in the common graves at the entrance to Malual Ajith. Ahead at Chief Wol Athian’s compound, gunfire was being heard. Several of his 32 wives were victims too. His gigantic luak (kraal) was colored with hundreds of cows. Some of the cows were belonging to his subjects who had fled the war, either to the north or gone with the revolutionaries to Bilpam.
As the boy kept to himself on the tamarind, praying to survive the day, an old, bearded Arab warrior appeared from the rear. His AK-47 was heavy; he never handled it well, despite his face exhibiting long experience of slave raid in the heart of Nilotic land. When his horse reached where the nomads were fighting over Achol’s ownership, he settled the dispute with ease and hurried under the tamarind, he lowered a bag of ammunition neatly tied in a Kenana Sugar bag. Some men followed him immediately from behind.
“How did you solve it?” One of the Mujahidin inquired.
“It was Omer Tijani who first saw that abid, hiding in the grass.”
“But Salah Saed should take her.”
“No, we know him, he is reckless. She can become a very good something.” Replied the warrior.
“They are many ahead.” He went on confirming.
One nomad mistakenly flashed his eyes on the tamarind where the boy remained hiding, still clinging on the branches like a savanna bat in a cave. He cocked his AK-47 and took aim at the boy. The action grabbed the attention of other armed nomads who shouted in unison;
“Hei ya weled Garang, (you boy Garang) come down, come down!” Soon the tamarind was surrounded by more than dozen armed nomads. The boy cried and was unable to get down the tree as demanded. “Come down, come down.” He was pressed. Shots were fired to scare him. He let himself loose from the tree. Birds above him scattered across the plain as if hurrying to accuse the nomads to the spirits. He was unanimously ‘given’ to the man who first caught sight of him while on the tamarind. Being unconscious, he was carried by two nomadic acolytes and dumped among the belongings of his owner. After assembling hundreds of their loots, the nomads began their journey northward towards River Kiir and Abyei. Crossing marshlands was tough that evening with River Kiir threatening the nomadic Arabs. For those who were on their first mission to the Nilotic land, most of them suffered from hydrophobia. Days later, the birds renamed Malual Ajith; ‘place of no men.’
***
When the boy woke up for a period he couldn’t remember, he found himself in the midst of strange people; animals mixing with humans; all moving northwards. Strange language spoken near him, he remained drowsy. Opening his eyes clearly, he felt serious pain across his wrists. Down his feet, flies were fighting at the edge of deep wounds incurred on him. He was on a narrow donkey chart. Beyond Abyei, women, children and newly born lambs joined the huge caravan. “Hey, hey, ha, ha, ha-hee. Ha-hee.” Shouts echoes through the valleys.
“Am thirsty,” the boy announced in his Nilotic tongue. It was the only language he spoke. His master understood his need and ordered his wife instantly in pidgin Arabic;
“Kaltum give Garang water.”
The man descended from his horseback. And he too, was in need of water. He grabbed a child’s jerry-can tied on donkey’s back, faced the sky and emptied it all down his throat.
Knowing the boy had fully recovered; he turned to him and began to engage him by speaking some crooked Jieng tongue he had learned during the long years of raids in Nilotic land.
“What is your name Garang?” He asked the boy in pidgin Arabic. Unable still to speak, the boy shook his head in a strange way; it was neither a confirmation nor a denial.
“I hope you are not like (Dictor) Dr. John Garang….eh? He is a bad man.” His master asked him sarcastically. The other nomadic Arabs nearby laughed because they knew how the revolutionary leader, had for two decades hindered their incursions deep into Nilotic land and beyond Cush territories.
***
The ninth day from the day of fire and ashes in Malual Ajith; the nomads were still roaming between Abyei, Todoc, and Nyama. Heavy rainfall caught up with them after crossing westward towards Debab. Most of them were notified around Sitep that; their ammunition supply from the Coordination Office of Popular Defense Force, attached to the 6th Infantry Division had arrived Muglad.
All along the route northward, the boy was looked after by the same woman and man whose donkey he was riding when he opened his eyes for the first time after dropping from the tamarind tree in his village. His master fully rejoined his family before they reached Nyimora River way back at the periphery of Abyei.
As the family entered their Bani Bodur ferig (homestead), he was seriously warned by his master; “Garang, you are Musa! Did you understand?” He was told. The man confided to his wife days before giving the name Musa to him.
“My late uncle killed in the land of Kufar was truly an Arab desert warrior. I have to honor his memory by giving his name to my young abid this year.” Neither the man nor his wife ever bothered knowing the boy’s previous names before his capture. The boy nodded when he was called Garang; it was his second chance to do so.
“If anyone asks you, say you are Musa Ahmed Abdallah. Did you hear?”
“Ehyeh,” (yes) he replied.
“Musa, Kaltum is your mother, understand?”
“Wai,” (yes).
When his legs began to grow stronger, Musa began herding some of Ahmed Abdallah’s cattle, acquired through his sharp AK-47. Musa could recognize some of the bulls and family cows in the caravan. He knew some best cattle of Malual Ajith by their Nilotic names. One afternoon as the nomads entered Tebeldia valley, Mayom, one of Chief Wol Athian’s bulls almost spoke to Musa in jieng, Musa’s tongue. The bull stooped at him as if it wanted to assign him for a Delta Force mission. Musa went and touched its forehead lovingly while whispering to its erected ears. Surprisingly, Mayom’s new owner gave Musa a serious look that almost brought down the clouds in pieces. From that day on, Musa learned what it takes to be in intimacy with animals stolen from Nilotic land.
“You have brothers and sisters in Muglad. Good food, milk and ….you know.” Ahmed assured Musa. He wanted to show his fatherhood immediately as they grazed along Bani Bodur country.
“Am your real father! Kaltum is your real mother. You are Musa Ahmed Abdallah. Bani Bodur Arab,” Ahmed repeatedly told Musa.
Musa never saw Achol, Anyang or any other boys carried from his homestead accompanying the nomadic Arabs. He could not ask where they had disappeared. For the caravan was spread. The forest was too big. He last saw them when their team reached at the mouth of Nyimora River near Shigei.
Ahmed Abdallah was known to be a man who never kept his words. Every time he was back from the south, he would swear by the name of the Almighty; “By Allah’s name, this is my last year. I will be retiring!”
***
Barely at the lapse of six months, Musa was able to trace back nine generations of his nomadic Arab clan of Bani Bodur.
“Our forefathers roamed for hundreds of years between Kordofan, the junub (Nilotic land) and Darfur.” Adoma Jafaar told Musa often, mentioning all the grazing pastures they would roam through.
“When the rainfall is heavy here, we travel further north.” Adoma would assure Musa.
Almost seven months from the day Malual Ajith was destroyed, the caravan reached Bani Bodur homestead amidst joy, praise, and thanksgiving by all elders. Talks and arguments narrating how successful and lucky were they that season! Almighty was generous rewarding the Bani Bodur with many young abid and animals from the land of milk and honey. Adoma’s father who was Bani Bodur’s Sheikh, (community leader) offered lots of feasts that blessed season. Musa heard sheikh’s remarked;
“We are great warriors; we once had a powerful kingdom in the heart of this country. But the dogs, the Turks and the British neutralized our manhood.”
That year, the Bani Bodur encamped at the vicinity of Muglad, occupying the valley along the railway lines towards Meiram. Rains fell in full, swamps and all low lands became greener before June. Cattle and all the beasts testified by lots of births.
Near one of the villages with closer water table, the family of Ahmed Abdallah settled that season. Musa and his sisters who were hurriedly brought from Muglad went after goats and sheep together. Kaltum and Ahmed Abdallah tried tirelessly to have a baby boy for years. Allah gave them one girl after another, totaling half a dozen. Like all other Mujahidin, he went several times to the south to get for himself a boy. “The one that might inherit my wealth.” He constantly remarked. The year Ahmed brought Musa; he had traveled in February at the foot of Jebel Marra to consult a local Faki (medium-healer) who gave him amulets and herbs. He told him;
“This year, Allah will give you a son, don’t care from where, just believe in His generosity. Say amen!”
“Ameeeen.” Ahmed confirmed.
Nafisa, Ahmed’s eldest daughter was fond of her new brother, though Musa’s skin was darker like their mother’s tea kittle, she would talk openly with him, defying her cultural practice of not looking at males’ eyes sternly. Sumeiya, Ikhlas and the rest of the girls would exhaust Musa by sending him here and there. Musa would carry for them; water, firewood, clean the whole compound besides herding, his primary preoccupation. The kids enjoyed being at the valley, when their cows were drinking water or enjoying the pastures. By 6pm all the animals were in the family kraal. Kaltum was in charge of milking the cows at dawn and before evening prayers. Sometimes she was assisted by one of her daughters.
Musa had a shelter by the front gate in the settlement. “Men must protect two things in life, wealth and women.” Ahmed told Musa. Three weeks after feast of fitr, (breaking of the fast), that very year, Musa was circumcised on the withered grass by one of the elders in the village. A goat and lots of coffee were consumed by Bani Bodur men and women who came for the occasion. “Musa abid of Ahmed is circumcised!” News flared around. Red tape stayed on his forehead until the wound healed. Ahmed Abdallah’s brother brought him a white cloak from Sitep Market one evening days after his circumcision.
“You circumcised your abid-slave?” Some women did ask Ahmed. Others vehemently opposed his action;
“these people don’t circumcise.”
“But we have to make them human beings.” Ahmed told his tribe’s men.
Taking care of goats, sheep, cattle and donkeys in the large family of Ahmed was Musa’s task. Nature was so closed to him. When the animals were grazing around the homestead, Nafisa who was very sympathetic to her brother, would hurriedly gather some scraps of food and sneak with it at the valley.
“Eat Musa, eat.” She would insist. Kaltum their mother was not in favor of the girls getting closer to Musa, despite him, being their brother.
Other Nilotic children herding animals like Musa would accidentally be in the valleys. Sour wild lemons filled in their pockets. Knives protruding from each cloak. By 5pm all the animals were pushing their ways to the stables. Women waiting with calabashes to milk cows. Calves with crowns of thorn, pricking their mothers’ nipples. The thorn-crowns were released after the calabashes evaporate with fresh milk. If all the animals were in the enclosure, Musa would dash to drink cold water from the family pot in a nearby shelter. In the evening smoke would cover the entire homestead. Smoke from cow dung clouding the valleys.
If the moon was bright, Musa would steal himself to Nugara (drum beating) dance where youth court their future spouses.
***
It was a windy day as the nomadic Arab boys sat cooling down under miserable heglig tree (desert date) arguing among themselves over other things in life. Two of the young Arab boys were rather furious and wanted to take their argument further, perhaps for a proof of one’s manhood.
“They are two.” the first one announced.
“No, only one.” the second one affirmed.
“Two”
“One”
“Two”
“One”
Finally another brave teenager appeared with his knife, and stick on his hand. He was like any other nomad kid.
“What is it Hassan?” the boy asked.
“Amin said the Abda (female slave) is having twins in her womb.” replied Hassan.
“You are all wrong,” said the teenager, his long warrior’s knife by his side.
Hassan was enraged by the boy’s disapproval since he was younger than him. He rushed and grabbed the knife from the boy’s hand, removing its case, ran towards the Nilotic woman who squatted down, negotiating the price of dried fish she came to buy with another fish trader. Without knowing what was going on among the boys, she turned to lift herself from the ground, only to be forced down by pain inflicted on her pointed stomach. Clouds covered her eyes, she only cried once; “maa yeeeee, Nhialic yeee, mith die-eee.” Her voice fading in the surging crowd that thronged the market. Helplessly, she fell on bare ground like a wood. From her bisected stomach, out came twins, each fighting to grasp the hot air to survive. The two boys who were arguing about her pointed stomach remained at the scene undisturbed. For they knew it will not cost them anything to take the life of any Nilotic in their land. Few sympathizers carried her lifeless body plus two small things covered in her cotton sheet. Later that evening, the fish trader, in company of other youth fleeing from war among the Baggara nomads in Meiram areas, helped out in burying the woman and her twins only few meters away from the railway lines. No sheikh was able to endanger his life by granting burial ground for mere kufar (infidels) in Bani Bodur country. If one was found out, he and his family were to be ostracized.
Musa, who was accidentally in the market that midday, went home straight, disappearing in the valley alone. Another long, forgotten memory following him. He never revealed to anyone that he was even at the edge of the market. The following morning, Musa only overheard Juma Khidir was narrating the event that took place to Ahmed Abdallah near the family fence. Juma was on a donkey, heading to the central market. Death of a Nilotic was nothing unusual in Bani Bodur country.
***
Along Muglad-Abyei main road, Musa and other kids who share the same fate and destiny were warned to avoid contacts with travelers on foot or on lorries coming or going out from Niloticland.
“Avoid the Jiange (Jieng-Nilotics).”
“Abid eat strangled animals, they are rebels, infidels.” All the common statements were too familiar to the children who were carried away from Nilotic land into Kordofan or Darfur.
Often the travelers on lorries would pity seeing children of pure Nilotic extraction herding for nomadic Arabs along Abyei-Muglad-Meiram dusty-muddy roads. Rarely the lorries would stop unless encountered by other impediments. The violence and threats of the nomadic Arabs were legendary;
“We were fierce people. The British were the ones who reduced us into being coward.” Under shadowy trees, elders delusively boast and keep reminding the new generation of their ancestors’ foregone nomadic strengths.
“We are warriors.”
“We can threaten any government in Khartoum.”
“Khartoum should know that we are the shields against the kufar. We are the wall that block them to reach Omdurman.”
Politically-wise nomads sometimes would endlessly try to convince the rest to know their own rights;
“We have to demand for our own State in the Federation!
Yes, Rijl El Fula was the Headquarters of our province including our far off neighbors.”
By the time the civil war engulfed their territories, few began to be revolutionary in their discussions under trees;
“We shall join the kufar and defeat discriminative Khartoum’s boys-jallaba (first class Sudanese) with mantle of power. After all the Kufar are our neighbors for generations!”
***
It was late April one year; accidentally, Musa and his friends were near Sitep market during the weekend. They were lurking with their sticks and knives that morning at the edge of the market. They kept their animals at bay, drinking at a nearby reservoir. The water reservoir was a mere stretch of caterpillar holes left behind by one of the oil concession companies along Muglad-Abyei Block Q Areas. A ZY Nissan lorry had disembarked in the middle of the market. Its occupants, tired and hungry, somehow worried of imminent banditry attacks. Almost all the passengers rushed to buy some food stuffs, tooth bushes and body cream. Sitep was busy with all sorts of activities, it was a Market day. Many nomadic Arab women carrying butter, chickens, ghee, watermelons and some wild fruits. Each woman expecting to go back to her settlement with coffee beans, oil, romantic perfumes and sugar for the rest of the week until another market day.
Musa and his nomadic friends curiously loitered near a parked lorry. Three of the Nilotic youth, with Jieng tribal markings onboard the lorry remained near the lorry; stretching their legs and arms. When Musa and other Arab kids were taking interest in the lorry, the Jieng youth murmured among themselves; mocking Musa in their language; “mith muony jieng, mith muony jieng.” Musa’s dark skin set him apart from the other boys with him. Realizing that the traveling youth were about to engage them in discussions, the herders strolled away slowly few meters ahead.
“Hey come here!” ordered Kon Akech, one of the boys traveling.
When Musa and his friends turned to the call, they instead sped way. Musa’s mind flashed back to the constant warning his father Ahmed Abdallah always gave him;
“Keep away from strangers especially the kufar and abid traveling around!”
Kon Akech took courage and followed the boys where they stood gazing at the lorry. Musa in turn never wanted any publicity to avoid the rage of the troublesome Baggara flooding the market with their weapons.
When Kon Akech caught up with Musa, he began to address him in Jieng;
“Muony (boy), what is your name?”
All the other four nomads with him laughed when he was greeted by Kon Akech. They stopped, supporting themselves with their herding canes. Their jalabiya (cloak) dirty, exhibiting traces of mud, gum, and dust.
“Muony, e yin nga?” asked Kon.
“Who is muony?” Musa answered back furiously.
“Who are you?” Kon asked in pidgin Arabic.
“My name is not muony.” said Musa.
“But you are Jieng Nilotic!”
“No, I’m not……Who?” Murmured Musa.
“Are you Deng, Garang…who?” Kon Akech continued inquiring.
Musa was silent, looking completely at an opposite direction. Other boys smiling still at the prolonged dialogue.
“Where are you from?”
“Muglad” Musa answered.
“No, I mean……from the south.” Kon pointing.
“South where?”
“Where you born in Muglad?”
“No, yes, but am from Muglad. My father is Ahmed Abdallah. We are Bani Bodur.”
The other Baggara boys laughed and said sternly to Kon Akech;
“He is not muany (mouny)…not Jengai (Jieng).”
Kon Akech looked at the site of the lorry he had left now distance away. A turn-boy hurriedly rolled a repaired tyre below the truck. The turn-boy was also eager to know what was amusing the Baggara boys and Kon Akech. “Come please!” He whispered to Kon Akech. Kon ran faster towards the lorry, violently hooting. The driver, pushing his head through the broken glass window of his ZY Nissan, rebuked Kon Akech and his friends; “you boys, we want to cross Nyimora Bridge before sunset. You don’t know the stubbornness of the army in Abyei?”
“we are…….” Kon Akech told the assistant driver, who was himself of Baggara blood.
Back on the lorry that had already started moving, Kon Akech was badly reproached by one of the Nilotic youth traveling with him. Another one shouted as well;
“Why are you after these lost Jieng children always?”
“No but I have to know them.” Kon Akech protested.
“Don’t you know these Baggara are dangerous? Do you want us get killed?"
“By the way, these children are in servitude, they were abducted from Nilotic land!” said angered Kon Akech.
As Kon was trying to defend his actions, the boys kept waiting and looking from a distant, suddenly a certain knife wielding nomad appeared from the middle of the market, rushing to untie his donkey. Musa was overwhelmed by Kon’s excessive inquiries that caused him embarrassment with other boys. The lorry’s supporting iron pole disappeared among the trees, wheezing and speeding. Musa swiftly turned at the direction of the other boys already ahead of him.
“Wait for me, wait for me.” They all vanished in the semi savannah bush.
“You boys get off your sheep from here.” shouted the man guarding the reservoir two kilometers from Sitep market.
***
While the lorry was burying Sitep with its speed and dusts, serious discussions ensued among the passengers. Elderly Nilotic tribesmen on the lorry began pointing out Kon Akech’s disastrous actions including that of his fellow Jieng youth with him onboard. On the congested lorry, debate went on; one after another the matured advisors warned the youth. One of them, whose anger was hottest shouted with caution; “You boy, do you think you can collect all these Jieng boys moving with Baggara Arabs? Who are you?”
“I have to know where they were abducted from.”
“These boys are spoilt. They are the ones leading the Arabs now to Jieng land.” Another elder accused them yet.
“You see, the Baggara give guns to them and they lead them to go and abduct and loot Jieng cattle, women and children.” Another elder said.
“These children are many, very many with the Baggara. Garang Mabior Atem……will come and take them from the Baggara some day.” One man remarked.
The debate that was taking root was disrupted when a light skin passenger began eavesdropping, struggling to refocus his aerials in the surging wind. The Jieng travelers pinched themselves; looked, and then winked to each other. As if they were about to resume their heated debate, an elderly Jieng widow on the same lorry whispered in their tongue; “boys, have you forgotten death? Muonyjur ken pingwek.” ‘The Arab stranger is stealing your talks.’ she was accusing the man who was determined eavesdropping.
For several hours, they shut their mouths, each listening to the rough engine below. The great silence was broken when the lorry was stopped by some AK-47 wielding nomads. “Go quickly you luti (gay)” shouted the driver, ordering his assistant to pay money to the nomads who blocked the only jungle road linking the two naturally divided country.
“Take this man to Abyei Hospital. Someone cracked his skull last night. This stupid son of a woman!” The man commanding the nomads ordered the truck driver.
“I have to dismiss this wicked boy.” said the driver.
“Why?” asked the other important man in the front seat.
“See how he is! Is this a human being created by God?”
Blood from the head of the wounded man was leaking on other passengers, all along till Abyei Hospital.
***
Musa and his fellow kids who had the same destiny, carried away on horse and donkey backs from Nilotic land, would share certain jokes and imitations of their past life in the south. Elder boys and girls would perfect the jokes as they remembered their tribal folks in Nilotic land. The children communicated perfectly in Baggara tongue, a corrupted Arabic. If a kid was found speaking or trying to persuade others to speak in Jieng or one of the Nilotic tongues, the kid was severely lashed.
“You are Arabs and Believers!” they were constantly told. Musa and the rest of the herding kids would be proud if they were called by their new names; Sobri, Aiman, Osman, Tilal etc. After unplanned circumcision of the girls and boys were done, they were to adopt Arab traditions and culture throughout their nomadic lives.
As the war went on in Cush for a long period, the number of snatched children increased in Baggara country. Quality was stressed lately. Girls, whose breasts were hard and succulent, were impregnated in the bushes by teenage Bani Bodur youth. Once their fathers knew of the shame that awaits them, a Sheikh was hurriedly called to arrange for agid (legal marital contract) to remove the shame of impregnating abid (slave).
The sheikh representing the boy’s father would persuasively say to his Bani Bodur erred son;
“Osman, take Mariam, she is nice daughter of mine.” When a child was born out of that action, it will always be a Baggara Arab child in a Nilotic woman’s womb.
May to October, being the wet season in the region, Ahmed Abdallah and his fellow villagers went to various markets during the weekdays. Men were engaged in cattle sale and following overdue debts or even chasing diya (blood money) among the various clans. Not only the Bani Bodur clan that would be encamped around Muglad town, but the whole Baggara tribal section would be settled as grass and trees grew taller, valleys occupied by wild beasts.
“Men must take care of wealth and protect home….” Ahmed would reiterate to Musa before leaving home.
“Heyi woman, Kaltum, am gone.”
Though women were less important among the Baggara nomads, Ahmed retained certain concern for his wife. She was his niece. Most men rode horses or donkeys among the nomads, denying the privileges for women. Women used the animals mainly to ferry water from long distances.
In those weekday markets, Sheep, butter, goats and fresh vegetables were sold to supplement the wet season economy. Breaking the season’s routine was however the most important thing. Men would be proud in their white turbans and cloaks. The only car in Bani Bodur settlement was that of Zurgan Suleiman, the man who returned from Saudi Arabia after four-year service; herding camels for some Arabian Peninsula’s royal families. Zurgan bought his Land-Rover from Nyala. The old 1977 English-made car was recognizable from a distance by its perennial cough while tackling the valleys in Bani Bodur country. No one disputed its service evacuating the ill, injured and women with difficult child-birth in the villages. At its right side rear, a marked with red color was placed; ‘Bin Laden’, creating glittering mark, recognizable from afar.
***
The routes Musa and rest of the Arabs used to return to the south must vary each year because of the encounters the nomads get from the insurgents defending Nilotic land and Cush territories in general. The animals at times led the nomadic Arabs to lethal ambushes because of the unknown terrains in the south. Between December and May they must roam between the great River Kiir, Nyimora and Muglad Basin. Heavy torrents would sometimes force the animals to flee northwards before human beings decide what must come next.
No single year did Ahmed Abdallah risk leaving his growing up daughters behind around Muglad when the season of southern migration begins. Musa as a trusted abid was yet to complete his trust in the heart of everyone especially Kaltum. For Ahmed, Musa was his heir apparent since Allah did not bless them with a son. Kaltum once fought a loosing battle with Ahmed to let two of their daughters go to Babanusa for education with their uncle at the Sudan Railway Corporation. It was a common tradition for nomads not to allow their children to continue beyond class IV in primary schools. Arithmetic and Arabic were enough for reading and business.
It was a common saying among elders; “When kids go to schools, they will become rascals and stubborn. Many teachers are yalati (pedophiles), they will spoil our boys.”
Cows and guns were life’s partners, not cars and skyscrapers.
When occasion allows for Musa to be at home, Kaltum would never spare him with house chores; fetching water, sweeping, washing and mending fences eaten up by donkeys. Seeing Musa idling under trees would pain Kaltum’s heart.
“He is eating too much for nothing…this abid.”
When Ahmed wasn’t around, she would intensify her assaults on Musa;
“You lazy donkey, you have no work today? Don’t you see that?”
Kaltum wouldn’t allow Musa to loath around the settlement. It was her habit to call Musa immediately when he came home to refill his jerry-can;
“Come and collect food, go after the cattle quickly. You dog!”
When the sun is aggressive, normally cattle cooled themselves in the valleys under big trees. Musa once stole himself in his room for siesta. Before he could adjust himself in his angreb (low wooded bed) he overheard Kaltum confide to Amira, Mustafa Sobhi’s wife;
“This abid-Jangai will rape my daughters soon if I did not deter him.”
“Kaltum abid are having long…….they will spoil our girls.” Amira responding.
“You see he is becoming bigger with my food.”
“But your husband Ahmed love him……he will give woritha-(inheritance) to him.”
“I have to open my eyes, oh-oh-oh-oh.” Kaltum cried. They drank their gahawa (coffee) and parted. Musa slipped quietly through an opening; back to the valley were the cattle were still resting. He wept like a she-goat whose sucking child was eaten up by hyena. The year many male Arab children were named Reagan (Roland Reagan) was a bad one for Musa. It was the year to be known as the year of hunger. That June after the nomads had returned from the Great River Kiir, Musa’s responsibility of taking care of many animals, that Ahmed robbed from Jieng and other Nilotics in the south intensified with vigor. Seven of Ahmed Abdallah’s cows delivered along the way northward. Musa’s physique changes drastically. His heavy tone was recognizable by others. Rains fell as if the sky was hallowed by some blacksmiths.
***
On a sunny morning one day, nothing was so unusual among the Bani Bodur; as though God wanted to hide a disaster from humans, everyone wished happy ending for the blessed day without a clue of the unseen.
When it was about 4pm, some dots of cloud started to form around the eastern skyline; that was the very rain-route in Muglad. Musa and other herders curbed the straying cattle towards homestead. Half an hour later, clouds had begun rambling nearer, almost dialoguing with inferior humans and animals below. Musa guided all the sheep, cattle, and goats inside kraal. He abandoned the donkeys at their usual place behind the shelter. He placed a heavy log across the kraal’s gate. Musa rushed to gather his bed spreading from his weeping house, then made sure everything of value was secured according to Baggara’s way. Kaltum couldn’t allow one of her daughters to help Musa though rain drops were already wetting his back. Rain poured with hailstones allover the place uncontrollably. Thunderbolt threatening as if it was the day of vengeance. At about midday, Ahmed Abdallah and other neighboring men had gone to Nyama market that always made good taste for competition for businesses during the season. The heavy downpour found him and the rest far off from the homestead. When it was about 11pm, the family dog, Zuruf barked wildly. The barking however lasted for a short time. When Zuruf calmed down, Musa went out to verify what was happening. He tumbled in the puddles in front of his house. Water was allover the place. The moon was brighter than any other night. Kaltum and her daughters fighting water from their rooms. They struggled with trays and baskets to control the pools finding outlets under their beds. Ahmed Abdallah soon appeared; his shoes, cloak, turban and walking stick folded in his hands.
“That’s you Abuyui (father)?” asked Musa.
“You are……are OK?”
“There, cross from there!”
Pools still separating them.
“House? Fence, cattle?” Are they all…?”
Trees fell down, half of the fence carried off by wind, scattered. Donkeys began chewing the soften grass.
Hearing her husband’s voice, Kaltum emerged from her hut. Though shivering with cold, she came out in a light sleeping garment. Kaltum had stayed late to wait for Ahmed; the surprise rain was unusual, unknown. Kaltum also delayed to smoke up herself for the romantic night incase Ahmed would arrive home safe. She smelled sweet in taleh (acacia seyal) smoke; covering her shoulders only. She had seized all opportunities to have a baby boy from Ahmed. Ahmed could be stronger in the cold that night.
Kaltum had earlier promised her daughters that their father was safe. They slept immediately after eating hot asida (sorghum bread).
“Bring me chair.” Ahmed said to Kaltum after damping his cloths down. Kaltum grabbed them like a camel picking green leaves.
“The rain appeared simple in the skies.” Ahmed commented to his wife.
“I hope it found you outside Nyama? The river is wild.” Kaltum said. The night lovebirds of Bani Bodur relaxed in the cold, wondering the devastations caused by the downpour.
“Kaltum, the Land-Rover of Zurgan Suleiman overturned at the valley there. God saved us only.” exclaimed Ahmed.
“This rain, bad rain eh?” Kaltum remarked surprisingly.
“Very bad.”
“No one got injured?”
“No”
“The rains poured here badly too.” said Kaltum.
“Yes, the Ulama (Islamic scholars) said, it will rain heavily this year.”
Kaltum went inside and came out with sandals for her eager husband. Musa had left and coiled like a millipede in his wooden bed. Nylon strings pressing his ribs. Kaltum and Ahmed remained outside in the cold, trying to find more between themselves about the devastating rains that left lots of damages allover Bani Bodur tribe. The night looked as if it was not advancing, moon maintained deceptive mood. When Kaltum returned to inspect water heating inside her room so that her husband could have a warm bath, she found him missing from where he was sitting. She looked around and saw him prowling behind the damaged fence. About ten minutes later Ahmed was back shouting;
“Musa, you donkey, where are my bulls? Where? Where?” He rushed towards Musa’s hut, kicking his door mercilessly-hurling sticks ahead.
“Come out you slave.” Ahmed ordered. Sleep had stolen Musa, the night was humid and damp though the moon was bright.
“I am coming Abuyi-father! I am coming.”
Musa’s voice was beginning to mix with some crying.
“Heyi humar (donkey), where are my cattle?”
Musa shrieked his shoulders and answered in a low voice; “I closed them inside father.”
“Musa, where are my three bulls I have brought from the south this year?”
“Before the heavy rains, I have-had…” he murmured.
“Was it before haboub, (strong desert wind)?” Ahmed asked Musa again.
“Yes”
“You must find my bulls this very night!”
Before Ahmed could finish investigating Musa, Kaltum came calling; “What? What Ahmed?”
“He lost my bulls, woman!”
“Who?”
“This Musa abid here!” Ahmed answered his wife’s question.
Musa who was confused by the scorns from Ahmed, rushed like a dumb man to his room. His mind lost between the valley and thunderstorm mixed with hailstones that forced the cattle in the kraal.
“From where shall I begin? Nhialic, Nhialic help me.” he invoked his God for intervention.
Ahmed took his AK-47 and put on his black overcoat; combing up the shrubs around the settlement. He went as far as the valley where Musa had stayed with the animals before the downpours. Footprints washed.
As early as 4am the following morning, Musa was on his feet tracing vanished footprints of his ancestral bulls. He trod the forests alone like a sorcerer. When it was about 10 am, Musa surprisingly met Hassan Adam Nur; Umda (head of a tribe) of Bani Bodur in company of nine teenagers looking for Ahmed’s lost bulls. They met near Mugadama valley; a spot where most runaway cattle, donkeys and dogs where found loitering in the thick valley offering lots of dried fruits. Musa, tired and wasted, looked and waved at the youth accompanying the Umda. The youth, after seeing him, they taunted him; “abid will be slaughtered, abid will lick Baggara knife.”
“You stupid rascals.” shouted Umda Hassan Adam Nur.
“Any findings Musa?” asked Umda.
“No Hajj Hassan.”
Some of the boys started scolding and abusing him.
“Be careful boys, let’s go.” ordered Umda Hassan Adam Nur. The search took the villagers far, tiring them to their toes. Reading from the events, the team reached a unanimous conclusion that the bulls were heading beyond Bani Bodur country.
“These are Kabbabish who stole our cattle.” A young man in the expedition accused the far desert neighboring nomads.
When the next market day arrived, Ahmed Abdallah had sent messages to all the surrounding villages. He even put handsome prize reward for any information leading to recovery of the bulls valued at 1.5 million Dinars. Many self appointed agents offered their services.
“I will find them Insha Allah (God willing).” each promised;
“I will reward you in full.” Ahmed told each broker.
***
Kaltum was the most affected person by the lost of her husband’s bulls. Whenever she saw Musa in her compound, she would rush to say; “now be happy! That was what you were looking for.” If other women came to sympathize with the lost of the animals, she would hurriedly commend; “did I not tell you before? This abid! I know him well! He will do worse things soon, just wait.”
Ahmed Abdallah sold another one-eyed bull from his kraal to visit famous faki Haroun in Umm Batikh. “You will be successful!” assured Kaltum. Ahmed arrived at Umm Batikh around 2pm during one of the market days. After short inquiries about his relations, he was taken to feki Haroun’s home. His compound was large, enclosed with thick sorghum stock. Feki did his divination in one of his grass thatched rectangular houses. On a Pakistani mat, Feki Haroun placed a copy of the Koran in front of him, some pounded herbs, censer and his long religious beds swinging in his right hand throughout the process.
“Son of Bani Bodur, you are here for a worthy cause.” said the diviner. There was long silence, only broken by braying donkey at the back of the house.
“Yes son, what is it?” asked Feki Haroun.
“My troubles have increase sir. My, my……”
“I know that. I know that son! Solution is here for you. You have sought refuge in a right place. Allah will not let you down.”
“Insha Allah, Insha Allah (God willing, God willing)” confirmed Ahmed.
“What happened son, Bani Bodur warrior?”
“In the last rains, I lost three, three bulls of mine sir.”
“The heavy rains of last Wednesday.”
“Yes sir. Exactly Feki.”
Faki Haroun wasted no time with his far traveled client. He introduced the event with verses from the Holy Koran. He recited verses that referred to enemies, adversaries and of humanity created by the Almighty.
In front of feki Haroun, thick incense kept on burning, encircling the whole room; sending heavy smoke upward, penetrating their nostrils. “Come closer Ahmed.” Feki insisted, incensing Ahmed’s body; he asked him several questions not relating to his lost cattle he was dying to look for. Ahmed waited for his verdict with patience. When feki Haroun turned to him, he said few things. “Son of Bani Bodur, I have no solution to your case. Your cattle came from the south……taken from…. But…but….”
Ahmed shook his head in dismay when he heard what feki Haroun said, repeating it. He was silent, his eyes in the direction of feki Haroun; hopping for impossibilities from the man who had raised broken hearts.
“The spirits of the owners are in the bulls. That is why the bulls refused to stay with you. If they stay, someone dear to you may die in your homestead. You see these people?”
“But I came here! What can I do?” Ahmed asked feki.
“Yes I know that. Well, you can use these, that, and that one there.” Feki Haroum was pointing to small pieces of nylon bags placed next to praying mat. Inside the bags were powdered-roots.
“Use them for three days consecutively. Morning and evening. Pour that black one first in a basin before you bath. Burn the white one after bath; incense your whole body with that one.”
Ahmed Abdalla was almost confused by the bags, they filled his hands. Their smell differs extensively.
“Will you come to us?” Ahmed asked feki Haroun.
“No, I have a lot to do. If you recover them….your cows, send me information.”
“I will, by Allah’s will. I have to hurry for the cars…”
“Tea, coffee, meal!” faki announced.
“No I have to hurry.”
“Ok, Ok, you are welcome.”
After performing all what he had, feki Haroun performed prayers; offering some petitions. Ahmed waited for few minutes, sipping sweet Baggara coffee that had arrived as he was about to leave feki’s room. The two men talked about the incursions of the rebels at the southern front.
“We the Arabs are going to defeat these infidels.” said Ahmed.
“I heard they are also starting rebellion in Darfur!” commented feki Haroun. Their glasses half empty.
“These zurga (blacks) I really don’t know what they are looking for?”
“Even if they are given the whole Khartoum, can they lead this country?”
“How can slaves lead the believers in this country feki?”
Ahmed refused to wait for a meal that was about to be brought. He quickly excused himself; “our car is leaving. Zurgan Suleiman is not waiting for people after market. You know his car is the only one in Bani Bodur feriq (settlement).”
Ahmed took some cold water, wrapped his turban, stretched his wrinkled jalabiya (cloak) and headed toward the market. Few meters away from the edge of the market, camels’ cries mixed with the coughing sound of Zurgan’s old Land Rover.
“Quickly, quickly, the sun is dead.” shouted the assistant driver. Zurgan’s overloaded Land Rover pulled itself slowly, reaching Bani Dodur village around 8:45pm. It was dark and scary when Ahmed reached his home. Kaltum and her daughters were still awake, talking and laughing.
***
Exactly nine days after mysterious disappearance of Ahmed’s high-priced bulls, that very afternoon, dark clouds started to form again at the sky as if the devastating rains wanted to repeat its outfits on Bani Bodur valleys. Beasts multiplied and soil, soaked to satisfaction; enough to sustain watermelon for the whole season. At slightly past 8pm, Zuruf barked fiercely behind the family compound. Everyone was awake; Ikhlas, Sumeiya, Nafisa even Neseem, the last born was mumbling among her sisters. The bulls’ story was being forgotten by the girls and their mother. The family recreated calmly at the yard, fanning mosquitoes from their bodies. Dung kept on burning at the kraal. Sumeiya led the girls in songs and Baggara poetry. She was even becoming popular among nomadic Arab kids. Zuruf continued barking as the dangers approached the family compound. Ahmed who had kept low profile jumped up and exclaimed; “O yes, they should be the ones coming.”
“Who?” Kaltum inquired.
“I have guests coming tonight! My Neseem bring your Baba torch.” He touched her hair softly. Neseem ran and pushed her hands under her dad’s pillow. She staggered out with torch dangling on her hands.
“Baba, baba….”
Ahmed went to join Zuruf at the frontline to preempt the cause of its barking. Zuruf became fiercer with the approaching strangers. As if confirming his master’s presence, Zuruf barked wildly. “I’m doing my work master! See how serious am I?”
Ahmed stepped out of the fence and flashed his torch to the direction where danger was about to come from. The torch’s light blindfolded the heading camel, whose owner shouted from a distance of 200m. The other men riding behind also struggled to restrain their camels; “heyi, heyi, heyi.” Within minutes, all the four camels squatted without grievances. A donkey was attached to the first camel.
“Welcome, welcome brothers.” Ahmed Abdallah told his disembarking guests.
“Your dog is fierce Ahmed!” remarked Hamza Ateyeib, the man leading the guests. He acted formally with Ahmed.
“Yes the dog is good………..Zuruf. I brought it from Darfur two years ago!”
“Zuruf?” Hamza asked. The rest laughed passionately at the name of Ahmed’s dog.
Ahmed followed his wife in the kitchen to arrange for something for the guests.
“Would they…spend the night with us?” Kaltum went on inquiring.
“I don’t yet. Still they did not…may be…”
Ahmed ordered Nafisa, his eldest daughter to arrange some angreb (low string knitted wooden bed) at the men’s site of the compound. When Ahmed came to his senses, he realized he was mistaken to inform Nafisa to prepare for the guests.
“Call Musa to prepare dewan (living room) for the guests.”
Among the Bani Bodur, women were forbidden from men’s spying, libidinous eyes including male relations. Ahmed had brought a jar of cold water and given the guests. He then turned to his wife and said in strong voice;
“Kaltum prepare asida, (solid sorghum bread) quickly.”
“No, no, we have to go because tomorrow we have things to settle ahead.” announced Hamza Ateyeib.
“Market day tomorrow!” Anuar Girish, one of the guests reminded Ahmed.
“O yes!”
“No way, you have to sleep and take off after the First Azan, (first morning call by Islamic muezzin for prayers).” stressed Ahmed to his night guests.
“Only gahawa, (coffee), we just ate our lunch an hour ago.” said Hamza.
“Only gahawa.” Confirmed the rest.
“But this is very bad. Kaltum, Kaltum, gahawa then.” Ahemd went on telling his wife.
Musa and his sisters retired in their respective rooms. Though the guests might have come with some information about the missing bulls, Musa kept an alert ear on the guests’ conversations with Ahmed. His room was only meters away from where the men sat, discussing things and affairs of Bani Bodur.
When Ahmed returned where the men and he were seated, he cleared his throat and went straight to the crux of the matter. They moved their chairs and formed a small circle to keep the discussion private and low as possible.
“Night covers mountains.” said Hamza.
“Yes!” All responded.
In his room near the family kraal, Musa had already eaten his daily meal; asida (sorghum bread) and ghee. He was tired that nigh, sleep was about to unleash its tentacles on him. He never wanted blames or statements leaning towards his condemnation of being careless during the fateful rains. All he wished to hear from the visitors was, Good News about the bulls that went missing for nine days already. “Could they be bringing some serious information?” He thought to himself. For Musa, the night visitors might have traveled from Meiram, south-west of Bani Bodur country or even Muglad town. Musa’s heart raced to other conclusions. It appeared as if the men were carrying some diya, (blood money) to Ahmed. In his own right, Ahmed was a prominent Bani Bodur umda, (head of a tribe). Revenge deaths were common when Baggara come back from the south and harvests were good. Hamza talked first of some serious tribal disputes of grazing pastures in Meiram, his own town.
“Brothers you are highly welcomed!” introduced Ahmed. All the four men roared;
"Thanks"
“As we talked two days ago in Sitep, now we can…….” continued Ahmed.
“I think we shall not differ.” said one of the guests.
“Ahmed, our offer…..I hope it will not disappoint.”
“You know the deal people. I need not to….” said Ahmed, folding his hands. One of the men even stressed; “let’s hear exact offer from the one that owned the right……..”
Musa stood on his feet to adjust his ears and rectify his decibel efficiency. He couldn’t plant his audiometer beyond the confines of his grass thatched hut only meters away from where the guests and their host sat. Discussions went on for some hours among the guests and Ahmed. Finally, as the night was advancing, cold began to pierce their skins, Hamza returned to the camel’s traveling bag and brought a wrapped object along. He then talked of some monetary figures before he gave the heavy bag to Ahmed. Hamza and Ahmed moved further away from the other men. Ahmed flashed his bright torch while picking the leather bag from Hamza. They sat on bare ground between Musa’s hut and the kraal.
“You can count!” Hamza persuaded Ahmed. Ahmed hesitated but only answered;
“No, is it the agreed prize?”
“Exactly!”
“No it is fine.”
“Just to count.”
“No”
Ahmed went to Kaltum with the precious bag, already wrapped in a thick Nigerian-made plastic bag, ‘Abakar Ara’a.’ The harsh plastic noise grabbed Kaltum’s attention. Ahmed couldn’t hide his happiness from his wife.
“I got my compensation. My bulls!” he shattered the dead night, punching his right hand in the air; “Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar, (God is great! God is great!). Much to the surprise of his wife, she woke up and curiously inquired;
“The bulls are found Ahmed?”
“I will tell you more in bed……..later.”
Shortly after, Ahmed arrived with huge, smoked-painted kittle of tea to his guests.
“Oh, it is getting colder.”
“Yes”
Ahmed's daughters were long asleep.
Ahmed couldn’t discuss certain details with Kaltum on the deal taking place. “Women are half men.” his heart told him when he almost told the reason of his happiness to his wife. He went back to his visitors. “No problems brothers.” He announced on arrival. They were tying their turbans, knives and sticks.
“But if you could sleep……” Ahmed commented.
“It is OK. If it were not……” replied Hamza, now almost waking his camel. Ahmed rushed to wake Musa up with colorful smiles on his face.
“Musa, Musa, come out. Musa please!” He repeatedly shouted.
The visitors kept on whispering to themselves; “Is he the one? Is he the one really?”
Musa who was always ready on duty, began to sense that he was on something, a mission perhaps? Ahmed, his father had called him in the past at odd hours, but his call that night was unusual.
“Musa, Musa…..Musa.” Ahmed went on. He never called him with derogative names in front of the visitors. Jengai, abid, donkey, Anyanya; were his common abusive names.
“Musa, Musa.”
“Yes Aba (my father)”
Ahmed rushed to meet Musa in his room, infuriated and frowning; “please pick your knife, cane, jalabiya and go outside there!”
When Musa arrived where the guests were, he greeted the men cordially and sat down. His eyes still cloudy.
“Musa, these are my brothers, we, Bani Bodur and Bani Suleiman are one people. You will be going with Hamza to Meiram! Take your things quickly.”
Musa never asked his father Ahmed when he was going to be back in the family; nor did he ask the nature of his abrupt journey. And what disturbed him most was; where was he going with the strangers at that hour of the night?
“Musa you will be going with Hamza.” repeated Ahmed. Hamza stood on his feet, adjusting his white turban;
“It is going to be fine Musa, am your father, you will have wonderful moments in Meiram! Your brothers and sisters are there, plenty of milk!” Hamza assured Musa.
Musa’s mind was quickly made to rewind four years back; one season on their way from the south to the north, he had the opportunity of accompanying Ahmed to Meiram town for cattle auction. It was on a Saturday, a market day there.
“Ahmed, I think it is ripe we have to go.” said Hamza.
“Good night, good night.” The other guests wished Ahmed.
Musa returned to his hut and gathered the guts of his teenage strengths. He emerged out as a true Bani Bodur Arab nomad, who has traversed the valleys and terrains of Kordofan and Darfur. Musa picked his old tyre-made shoes, dagger and stick. If it weren't of his skin and constantly being called abid, he could have been hard to disapprove his Baggara heritage and affiliation.
When the camels rose up to start their journey, Zuruf barked for the send-off. The donkey that accompanied the camels had grazed enough at the backyard, had the occasion of braying freely.
“Allah ma’akum, (God is with you)” Ahmed sent his guests with reference.
***
Thick clouds gathered above the men as they began their journey. Musa coiled himself and followed them like a lamb. Now one of them was his new father. Zuruf barked after the camels in the dark. It followed Musa and the men until the valley where they used to be with the cattle. It was the very valley Musa was parting that night.
“Go back, go back.” Musa shouted pitifully to Zuruf, some droplets of tears mingling with murmurs. The two have been herding together. It was now fate separating them.
"Go back, go back." Musa went on warning Zuruf. At one time, he pointed angrily at it with his cane. Zuruf remained defiant.
Occasionally camels could push their grazing heads towards some soft growing leaves from the shrubs. After about four valleys, Hamza told Musa to climb at the back of the donkey attached to the camel in front. The donkey continued braying in protest earlier while being pulled violently by the stubborn camel mounted by Hamza. Musa's pain was partially relieved. The way Musa moved in the dark demonstrated his physical worth, why he was on his way to Meiram with the unknown visitors.
The travelers never used Muglad-Meiram main road, nor did they follow railway lines. The men followed their forest route they knew best rather than meet some activists and suspicious passengers on lorries or even some Canadian or Chinese oil exploration teams commonly cruising the Bani Bodur and Abyei territories.
Musa followed his new masters with undivided heart. “Let them be kind to me than Kaltum and Ahmed.” He prayed. He rode on the donkey professionally. The two fostered relationship within few minutes. The donkey got rid of the earlier tension. Hamza narrowed the distance between his camel and Musa’s donkey. Musa never comprehended the unfolding saga peeling itself as they went, determined to reach unknown destination as a true Bani Bodur acolyte warrior.
“Musa, you shall be happy in Meiram. Your bothers and sisters are there…many.” Hamza remarked in the dark. The night had advanced.
Whether Hamza was meaning fellow abid from the south or Arab Baggara brothers and sisters in his family, Musa did not bother. It wasn't important for him to know about every abid scattered far and wide among Baggara families. Every woman in a family was a mother, so was every head of a household, a father.
***
At about 1am, the caravan reached at the banks of Nyimora River from western wing of Abyei town. “We can sleep here,” announced Hamza to his companions. "Yes, yes." They confirmed. They all agreed after getting closer to an abandoned dry season market. The station was once a battle scene between the Arab militias and Cush insurgents. They expelled out fear because the rebels were far deep along Kiir River, guarding great passage to Jieng land.
The shelters were swollen up with grass. Some mating goats and donkeys ran among the wooden poles left behind by the Arab nomads. Smell of burning dung filed the air. Echoes of barking dogs and mooing cows entangled in the valley below. The men quickly tied down the animals, downloading their sleeping mats, mosquito nets and they disappeared at various abandoned shelters. Musa took cover under certain old table, half eaten by insects. Opening his skin bag for match, he lit big fire, wadding off invading insects from his body. His dose of dung smell over-scented his shelter. Smooth abandoned stone served him as his pillow for the remaining hours. While the others snored, Musa’s hands were twisted by mosquitoes from Nyimora, rumored by other towns' travelers as capable of lifting nets spread over human beings. Their feeding tubes however found ways through his soft skin. Though it was cloudy and very dark, the sky gods spared them, probably Musa’s ancestors’ intervening from Malual Ajith.
It was at the banks of Nyimora that Musa knew his fate was on a deal between Hamza and Ahmed Abdallah. Perhaps the meandering Nyimora wanted to recount his odyssey back to his Nilotic homeland. "Were Ahmed's lost bulls being compensated through his blood?" He wondered in his dreams. Mosquitoes roaming below his ears, some butting his stomach. "Nhialic help me to be alive with these people." He pleaded to his God and his ancestors. What kept on disturbing him was; how he was going to be inserted into Hamza's family and his Bani Suleiman’s tribesmen once in Meiram. "Escape?" he questioned himself. His memories reassured him of 'happy life ahead' as promised by Hamza.
It was at that point that, Musa first understood completely why most Nilotic boys and girls runaway from heir masters to freedom. The sad story of Macham Kachuol never escaped from his mind during his sleep. One day Macham attempted to escape after leaving all the cattle of his Bani Bodur father in the forest. He was trekked down by members of the (PDF) Popular Defense Force incorporated into Bani Bodur tribe. When he was recaptured two days later near Muglad, he was taken back to Mugadama and publicly castrated. Musa was to be told all the time, Macham's ordeal. Years later, Macham fulfilled his ambition when he was abandoned, tied to dig family well. When his father went to retrieve him from Abyei town one day, local authority noticed him through Macham’s identification fingers; “He is the very one. He is the one!” The man vanished northward towards Nyama.
***
When it was the usual time for the second aza'an (muezzin) to call for prayers, Hamza woke up slowly and went for nature’s call, carrying pitcher for cleaning the remains of his bladders and bowels. He performed his morning prayers and woke the others. “The sun is up, get up.” His companions quickly assembled their goods on their animals and took off towards Meiram. It was almost midday when the caravan arrived at Kherega village. Everybody knew Hamza in the small station. They entered a house whose owner resembled Hamza, but the man was shorter than him. They ate fresh millet asida and took heavy black gahawa. Hamza emptied two pots with heavy Kenana white sugar.
Throughout the remaining final lap of their journey to Meiram, the men spoke of the progress of their wealth, the Strategic Battalion escorting trains to the south and the defeat of the army at Tulushi Enclave, where it was rumored that Osama Bin Laden was infuriated and disappointed by those who lied to him about the north-south war. Hamza constantly referred to the poor harvests his large farms suffered in Makwa. “This year, I must bring lots of Jiange (Jieng) to work hard and compensate me.” He went on observing.
“Just provide them with dried sardine from Kosti, flour, powdered okra and…oil…enough you know!” One of the talkative companions on the camel remarked with experience he lived.
“This year okra is cheap, the jiange like such smelly things, they eat fatish (un-slaughtered, strangled animals.)” said Hamza.
There were few onlookers when the caravan entered Meiram town. Some children threw stones after the camels. Hamza’s mother, his four wives, his younger brothers were present. It seemed everyone knew about his mission. The same mood of Hamza’s return with Musa was festive. “Your abid is young eh?” his mother teased him. One of Hamza’s wives called Musa politely; “Garang-Deny (Deng), please sit down.” One of his sons who was not present when Musa arrived went to his father running; "Abui (father) there is Jiangai in our compound!" Hamza quickly assured his son; "No, no he is not Jiangai, he is your brother Musa Hamza."
"Musa Hamza?" the boy asked his father. Hamza just shook his head. Later Musa was told to go and sweep goats’ pen for his new accommodation. All the children looked at him with suspicion for many days. Some of them never mixed with Nilotic abid before.
***
Musa acquainted himself with clan names of Bani Suleiman. Knowing Musa couldn’t do much before rainfall between January and May, Hamza arranged for a horse from Darfur with well equipped doubled barrel tanker for water sale in Meiram town. He was briefly coached by Omer, one of Hamza’s uncles, he was a military deserter. Musa picked his training within minutes. “He is very intelligent abid.” Omer reported back to Hamza. Hamza introduced Musa to the owners of water wells and reservoirs in the town. “The whole house, you and the horse itself must eat from the back of this animal.” Hamza told Musa with concern. Musa's work would begin at 5am, ending at 6pm daily except Fridays when Musa was to assist Hamza’s four wives. At the end of the day, Musa and his horse would be dead tired. His Darfur horse ending with compensation of 7kg of dried sorghum, 36 liters of water in a dusty tray. Musa on the other hand would receive his yoghurt, solid bread and some days, leftover-bones and wheat bread. He pleased his new father Hamza by bringing lots of money home.
Many Baggara women would humiliate Musa as he made good money from his business. "Jengai water, jengai water, jengai water."
Musa’s pain was to be bored in private, among Bani Suleiman; it was an open manifestation, forced by encroaching circumstances.
While his business was progressing, Musa received new Jalabiya-cloak, plastic shoes and angreb (low bed). He became the first good son of Hamza. Hamza’s fourth wife Zeinab had two sons, Majid and Khalid. She claimed Musa as her first son. Amal, her daughter was suckling.
***
On one of its outings into the south to fight one of Africa’s standing civil wars, the PDF, fully transformed into Baggara militia force, encountered one of the most humiliating defeats into the hands of insurrectionists along Meiram- Aweil-Wau railway lines. Rain had begun falling; in the convoy, the Arab nomads had submitted their allegiance for Jihad (Islamic Holy war) accompanying Strategic Battalion as a reinforcing Brigade.
Musa, like every Bani Suleiman nomad was excited to watch the ‘send off’ of his clan's Brigade to the south. Many Bani Suleiman's youths were prevented by Baggara elders not to join the convoy. They wanted to go and teach the ‘infidels, enemies of Arab race, Zionists’ collaborators in the corridors of sub-Sahara Africa’ unforgettable lessons through the barrels of AK-47. That morning at about 10am, Musa stopped his horse-tanker to praise the holy warriors. Shots and ululations cracked the skies.
“May Allah bring you back with wealth.”
"Amen"
"May the infidels surrender in thousands"
"Amen"
"May their wives become widows."
"Amen"
"And their children orphans."
"Amen"
"May Allah defeat his enemies forever!"
"Ameeen"
It was everyone’s wish that the mighty army come back victories from the south. Musa harbored heavily the idea of becoming a militia or a soldier, to wield freely his own AK-47 like other Arab nomads. In his whole life, he has fired only once near Abyei one season when he was on his way to Muglad from River Kiir. Seeing whole Baggara Unit on horsebacks was fascinating thing for him. The three locomotives pulled their over-extended carriages out of Meiram town around noon.
The night before, the soldiers spent heavily on bootlegging and flesh buying.
“We must drink and fuck, what is there in this world?” they constantly shouted loudly to themselves in the intended spending spree. The last pay-sheet authorizations were left behind to wives, concubines and 'cool shadows' (sugar-mammies) in Babanusa and Muglad.
For the whole of the week, whatever took place beyond Malual was unknown except the occasional heavy sound of artillery penetrating the skies back at Meiram. With long wait, gradually news leaked out that, 'Just before Maker Station, the train convoy was ambushed in the terrains. Armed nomads and their horses, weaponry, money bags, food stuffs and spare parts were captured. Some destroyed. Others ran in disarray. Khalid Osman Kheir, the colonel commanding the convoy narrowly escaped with remaining force to Aweil town.' The resistance forces of the south outmaneuvered the combined government-Baggara forces with their military might. It was blood, death and soil. The BBC and Jazzera announced that it was the first victory of Cdr. Kuach Athian Awan in his new assignment as overall Commander of the Third Front.
Twelve days later, few defeated Baggara forced their worn-out feet into Meiram, traumatized to break the news; they gathered some strength only to preach hatred against the Nilotics, abid who were allover their villages. The remnants of the war, knowing they cannot regroup and go back to the south to wage another unjust war, borrowed some horses and went allover Bani Suleiman camps and settlements; convincing them to ‘revenge on the infidels and abid,’ no matter their individual status among the Bani Suleiman families. "Injuries must be caused…." They went on preaching extending the call as far as Darfur.
Hamza who remained closed to the affairs of his tribesmen, rushed home one afternoon with worried, long face. He met one of his wives by the gate to deliver his message.
“Where is Musa?” he demanded.
“He came around midday only.” The woman answered.
“He must be found now….the children?”
“Is everything OK Hamza?” the woman asked.
“Yes!”
Innocently Musa remained unperturbed, trading his water, cruising one area to another. “Water, water, water.” He always shouted from his horseback; with his deep Baggara ascent. After inquiring from other children in the neighborhood, Hamza traced Musa to one restaurant where he had gone to empty his tanker. As soon as Hamza’s face met with Musa's, he said; “Musa go home, do not return to the pump.” Hamza proceeded to the edge of the market where the whole Bani Suleiman elders were gathering. Reaching his gate Hamza asked Saida, one of his wives giraffing across the fence at a distant noise; “where is Musa?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has he….. not?”
“I don’t know if he is around.” answered Saida.
“Have you not seen some men carrying weapons?”
“How can I see people outside the compound Hamza?”
“No, I mean people passing around. Things are not easy woman at Bahr el Arab (River Kiir) and the railway lines.”
“What happened?” asked the inquisitive wife.
“I have to go; they are at the vicinity, Musa….”
Musa who had pre-empted what was to befall on all the southerners residing among the Bani Suleiman, abandoned his tanker and horse by the gate of his father Hamza. He never took his belongings, nor did he inform any of his four mothers at home.
“I have to flee towards Muglad or Babanusa.” He said to himself and fled towards Bu'uta Station. At daytime he would rest under certain shadowy trees, praying not to be discovered by herders. He would keep watch at passing cattle and their armed Baggara owners. After several days, Musa reached a town with many fuming locomotives. He stowed on one smelly carriage. The train was taking off eastward. He hid under groundnut sacks.
As one of the policemen was patrolling, he saw Musa who coiled himself at the angle of the carriage; “Hey boy where are you going?”
“To Fulla.” Musa answered.
“Bring LS 20,000.”
“I don’t have!” Musa said shyly.
“I will throw you off the train! I know you are escaping from your master, isn't?” said the infuriated policeman.
“No, no, my father is in Muglad,” He lied to the policeman to forge his way out.
“I will take you to Fulla Police Station!” announced the policeman. He was a Baggara himself.
He had planed to carry out his threats if the train slowed down at the nearest station. It was only matter of minutes. Musa kept silent at the corner of the carriage. He withdrew thinking what to do next as fate kept on mutating faster in front of him. Three days ago, he had escaped from Meiram; from the jaws of Bani Suleiman Baggara, feeding on himet (wild desert lemon fruits) along the railway lines.
As the train was jerking by its chest approaching Baboya station, Musa threw himself off the carriage.
"Catch him, catch him." The policeman shouted as Musa vanished in the forest.
For some hours, Musa remained hiding in nearby bushes, densely overgrown with hardwood trees. He knew the policemen in the train could not come after him. They were notorious keepers of the law, every week; they would chess from the carriages many runaway children traveling out of Darfur. At many occasions, while the policemen were violently pursuing those children from the train, often the wheels would pound them like raw pepper.
It was hard for Musa to pursue another train eastward from the next station for fear of meeting the same fate. He began trekking along the railway lines; drinking rainwater in the puddles. He ate some watermelons and continued feeding on wild lemon, still going eastward towards Fulla. Few kilometers into the town, he saw heavy smoke of one of the locomotive tankers pulling itself lazily out of the town. He jumped across to the left, then to right, disappearing in the tall grass in the valley below Fulla Town. Realizing Fulla was a Baggara headquarter, he turned northward to Dar Hamar, the homeland of Muneim Monsur, the Great Hamar paramount Chief, whose homeland was a free territory for the Nilotics. Before he crossed the deadly Fulla valley, he swore to his God; "At least I better be second class citizen if I can reach Dar Hamar."
***
Publisher: Gurtong Trust
(January 16, 2008)
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Copy Right: John Oryem
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