BIND YOUR HANDS

The atmosphere was quite chilly and the cold temperature arousing the day with its intense cold. It is one of those rare days when rainfall pour abnormally in Juba and then you experience the unexpected flood. Wani is sitedt on the dinning table reading “HUNDREED YEARS OF SOLITUDE” by Gabriel Garcia, when he heard some footsteps of someone slopping down the stairs. It was his grandson; he came in with the social studies textbook in his hand. He was doing his assignment – it’s his first term in the South Sudan education system and he knew that he has too much work to do in order to top his class like he has always doing it back in Nairobi, Kenya; a place where he was born and raise: a neighboring country where his parents ran for their lives as toddlers just to seek refuge under the ruge Bashir’s regime.

“Grandpa, can I come and sit with you for a while, please?” He begged. Deng is known to be one of those few privileged kids that went to schools where manners and assignments are monitored and mark thoroughly, hand in hand.

“Yes my child. You can come, please.” Mr. Wani, on the other hand, too, was the same. He is rare breed that SPLA has ever produced. He knows what military is to the heart and, he [Mr. Wani], knows how best to handle people of different professions, ethnicity and age set respectively.

“How can I help you, child?” He asked him while closing his book so that he give full attention to his grandson.

“Are you fine, son?” He always called him son through. He loves Deng very much and Deng love him too. Each time, after dinner, Deng would come and sit next to him and read from any history book that he would find from his mini library.

“Yes I am, grandpa. Just that I wanted to you to tell me more about this man whose his picture is hanging on every wall.” He pointed at Dr. John Garang’s picture hanging on the wall.

Mr. Wani kept quiet for a while and then he called him to come and sits next to him. Deng was right looking at his movements.

“My son.” He called Deng after he made him sit on a couch with him.

“Yes, grandpa.”

“You may not know how cruel this world is to some people.”

Deng was still listening. This time, he sat well in a position where he didn’t want to get any sort of obstructions because he has finally got what he has been yearning for a very long time. Unlike those days when his teacher used to call him a half Sudanese because he didn’t know his roots – because he know more about Kenya than South Sudan. He will be able to tell the story of Dr. John Garang with joy and happiness just like how he has been narrating the stories of Lwanda Magere, Gor Mahiya of Luo, Orkiyot Kimnyole of Nandi, and Olaibon of Masaai.

“Why are you saying that, grandpa? You know, our teacher told us when I was in Nairobi that we should never be pessimists in any way – in everything that we do.” He said.

“That’s the truth, son. But first, let me just tell you this based on my own experience about his exemplary leadership.”

Deng was focusing on how his grandfather was behaving while narrating this story. His tone has changed.

“I will be glad to know, grandpa.”

Mr. Wani picked his glasses and then dusted them clean, wore them back again before he starts talking.

“My son.” He called on Deng.

“Yes, grandpa.” He replied.

“There are so many ways to break a heart: not just when you lose a family member, not when you’re fired at your work place, neither is it when your final results comes out and finds out that you have not made it.” And then he paused to wet his drying throat with a glass of water that was on the table . “Are you listening to me?” he asked Deng.

“Yes, grandpa.”

“I was a head of a military camp in Nairus when the incident happened”. He went on explaining it into details how heart-broken he had become when they receive the news that there was a plane crash.

He remembers quite vividly how the news knocked them off. It was like three weeks after they had receive the CPA’s news that was signed in Naivasha; that, the Southerners would be grants the chance to choose between an autonomous governance or to continue being marginalize by the watery and cheap campaign of notorious Bashir’s strategies whom his sole aim has always been to make Southerners forever remains in abyss of darkness.

The speech that Dr. John Garang gave before the International Community and how he was determined to give Southerners the real meaning of liberty that they have been craving for ages rejuvenate the future. Everyone knew that everything was going to be alright for the last time.

He, too, remember quite well how he was crying that day just like an infant because his heart was torn to pieces. During his tour to Khartoum, some local Southerners baptized him the prince of peace. A poet by the name of John Ngong who used to work with Sudan Mirror later composed a poem, christening him too as the “Black Christ of Africa”.

“We loved him. When he died, we knew things would never be the same again.” He told his grandson who is now more silent like a tomb. He had placed his head on his grandfather’s old-chest while listening attentively. This has touched him even more.

“Do you and your soldiers know who killed him?” asks innocent grandson.

“Son, you don’t know enough about all this. When you grow up one day, you will understand all of it. Now, all I can tell you is to focus on your studies. Who knows? Maybe one day, you will be the next and better Dr. John Garang that this country has been wailing to have.”

That morning, when the six o’clock BBC news buletting came up, he laid flat on his belly and cried miserably because the future has spilled its cream into the Nile.

“Not everyone is capable of doing everything. Others are family specialist because their main job is to protect the family from any kind of external attack. Others are good in uniting the family and that’s why they will always be the ones to unite the broken ties between families or presiding over the family despute or community issues. Dr. John Garang was all this man. He had a big heart that loves his country. He put his country first before anything else.” He went on and on while Deng enjoys his talk. He was stung to know that the Arabs did all that to his people during Sadick Almadi, Nimeri and Omar Hassan Al Bashir’s brutal regime.

“When all this started, we were many. I was a student and when I joined the moment. We experienced all sort of rebellions and betrayals from our brothers who were within us. Dr. John Garang told us to stay together and make sure we don’t intimidates those who left us and join the other side because to fight with no salaries was a choice and leaving the moment to go and take care of one’s own family issues was a choice as well.” He said it as he stands up to show him the map of South Sudan that was hanging on the wall and then told him, “one day, the better days of SPLM/A will come, I might not be there to rejoice. I’m at my sunset ages. I might not rejoice as much as you would do. Bind your hands together. Stay focus like we did. Learn through this turmoil so that you don’t die in your children’s house like us. Those days of SPLA will come and you shall triumph.” He said as he walk to the other side of the room to go and pick the book that was on the table to read. Deng stood up, and went for the stairs, satisfied. The days of SPLA. The days of SPLA. His grandfather’s words keeps ringing on his mind.

If you’re in Juba, then stay tune for our Kahlimat Poetry Club- South Sudan. The date will and the venue will be communicated to you through all our social media platforms.