THE TALES OF OUR CITY

I come from a country a “twinny”. Not Sudan where my great grandparents where suffering in the hands of Arab community that later force us to an autonomous state. I am talking about the Republic of South Sudan and the Democratic Republic of South Sudan. Just not to confuse you the readers and my keyboards not to underline my madness. I will explain the first country in few words, the Republic of South Sudan. This Republic of South Sudan, it is a country where it’s capital city is CNN, BBC, Al Jazeera, Voice of America, Daily Nation, Radio Tamzuj, Hot In Juba and the citizens in the neighboring countries.

In this country, rape is legal; corruption is as normal as religion; killing is awarded medals and, tribalism; tribalism is something that’s taken as part of life and people who don’t do it are strip naked, abused and jail for five years maximum. It has politicians who don’t work but have excellent appetite. They boycott parliamentary sittings but demands grants from international community: but in the end, they still don’t respect UN and TRIOKA. They kiss the *sses of the China and USA but don’t give a hoot about sanctions. The government is busy killing the future of the media. There are random arrest of civilians: in churches, in schools and even in their house when they’re mating for the sake of procreation.

In the media, the negative news sales more than anything else and this is the little that you may need to know about this country – especially if you’re the type of a guy who feed on the media alone. This is where you will end up. But, in almost every situation, there is always a positive and the negative part of the story. So where is the better part of the story that the media has left out, the tales of Juba City?

In the tale of Juba city, the capital of the Democratic Republic of South Sudan, the city when you’re in Nesitu, you would have the glimpse to witness and concludes your research projects on the tale and its God know how progress. So what do you have in the tale of your city? According to my few observations and the stories I have come across, it’s describe as a city where tycoons have sheer ignorance and the meek are arrogant to the standard. A city where we dress smart to hide our poverty even when we’re in extreme dire need of helps: spiritual and physical help. It’s a city where you buy classic cars and park them in roof-thatched houses. It’s a city where we wear new clothes when we are going to lobby contracts. It’s a city that has suburbs with names like Sherkat but got no f**king industries. A city where members of parliament sleep in hotels and their kids smoke at the comfort of their school compounds in U.S, UK, Kenya, Uganda and Egypt. A city where you get a lift and someone doesn’t have to ask your names but phone numbers. A city where we get busy doing nothing. A city with tea joints like TTT, let’s take tea together.

It’s the same city where people with little money takes more trips than Makiir Ghai, Lukak and other hidden tycoons. Where Humanitarian job is an achievement, marrying two wives or three with triple dowry price is a news. Where girls are taken out for threesomes before they sign job contracts.

Just as much as you have known that part of my story, you have your own story and, mine could be funny or normal or both, depending on your attitude. But the truth is, we are a consuming nation that produce nothing but rudeness and kids that we don’t look back and clean their dirty noses or treat them well when their stomachs protrude from kwashiorkor or their legs start bowing like Vasco Dagama as a results of cricket breakout.

So, as a resident of this city, let’s say, you plan to go out with your friends. It’s on a Friday evening, and the end of the month, where dollars just float in the market at a throw away price because the money dealers in town know what you want at the end of the month. Your group is a group of well to do fellas who owns Toyota Subaru, Legacy (because this is the trending car on the streets of Juba) and they have money. It is your third month at work, so responsibilities have not yet mounted on you. So you just got this with job with, let’s say, Nile Hope or SAADO (I’m told these two are among the well doing national NGOs in the country) and your friend still insisted that they should treat you to the best way ever. Hoot the car. Here they’re. They pick you up at your work place and then they persuades you that you will take just five beers for the road.

You agree to take strictly five bottles before you heads home and finish up part of the paperwork your boss tasked you to finish and then take it back to him in the morning because you work half-day on Saturdays. Fellas, when they ask you to take five for the road, or even two, be smart to avoid it; the five never becomes five, the five always becomes ten, fifteen, twenty and all you could realizes later is that you took a whole crate by yourself. So here is what happened to this guy. What name should we baptize him with? John? Peter? Kenyi? Wani? Manut or Gatkuoth? Haa! Let’s christen him Gatluak. You know that song about Gatluak back in 2018? Yeah, let’s call this guy Gatluak.

So Gatluak was pick up by his Juba buddies after work. He was still holding the file that had all the data he was supposed to go through in as he promised. By the way, during his interview, he had told his boss that, if he were an animal, he would be a donkey or mule because he is a hardworking fella and a very obedient guy.

Fate is never paid salaries, they say. They took him to one of the local bars. First round. Second round and, then the third one before he could realizes that it’s already nine o’clock.

“Guys, I have work in the morning. It’s already late. Let me go home.”

“Haa! You think we don’t have work too? Come on! The party hasn’t began, buddy,” says the beardy guy.

“You think we’re not working like you, my friend?” says the guy seated on the far left of his side.

“But guys I can get fired, you know? Let me go home, do the work and then gets back here when I finish.”

“We will find you another job,” the last guy, seated with a lady in orange growled.

He wasn’t pleased with all the shades being thrown at him. He just gave in and starts sipping his beer in silence.

It starts at Hamza, then Affex, then Bedouin and then finally, Juba Raha. Fellas, there is no Raha at this join: a place where you bleed nothing else but dollars. Again, it’s a small corner where you could be tempted to touch and touch to tempt. Men becomes random boys, and small boys grow and go away with girls, mothers of twos and three that aren’t getting enough of “happening”; by the way, this is a Ugandan slang for clubbing or partying.

Comes four o’clock and almost the whole team blacked out- including the guys who seems alco-untouchable. This is how it goes. Drinking and schedules are not for armatures. You have to be strong. Physically prepared and mentally strong.

Krrr! Krrr! The alarm snoozes and he couldn’t get it. Not even the mighty vibration could even shake him from the sleep.

Thirty minutes later, the boss called him. He looked at it like a plague and then pressed the red button for rejection. His boss was a very understanding guy. He thought maybe he pressed the button by mistake. So he tried it again for one last time and then still got the same humiliation.

Two hours later, everyone woke up except him. It was like a feast. There was food and there was drink. His girlfriend had been wondering where he could be. He didn’t come home the previous night and then he didn’t inform her of his where about. So wen the number had gone through, then she started calling him again. So, just for the sake of not intimidating anyone and people, and their names, let’s just use letters to baptize these beautiful souls. So let’s call the first one called Girl A.

She called twice before Gatluak could pick the call and spit the venoms. He told her not to call him again because it’s over between them. Just that he had never have time to tell him. “I’m sorry. I wish you a happy life ahead of you.” Have you ever been heart broken through a phone a mixed-tense message? It’s annoying, right. Well, Gatluak send her that kind of a message. You can imagine.

Girl B, C and D called and then told her all sort of breaking news they never wished to hear.

Finally, he wrote a resignation message to his boss on a phone. And then he backs to what they call hangovers treatment. They feast and drink like fish. With no apologies because this their time and their world. “Enjoy the world while youth,” the Bible. So if I were to write a short story, I would title it BACHELOR BY NIGHT.

Anyway, Gatluak’s story is one of the many stories that are covered in Juba. In the tale of our city, we don’t quite look at the age structure, or gender unless doing humanitarian campaigns. Like Taban Lo Lilyong said in one of his writings, in Juba, we preach water and drink wines everyday. We wear Zara suits, dine at Pyramid, dates at Palm Africa and Crown Hotel. We ride in V8s, Porsches Hummer and that’s our social media’s life. Come to real, we live in future continues tense.