Letter of complaint from South Sudanese child

Letter of complaint from South Sudanese child 

By: Abraham Daljang Maker

KAMPALA: Dear Fathers, I am writing this letter of complaint with tears rolling down my cheeks. I am totally broken down and I don’t know what to do; I always become the victim of the circumstances whenever any event unfolds. This leaves me with unanswered question, why always me?

I can still remember every event even if I am sleeping and I will continue to recall all the incidences as much as my memory can afford. It was on 16 may 1983 in Bor town when you, my own dads said you were tired of the way your brothers (Arabs) were mistreating me and you wanted me to be a free child in my own country. I had seen the ugly face of the war and its ramifications, there were metallic birds that would fly over heads defecating with hot feces on our grass thatched roofs burning it with flames, and my mother would run with me to a hole dug around our compound. She covered me with her fragile body exposing herself to the dangerous astray feces from the flying bird. Sometimes we would run days and nights in the bushes, hyenas, lions and other wild animals chased after us wanting badly to feed on me, the vulnerable child. But my mother swore never to surrender me to them; she could run as fast as her legs could carry her. But it was for the right cause; you were fighting to make sure that I am a free child in my own homeland.  There were subsequent famine year in year out, I ate wild fruits, both eatables and uneatable, I ate the leaves of the trees; I slept on an empty stomach; my brothers and sisters died of hunger in the bushes others eaten by wild animals, their skulls were unbearable to see. But it was for the right cause, all you needed was to make sure that I am free child in my own homeland and to be the first class citizen. 

My grandfather, with bushy beards who would make me smile amidst hunger was called Dr. John Garang de Mabior. He would squat and looked me up in the eyes and said while smiling, “my child, you will never go hungry, you will never run because of those metallic birds flying overhead, you will not see anybody dying; your mother will be a happy women.” All I had to do was to say, thank you Daddy. It was for the right cause, he wanted me to be a free child without being treated as second class citizen in my own country, and he wanted me to inherited better future. When the peace accord was signed in Nairobi in 2005, there was jubilant all over the country and much celebration came when my brothers and sisters voted for independent. I asked my mother what it means to have peace; I was right to ask because I was conceived in the war, born in the war and grew up in the war. To me war was part of my life and I didn’t see any problem with it despite the hurdles I went through, but my dear mother would tell me to wait and see the benefits of peace. Indeed I saw its benefits, there were schools available, I was not hungry again, there were no metallic birds dropping their hot stools on thatched houses. I was able to use car as a mean of transport instead of walking on barefoot. 

Before I could enjoy the full length of peace, I was again made to run away by my own legitimate fathers. On 15 December 2013, there were heavy gun shots in the capital Juba; it was a fighting between my elder brothers. Like any other conflicts in any given home, I thought it would be just a matter of hours and the issue would be solved, but I was mistaken; the whole thing again turned on me. My mothers, brothers and sisters plus me were again became the victims of the circumstances. Why me again this time? The whole thing turned out to my problem, I had to take refuge in the bush, in the United Nations compound where I sleep on empty stomach. I had to again run to Uganda, Kenya, Ethiopia and Sudan to take refuge because of the misunderstanding between my fathers. Thousands of my siblings, mothers and fathers drown in the merciless waters of river Nile as they tried to cross the river for their safety; I am again exposed to unfriendly extreme cold and hot weathers in the displacement camps. Why me again this time?  It was for the right cause when you took to the bush and fight for my freedom. Now my dear fathers, what is it this time around?  As a child, I am indebted to you and I owe you my life, my future and my safety, you should protect me instead of killing me. I thought this would be small problem that you would solve at the round table without pulling the trigger against each other and against me too. Here I am, desperate for food, desperate for shelter, desperate for school and many other human needs that I am now lacking. Can you squat in the way my grandfather Dr. Garang used to do, and what will you tell me anyway? That you are fighting so that I become what? Whatever answer you may give me, I will not get convince and I will still ask you the same question that “dads, why me again this time?”

Finally fathers, I am now suffering but I want to tell you that, in your peace talks in Addis Ababa, you should include me in your agendas. You should think how you can exclude me in your strife for power, democracy or dictatorship or whatever you are striving for. You should know that while you are sleeping in the house under blanket, I am here in an open air drinking dirty water, having no food and no medical care. Whatever you are fighting for, remember that I am your child, you fought for over 20 years to see me a free child. Remember that I am your heir; your past efforts would be useless if I died again after you have liberated me from flying metallic birds.  Remember that I am not a child of Uganda, Kenya, Ethiopia, or any other neighboring country that I am currently taking refuge in, but I am your own child from your body. I need your care my loving fathers; I need you to build for me nice schools instead of making me remain an illiterate, I want better medical care because I am a vulnerable creature. I still Love you my dear fathers although you are making me suffer like this, where else can I go and who else can be my own fathers apart from you? I hope you have understood my cry and you will respond to my cry appropriately.

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Yours loving and suffering child of south Sudan

The writer is an independent journalist and a creative writer; he is pursuing Master of Arts degree in Development Studies, Nkumba University Uganda.

He can be reached at: abraham12daljang@yahoo.com