An Empty House

I wanted to return back to Sudan so badly that when I learned heavy snow storm was zeroing in on the day of my flight, I had to be very smart about it. Changing flight time became an added item to my already overbooked things-to-do list. I had stayed up a few nights before the night of my flight—but one more night would not hurt. I called to check with the United Airline a possibility of beating storm out of Boston to District of Colombia, D.C. for my connection flight. In deed, there was a slot on the 7 o’clock flight—and I said to the agent, “I would like to have that…I can not afford to miss my international flight out of D.C.”. When I landed in D.C I realized I had just less than 10 hours to kill before my next flight. I called my cousin from Richmond VA and he agreed to come get me so we can go hang out in Arlington VA—to go meet some Sudanese in the area. I ate a sizzling Ethiopian food for lunch; we were all so happy to catch up again. He and his friends dropped me off at Dulles International Airport to continue my long journey. Since, I do not usually sleep well on the plane I started reading “Three Cups of Tea”. Great book! In fact, I may use the scene where villagers carry on their backs school’s construction materials that were cut off by a landslide that blocked the road. It shows me a resilience of and contribution by the local villagers in Afghanistan toward development projects once their trust in outside support is obtained. While in the air and our plane had reached the level of stability, flights attendances started offering dinner: I passed that on. I still was comfortable with the Ethiopia food I had earlier. Security check in Heathrow Airport was a little stressful as I was already used to this kind of routine. The last time I was here, I could not understand the logical behind security to check for the connecting passengers, who had just gotten off one plane in order to board another one short thereafter. I guess I will never understand why. But one can only draw a conclusion; they do this because they are Brits. It is the very same reason why they chose to partition Africa in such a puzzling way! I waited at the terminal for the gate of my flight to be assigned. “KA 103 Nbi will board at gate 14”, the board reads. I wheeled my carry-on to the gate. The boarding would not take place for almost another one hour. No reason for delay was announce. I began to think the African time is in our DNA, including our Airlines. In the process of frustration, I noticed that my boarding pass does not say my seating. So, I decided to check with the gate attendant. She told me I was not check in: I should go back the Kenya Airways’ service desk to be checked in. I did as told. Now we were on our way to Jombo Kenyatta International Airport. We our time of arrival by about 30 minutes: if there were air traffic police, we probably would have gotten a speeding ticket. I needed a transit VISA and, at the service desk, the agents were incredibly slow. This man kept speaking on the phone while we wait in line in rows of 4-5! The other gentleman kept bringing people from behind to be served at the side ways. I guess I need to stay at the end of the line and be willing to pay extra for an expedited service. When are we going to change this behavior! Anyways, I got to the front line finally and bought my transit visa so I can sleep for a few hours before my next flight to Juba, Southern Sudan. I got to Juba and now felt a commoner to the place. I saw George at the airport, again. He welcomed me back home as he did the last time. But, the only difference this time is that I was like an acquaintance to him. He even asked if I brought something for him for Christmas. Of course, I did not. I told him, I did not expect to see him again this time. He understood. I proceeded to the check in desk, where I was again automatically given the Sudanese sign in sheet. I really wanted to sign in there this time. But the problem was where would I get the rest of information needed to fill in the form? I have no Sudanese passport. Nor do I have a permanent address here in Juba. So, I politely asked for the foreigner sign in sheet in order to show my legal existence. Since we (Winrock International) are in between programs here in Juba, our facility has no drivers to come pick me up at the airport. I was instructed to pick up keys for the facility from the security company. I looked around for the taxi, but could not see any. So, Kuol, a friend I made when we were in line for boarding in Kenya, decided to give me a ride. We got lost. So I called Steve, the security person and gave him over to talk to my friend. We made a U-turn back toward the airport then to the side road. It looked like I had already given my friend enough hard times so I asked the security people to give me a ride to my final destination instead. They graciously agreed. This turned out to be a great move on my part as we later on discovered I was given wrong keys. This would have given Kuol enough reason to never ever offer a ride to strangers! When I entered our guesthouse, it looked completely deserted; it is an empty house. I went around unlocking rooms and not finding any bedding. I opened what I thought was a store with a key rightly leveled, but there was nothing in it. The guesthouse manager is a Kenyan and had gone back to spend Christmas with her family. I do not blame her for that. After all, it is the very same reason I am rushing back here so I can spend my first ever Christmas holiday with my family in 21 years! But, it is probably a good reason I should mention thinking about having a Sudanese guesthouse’ manager or assistant manager, to man this facility while expatriates leave for their countries, as a possibility to my boss. The day, I came I called my cousin who has a car and he promised to come so I can go get some items to use for the time I am here. Unluckily, his car broke down! And Juba being what it is, I had no choice but walk to places closer to our compound. Now, I have his wife’s gift that I brought. But, since I am not going to see them, she will have to wait till when I return from Bor. It is amazing how difficult it is to go around here in Juba when you are new to the area and have no means of transportation. I guess you have got the gist of it. This is it for now, till next time I am back from the village in Bor, to give you more updates on me and the Sudan. I wish everyone Happy Holidays and a prosperous New Year!!

What do I see different now?

When I was 9 or younger, I played with my cousins in our neighborhood. Running around in the baking sun, which potentially could cause serious illnesses, was a simple lifestyle that brought joy to my little heart. I did not see, or had not developed my intelligence enough to notice that there was something missing—life was not complete. This was more than 20 years ago. Then, I came back to my family more than 20 years later and here is what I saw. Now, my family is large. I have two sisters and two brothers and factor-in their offspring, including my brother’s second wife, and you will know what I mean by large. Out of a periphery, there are uncles with their wives and children and grand children. This would be called extended family in modern sense. But, we understand it differently in our traditional world. There is nothing extended. We all share what each member of our families is blessed with. So when I went back home this September 2008, I was confronted with real problems that I believed needed some solutions. When I talked to members of my family, they were willing to express what they saw clearly as problems: sickness, lack of cattle, lack of clothes, lack of food, and some just need money for whatever reasons best known to them. However, there were certainly some problems that were invisible to them, but clearly apparent enough for me to notice. Children were running around from Sun rise to Sun set. There was no school in the neighborhood for them to go to. Women were still traveling about a mile to go fetch water from the Nile River. This was the water I bathed in, and, most likely, the water used to cook my food. At least I knew that by the time the food reaches me, whatever germ in that water has undergone serious boiling to be too lethal to kill anymore. In fact, the real people I was worried then were those that went to fetch this water. To go to the bank of the Nile one has to walk bare foot and against the tie of flood that had encroached everywhere. Besides, there are crocodiles in the Nile that could possibly be waiting in the other end. I was also worried every morning that I saw my nephews and nieces wade through the water to go to the huts. I was concern that chances of these children catching a guinea worm in this water were as high as 85%. Or the worse case scenario would be snake bite in that water. Another curse of this water is infestation of mosquitoes. In this area, mosquitoes go so vicious. And if you had a mosquito net, like I did, you can hear them crying from the outside the net as if you owe them your own blood! Knowing that malaria is number killer of children in the continent of Africa gave me chills and more worries. I would be less human if this reality did not sink through and made me worried that something terrible can happen anytime one is beaten by malaria virus’s carrier mosquito. Besides, I arrived just about time when people would be harvesting their yields, if this was a blessed year. Unfortunately, all that was planted was washed away by flood. I would have not believed that anything was planted in those fields, if this destruction was shown to me in a video. But, the destruction was so pervasive that no crop was spared. Even today, I still ask myself: what will they eat now till the next harvest? In other words, what I saw generated the following questions in my mind. Do I see more challenging things that my family sees as less challenging? Or do we see the same challenges, but my family just does not have solutions insight to make any different choices? Or, perhaps, they just don’t see a way out given this is how they have always lived their lives dated back many generations.

 

Mom, I am a Grown Man

I needed time to fully digest and process all events during my visit with my family, in order to able to compose this article. This is due to this message being so touching and deep in my soul. It is about family love. Though I tried in my previous article to show a glimpse of how it was like to be back to my own family in more than 20 years, I think I might be in a right position now to fully give a narrative of what actually happened. Everyone gathered to see me and hear what I had to say about the world that has kept me away from them for so long. Kids congregated to hear from an uncle who has come from far as their eyes could see. And I don’t blame them for seeing their world this small. After all, that was how I saw my world before it opened up in a rather unfortunate way. They all came to demonstrate their loves for one who had been missing for years. My sister, Ajoh Alier, now married with two daughters, got too excited to be first in line of those greeting, hugging, and kissing me. Or she was playing it smart to remain last in line so she could enjoy a long and emotional greeting. She was giggling in the back like a too excited 3 year old girl. My other sister, Akut Alier, heard I have come back home. So she took off living her children behind to come to show her love for me. She lives 6 hours away from Bor town, which is a little away from Malek where I am now being hosted. She was holding up a cross on her right hand and a small hand bag on the left. She had a gift for me. I heard she has a small sorghum’s farm and just had first harvest. She intended to cook for me tok mixed with guarjaac. Tok are freshly harvest sorghum prepared in some special way I can never explain. Guarjaac are byproduct of a tree called Thou (pronounce as in thou-sand). It produces fruits like dates tree. It has shell outside and has nuts from inside which is also eatable. There are what the Dinka called Guarjaac. You mix them with Tok and it feels something like mixed peanuts with corns. I was amazed she still had these nuts as the season had been out for 5 months now. The last time I had this kind of meal was in 1987. My aunt’s daughter, Abiar Atong Makuei, has arrived the other day and now sleeps in the same room as I am. She brought with her a male goat to be killed for me. To her, I am her mother’s last born. I was probably around 3 or 4 year old when my aunt took me to her home. I grew up there till the war departed us. I grew up knowing no one but them. This was the reason we spent the first night talking and rewind tapes till the days prior to the tragedy of 1987. Together, we laughed and cried to these memories. In addition to these special treatments, the big day was a prayer day. Traditionally, this would be a sacrifice day. My brothers, Majier Alier and Mac Alier, have bought a bull so people in our community could share in happiness that has come to the family. Everyone was in a celebratory mood. And while this family’s jubilee for my arrival was going on, two of my uncles’ wives were absent. They both live in distances a day trip from opposite directions. To get to one, you have to row a boat up the stream and, onto the other side of the River Nile. So her son, my cousin, paddled a traditionally made boat to her on the next day to convey this rather pleasant news of the week for the family—“Panther Alier is back from exile”! And upon hearing this, she wasted no time. She decided to come back on the same boat as her son. After all, how could she waste any time when she felt she was my mother! In Dinka’s culture, a woman who is married to a father’s brother socially acquires a mother’s status. She wanted to provide what I have been missing for all these years—being cared for. She had on her some gifts. She had a freshly made crunchy peanut paste called Makuanga. Besides, she brought along with her a fish called Lek to be cooked by my cousin’s wife. She remembers from my childhood that I liked this fish so much that it would be a pleasant reminder of my childhood. My other uncle’s wife walked a day long trip from Kolnyang. In fact, Kolnyang is my birthplace. I had wanted to go there but I was warned against taking that trip. I would have to wade in water to get there. And everyone was not sure my Americanized body would support me through it should I brave the flood. Another factor that kept me from going to Kolnyang is that everyone, except my uncle and his wife, now lives closer to the Nile River—this appeared a little strange to me. I remember, from my childhood, that living near the Nile River was a seasonal occurrence. But, war has changed everything and almost everyone from my family now lives here. People’s livelihoods have been uprooted. I could not blame them for having left our old home (pan theer) to live in this rather unsettled condition. So, I decided to just send my love to my uncle’s family and hoped I would see them on my next trip back to Bor. And little did I know my uncle and his wife would brave those odds: they showed up the night before the prayers where done. My uncle could not walk fast as he was in ailing conditions caused by his chronic sickness and supported by his old age. But my uncle’s wife made sure he rested several times to complete the trip. I was too important to them to not see me for another few more years. I could not believe my eyes! I got up to embrace my uncle’s wife. And she hugged, kissed, and knelt down so such that I can sit on her lap. She looked sick and weak. I am young, healthy, and weighed 155 lbs. This would be too much weight for her boney thighs. I wanted to resist sitting on her lap. I wanted to tell her, “Mom, I am a grown man now”. Of course, in her eyes, I am still the young boy lost 21 years ago. I am the one she thought she would not have a chance to see again. And more importantly, she was doing what is naturally mothers’ thing. It is what Akuc Makuei, my biological mother, would do were she alive. I will be always that newly born creature in my mother’s eyes. This treatment my not be unique to me and my family. But, the point is, all these were done to show how I have been missed and loved by my family. I truly belonged to all of them.

A Point of No Return

I have lived with and among the Southern Sudanese and I continue to be fascinated by their yearning for an independent Southern Sudan. It is not independence by its very nature that amazes me; it is the quest for it. Independence for Southern Sudanese is the only uniting factor even with great differences in life, politics, and; in views on what shape the Southern Sudan country should take. But, I also understand that there are legitimates rifts within the populace that must never be ignored. These apertures are sometimes incorrectly reported in many works of journalism as deeply rooted in tribal differences. This region hosts the greatest ever ethnic diversity than one can name in the world. Sure, tribal division is prominent and is naturally expected, unless you are an extreme optimist, in places where tribal affiliations are social capital. To live a tribal life here is to live within the reality of Southern Sudan. But this is a reality that bothers me so much so many times. It makes me question the long term viability of the Southern union—the country of South Sudan. There is something fundamentally wrong with us—the Southern Sudanese that needs serious tackling, if we are to stay independent. A testament to these problems can be explained using the following examples. Currently, there has been ongoing disagreement within the Eastern Equatoria and Lake States. I recently read the divide between the governor and the State Legislative Assembly (SLA) of the State has deepened too big that the SLA is now suspended indefinitely. I heard of a rift among the state MPs and the governor of the Lake State—Sudantribune News September 25, 2008 reports that the honorables became unruly to the point of savagely beating each other inside the parliament. Besides, about few months back, there were reports of intertribal killings within Warrap State. Also, presence of tribal conflict can never be understood fully anywhere else then in Jonglei States. The rest of the States have their own problems which, if written about, would filled many more pages. I put all these challenges to my colleague, Levy, at the Volunteer for Economic Growth Alliance (VEGA) to know his views on the tribal problems plaguing the Southern Sudan and on the much anticipated referendum in 2011. He confidently told me “the separation is eminent”. “These rifts in the South are being fueled by the enemy” he continued. My colleague, Levy, trivialized these challenges as internal affairs, which would be solved once a complete independence is obtained. He illustrated the situation as this. What goes on in Southern Sudan is like a circumstance where a person is being chase and is running away from a lion. And on his way escaping for his deal life, he ran into a snake. When caught in such conditions, he would rather deal with snake a head of him then daring to go back to the lion that is chasing him. This characterizes southern Sudanese at the moment. They feel that the oppression by the northern Sudanese is far worst than the tribal divisions in the south. I am more and more convinced that Southern Sudan is a country in the waiting. Quest for independence, for Southern Sudanese, has reached a point of no return. Its fundamentals are so strong such that no forces of any kind will stop it from happening sometimes in 2011.

Walking with Heads Up

I did not have enough time to spend in Juba before I left for Bor-Jonglei State. In fact, I was preoccupied by the prospects of reuniting with my family that I could not do any observations during that one day I was here in Juba. Now I am back and have had one good week in Juba. I can now claim a right to write about condition of Juba and its people. Juba is a capital city of the semi-autonomous Government of the Southern Sudan. Yes, I know that there is JIT supermarket where you can find western’s food that one craves—donuts, chocolate, and what have you. I also know that there is Da Vinci restaurant where fancy diner goers go to relax on the Nile River. In fact, I accidently went there and paid something like $30 for a dinner that was too salty to be eaten. And if you are a night-goer too, there are more than a dozen places to go to here in Juba. In fact, one of them is near our guest house. Fridays and Saturdays are no sleeping days here in our compound. None of our residents is spared of the noise! It feels sometimes like the music is being played inside our compound. We actually do joke that all we need on Friday and Saturday is a drinks’ bar and we would enjoy ourselves here without having to go out. All these, good or bad, I am told, came with the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) signed in 2005. With that came a population and now you can not miss a density of a once known as a ghost town. I would never claim to understand the feelings of the people I now see here. I only see that the Southern Sudanese own and run this town. I know that the flag of Southern Sudan sits on every license plate of any car registered here and, I also see it flying allover the government’s buildings. I see also men in uniform of all departments of the military, policy, and wildlife forces. Southern Sudanese are also drivers driving cars of all agencies here in Juba. I was in a car with my driver driving through the Juba town when he began talking to me about what has become of Juba town. “You know, Panther, Juba has changed completely”. Of course, I don’t have any personal witness to what had happened to this town since the signing of the agreement. But I knew he was not just willing to teach me about the development that has taken place in Juba—he had something bigger to tell me. He wanted to tell me that what I see, though dissatisfying, was not here 3 years ago prior to the peace agreement. I gathered from his facial expression that even the men and women that gathered in that overcrowded Konyo Konyo market have just been liberated and now have the liberty to work and provide for their families. He wanted to tell me that those kids in blue, green, red, and white uniform have just had the liberty to seek education. He also wanted to tell me there is something that is now called the Government of Southern Sudan and its legislative branch and purely comprised of the Southerners who are now making decisions for their fellow Southerners for the first time since Sudan’s independence in 1956. And more importantly, Mr. David, my driver, wanted to tell me that the Southern Sudanese have finally had the freedom to take matters in their own hands and now walk with their heads up.

Milking the Poor

Scenes of communication towers sitting amidst traditional huts are never missed in Bor town area. It is such a stark contrast of things that should never go together in first place. I had an impression that things had improved tremendously when I began to receive calls in the States from Bor. I visualized the wired town with cables and what have you. I envisioned some modern buildings that go along with modern lifestyles that have sprung up in Southern Sudan in the last few years. And because people could afford to buy cell phones, I imagined a totally improved ways of living. Well, I couldn’t be more wrong! This is what I discovered happened when I arrived in Bor. It looked like the Multinational Corporations (MNCs) are moving in. Corporations had grown smarter to extent that one could describe it as greedier. They have anchored up to three tall communication towers around Bor. These towers send signals way deep to villages. Then they send phones to more kiosk-like retail shops where people can buy them. And when you buy a phone you have to buy simcard separately and twice as much. But that’s not all. You have to continue buying credits locally known as “airtime” in order for that phone to continue operating. Additionally, these phones need to be charge every so often. And this creates a boom in generator’s business. An owner of a cell phone goes to charge his/her phone on generator generated power. I suspected it must be very expensive to own a cell phone here. I believe a rational villager would realize this. But, as is well known in the field of economics “rational people don’t act rational”. When I went to the village I saw several people with cell phones hanged on thatched huts. I even made a comment that I later on thought didn’t sit well with my relatives. I wondered why development started with satellite towers sitting among the traditional huts. The other sharp contrast that I observed was the way people now consume bear and coca-cola drinks. It seems to me there is an invasive consumerism that comes with perceived status of being able to consume coca-cola or beer instead of locally brewed. People want to live a modern lifestyle so much that everyone likes drinking modern drinks: beer & coca-cola. Everywhere I went being either gatherings or just simple homes, there were crates and crates of either beer or cola drinks. To make matters worst, there seems to be great prevalence of drinking among the post-conflict population of the Southern Sudan. This comes with great human and financial costs. I just discovered that everything; food, construction materials, vehicles, drinks, and even, to some extent, skilled workers are imported from Eastern Africa. This makes things twice expensive. And talk about beer as a luxury thing? I came back to Juba and was given a work’s phone. Then I bought airtime for 20 Sudanese pounds equivalent to 10 US dollar. After that I made three short phone calls before an automated voice told me I had not “enough credit to make this [fourth] call”. This was the point where I confirmed my earlier instinct fears for this encroaching modern lifestyle in the villages not yet capable to copy with it effects. I realized I was being milked. Much worst, I now understand the calls that I watched my brother, cousin and so many others, made in Bor were extremely expensive. I now wonder whether this is ethical. Ethical or not, the reality is that the rich are milking the poor in this part of continent.

First Reunion

I never imagined how it was going to be like, but I knew for sure I would be able to see my love ones for first time in 21 years! I arrived in Bor in the afternoon of September 3rd, 2008. There was great miscommunication regarding my time of arrival. My brother with a cousin came to Bor airstrip way earlier than actual time of arrival. But, I was not there so they went to Bor town. It cost them a fortune as they hired a car that went back empty, but wanted paid anyways. I think they paid something like 20 Sudanese pounds; equals to 10 US dollar. The other relative of mine, who works for ASCHOM Oil Company and drives the company’s car, came way too late to get me at the airstrip. The other relative who came at a right time arrived on a bicycle to pick me up. But there were two bags, myself and he, the cycler. And there were no commercial cars to take me from the Bor airstrip to Bor town. Fortunately, a friend I met on the plane had his agency picked him up so he offered me a ride. We were boarding at the Juba International Airport, when this friend detected that I wasn’t the usual traveler. He saw in me the expressions of one with serious business (something fundamentally profound) awaiting him in other end of the trip. This made to inquire if I were going “home?” I enthusiastically replied, “Yes!” “Bor is my home and this is my first visit since I left in 1987. I let him calculate how long it has been for me without seeing my love ones. I believe it was the difficult nature of this reality that obligated him to feel the need to help in any way he could. We drove on incredible bumpy roads into town where he instructed his driver to drop me off at my destination. My brother and the cousin who had come to the airstrip because they thought I would arrive in the morning instead of the afternoon now linger around in town. There was great anxiety and everyone that heard about me and had a cell phone kept calling each other to ask if I had finally arrived. So, as I was getting settle at the home of that relative who came to get me, my brother called. He was told I had arrived and waiting to see him. He couldn’t wait to hang up the phone! He and our cousin came running. It was so emotional meeting the two, but not as emotional as meeting the whole family the next day. They went home to convey the news while I spent the night in town in the home of my relative. On the next day, I got myself prepared as going to where my brothers and their wives live was so remote to extent that there is no clean water. I bought things to bring with me. I hired a commercial car that runs between Bor town and other nearby places. This car brought me to the residence of my relatives. Everybody was waiting by the roadside! One of my sisters (both of them are married) heard about my coming to the area and had come and was waiting with the rest. I got out and they all rushed toward me. Everyone looked completely different: I failed to recognize so many of them! As such, I broke down in tears! I always thought I knew them through my memory, but everyone’s look has changed. My sister and one brother look so sick! But the excitement on their side was too great. They all prayed and shed their tears as I was gathering myself from emotional breakdown. While they all thanked God for having kept me a live for all these years so they one day see me again, I kept wondering how God could allow this inhumane separation to happen to me, my family, and my country of birth in the first place. Why bother to make me be born into this lovely family, but not allow me to grow among them? Why make me a homeless even at times I couldn’t bear it? Were these not the people and the place you (God) intended for me, when you put me in my mother’s womb?

Bor in My Mind

I couldn’t quite place in a right sense what Bor would look like when I get there. My flight time was nearing and the excitement rose to much higher level. My prospects of seeing home was becoming a reality. And when Joseph came to tell me I would be late for my flight, I replied “late!” Joseph is a resident coordinator here at VEGA-Sudan’s office. I was eating a very delicious lunch at times. But going home was irreplaceable. I hurriedly rushed back to my room to get my luggage (I later on discovered that I left my malaria’s medication behind in this process). My driver was waiting in the driveway. We loaded the luggage onto the car and pulled away from the gate to the bumpy road. We drove passed the airport. I began to wonder about where we were going. I was tempted to direct him, but I knew he had driven to the Juba’s airport a thousand times, if not a million times. At the same time, prospects of missing my flight were looming: I was convinced, more then ever, that I would be late for Bor’s flight. Apparently, we were going to check for my flight’s time (something Joseph already did). After confirming the flight time, we then drop back to the airport. I checked in at the desk placed next to the main door of the only modern looking building at the Juba International Airport. This turned out to be a charter plane and passengers are only allowed up to 30 lbs to bring on board. My luggage weighed twice as much. I though it works like the US airlines' policies. I offered to pay for whatever extra pounds. But the airport’s attendant yelled, “It’s not about paying. It’s about your own safety!” I didn’t know what to do after that. I contemplated between leaving behind either my bag for my wearing clothes or the gifts bag. But how would I explain to the people when I tell them I left their gifts because some airlines’ regulations prevented me from bringing them? It was not possible either to leave my clothing behind for almost two weeks. I finally gave in and offered to leave the gifts behind. But they gave in and let me go. One of these workers told me to sit in a waiting room. My flight won’t board for another 20 minutes. I got even more anxious as condition for having missed my plane loomed bigger. I got restless. I went to ask the other passengers who were sitting in the waiting area to see if they were going to Bor. The guy said “yes” and I was relieved of all the worries that were going through my mind. And in the next few minutes, we took off. The plane flew at a balance. It was not too low or too high such that we followed the Nile as it meanders northward. It looks absolutely gorgeous! I was convinced I would spot a small town along this route: the Bor Town. I began to spot what looked like cattle camps as we got closer to the Bor area. In fact, I was now flying in the air above the soil I was born on. In the next few minutes, our plane started to descend and landed on a red small strip. There was no air traffic control tower: Bor was at its very poor condition at best. The reality was shocking. But the most important thing in my mind was that I got back home in more than 20 years. No kidding! I said, “more than 20 years”.

My Identity Crisis

It was about 12 pm local time when we approached the Juba International Airport. The plane landed on a small runway surrounded with grass. We accelerated and the plane made something like a U-turn and I felt like we were to take off again. I wondered what was about to happen! But I learned, in the end, that as the plane landed, it offshoots a little bit passing the area it was supposed to pull over. So we came back to that place and pulled over. We sprang out of the plane toward the airport security’s building. Even though this was supposed to be cold season in Sudan, it felt so hot! And as I walked toward the building, an airport security official recognized that I was a Sudanese and started talking to me in Juba Arabic. I politely told him I don’t know much but I knew just to say hello. So we exchanged few words with me mixing English with Arabic. He seemed far too understanding of my situation and was so happy that I was back anyways. He guided me to the building and left me in a line. There, there were several sheets of paper to login. Apparently, people login differently. There were sheets for foreigners and that of Sudanese. So when I approached the desk and handed in my passport to the desk’s attendant, he looked at it and said to me “are you not Sudanese?” With sense of agitation, I replied “why?” The guy just wanted to know. But there is something about identity that agitates me. It appeared to me like he was questioning my patriotism and sense of belonging. Sure I am now American national. But I will always be a Sudanese-American. This is the reason when we took off at Kenyatta International Airport and the pilot announced the flight time was one hour fifteen minutes, I anxiously stared the window in the air throughout the flight. I wanted to see at which point I cross the border and now sit back and relax in Sudanese air! It has been about twenty years since I left this country. But I don’t feel a bit of resentment to this land. I have a sense of anguish to those who made it impossible for me to grow up here where I belong! Yes, I belong here! Everything about me belongs here! So write me down in the sheet that you think is right for me. I won’t be offended however if you chose to log me in as a foreigner. After all, America is the country that can claim my legal human existence. I was never a citizen of any country—not even of my own place of birth for the most parts of my lifetime. And man! I proudly hold this passport covered with stars and stripes because this is now my country—so go ahead please, write me down as a foreigner—in fact write American!

Here we go!

The first chapter began, and the rest is history. My friends always thought I would do well and contribute to the best of My-God-Given nature by doing community development (whatever that means) works. They thought I was tailor-made for the career! I thought about this over and over again. After finishing my high school, I decided to attend a training in community development (CD), just to prove them right, while in Kakuma refugees camp. This was one of many mini-workshops UN agencies offered to the refugees to hone their skills in different fields. After the CD's training, I took an agriculture and peace and coexistence trainings as well. But, the big part of this was taking this course in development. That got me to a position of deciding to teach literacy classes--part of community development! I got fully oriented to behaving messiah-like and always remember "to ask not what my [community] can do for me, but what I can do for my [community]". In this process, I never gotten used to thinking about how my own future career would pay me back. I adapted to new philosophy of contemplating on all means to bring about change on other people's lives. Incidently, there is no better place on earth to do this then in my country of birth, Sudan. Issues of underdevelopment are everyone's door steps. You can see evidence of disease pandemics, prevalence of extreme poverty, illiteracy, environment degradations, and the vast utility of unclean/unsanitized in any corners of Sudan. Now, I am at the verge of changing things for better or for worst. I just got a position with an organization with mission "to empower the disadvantage, increase economic opportunity, and sustain natural resources"! What could be any better! Right now, I am working on programs to bring about realization of this mission within the population of in Southern Sudan.