Seed of South Sudan Read Online Free PDF Page A

disease-bearing insects. Such wells will be very expensive to drill, as the water lies far, far below the surface.
    Telecommunications in the form of cell phones and Internet would be good. There are a few satellite phones now where there were not before, and it is helpful to be able to contact neighbors and family, especially in an emergency, for going to the hospital. But first the basics: water, health, and a stable country.
    If there were water to carry my people through the dry season—January, February, and March—then they would not need to move their homes every year, to go to an area closer to the rivers for water. It is a major undertaking to leave the elevated homes in my village and then travel to the new location. There the people must go gather the grasses and create the mud to make the new huts, create the new kitchens and gardens, and then move back to our home village three months later. These improvements would mean changes to the Dinka culture, for it is a culture accustomed to moving every year, but it would be made up for in greater education and innovation in ways of doing things.
    I think the Dinka, the man among the men, will be adept at creating new ways of living, but will still retain his strong values of helping family, respect for others, and especially, depending on our elders for guidance as we go through these changes. Just as my grandmother prepared me for the war that tore away my home, wisdom such as hers will prepare us for the future.
    In every culture there is probably a tradition of observing that life has many sorrows, but that it has joys as well. The Book of Ecclesiastes relates that there is a time for having plenty, and a time for losing all one has; “a time for weeping and a time for laughing; a time to mourn and a time to dance.” My story here will be filled with instances that show the desperate situation we were in, yet there was sometimes a small blessing amongst the pain. One of those blessings was my great-uncle, a young man himself of 17 or 20, who accompanied us on the first journey, to Ethiopia, and showed us ways to stay safe. Our cousin, Kau, was a grace. Another was the care my family took to educate me, a small Dinka boy, on ways to do for myself. Many times I recalled my mother’s and grandmother’s words as I looked for water, searched for food, tried to keep hope. They had made sure I would be ready for whatever happened to me. They could never have foreseen this story of incredible suffering.
    Another blessing is that, early on, my uncle, Kau Raik, and I encountered good Dinka companions, Matoc and Laat, and we all stayed together through the long journey to Ethiopia. We spoke mostly the same dialect, but we had some words that were different, so we came up with our own words or agreed upon a word when we had different names for the same thing. Language was a matter of life and death. If you traveled with people who spoke a different language, they could plot against you, even kill you.
    There was enough death around, and we often came near death ourselves. Sometimes we would see a person lying beside the path. We were not sure if he or she was alive or dead.
    â€œHe is only sleeping,” Matoc, who was older than I, said. In fact, people did lie down to rest. Sometimes they pulled off from a group and said they were going to rest. But often they never got up.
    My uncle, Kau, Matoc, and I, and Laat, who at six years old was even younger than I, always made sure we pulled each other up to continue walking. If we had not done this, any of us could have died.
    In order to hide from the tanks and Hummers and SA soldiers, and also to keep from running into people who might do us harm, we walked off the main road where tanks were forced to travel, and we walked at night and early morning. This also kept us out of the hottest part of the day, which would be deadly to us. We never had enough water or food. We walked until midnight the night