Information about family education in Southern Sudan, particularly in the Moru tribe. Family education is informal education provided by parents and elder members of the Moru tribe to the young people about the society. Elders play an important role in raising and educating children. The responsibility of educating children in the Moru tribe is divided between the father and the mother. The father usually teaches sons in the family in the social activities, duties and responsibilities carried out by men so that when they grow up they would do the same in the society. He shows and teaches his boys how different types of house work are done, for instance how to build houses and how to cultivate, how to cut down tress and how to make hives for bees to produce honey. The father also lectures to his sons about how to select the best girls to be their future wives. He tells his sons to behave well to bring a good reputation to the family. Fathers want their sons to be close to them, so they are able to check on their sons' status in the community. Education in Moru homes takes place in two important arenas. The first is known as "takudri," which is a fireplace for male members of the family where fathers, uncles, and sons gather and sit at dusk. "Takudri" is a fireplace where firewood is brought and fire is lit for the fathers and sons to sit around. It is an important place in Moru houses because it is around the fireplace of "takudri" where fire chat takes place. It is important for the young men to sit with fathers and elderly members of the family around the fireplace to listen to the fire chat and to discussions by elder members of the family. This is where most of family education takes place. Usually these kinds of informal fire chats by elderly people in Moru tribe are considered as best method of family education because they cover many topics.
The second most important place for receiving family education for daughters in Moru tribe is known as "Katidri." Katidri is another fireplace in Moru homes, where firewood is brought and fire lit for cooking food for the members of the family. In Moru tribe the mothers and daughters cook food for the family and the mothers lecture their daughters about women's activities in the society. The mother is responsible to show to her daughters the different kinds of housework such as cooking, gathering crops from the farm, weeding and grinding durra. Mothers are entrusted with the responsibility of bringing up girls in the best possible way. The mothers usually lecture in the evening at around dusk until nine o'clock at night. Men and women eat separately.
In Moru tradition, men and women usually do not eat in one place, because the manner in which the men eat is different than the manner in which women eat. Newly married wives are not permitted to see the mouths of their fathers- in law while eating; it is a kind of respect to their fathers in -law. Newly married men are not allowed to eat in front of the mother in-laws as this is considered rutde. Mothers inform their daughters to be careful when they reach puberty when they start to experience physical changes. The daughters are also advised by their mothers to select the best young men who are hard workers and are well known for cultivating large areas of land, having a good number of hives and are good hunters and whose homes are full of food. The mothers tell their daughters to base their choice of husband not on physical appearance but on the qualities mentioned above because a young men may be handsome but a lazy man in useless. Mothers advise the daughters to obey their husbands and their in-laws and to keep themselves to their husbands and to try to promote love for their husbands because by doing so, they will continue to live with their husbands in peace and harmony without any problems. Family education is essential for young people because it allows them to conduct themselves well in their own society.
Nowadays, there are Moru people who have lived outside the Moru tribe or outside the Sudan for a number of years. Their children do not have any knowledge about Moru traditional practices and Moru family education. It is now difficult for them to fit into Moru community because they have not familiarized themselves with Moru practices. So it is absolutely important to be familiar with traditional practices. It is necessary for parents to give their sons and daughters both types of education, formal education through schooling and informal education or family education because both of them help build a good society.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Sisimayo Faki Henry
Chapter I
The Attack
Nine-year-old Sisimayo Faki Henry gathered firewood with his older brother in the bush near his home in Mundri, a small city in southern Sudan. On most evenings he helped his brother prepare the campfire in the middle of the three houses in the family compound that housed his mother and 9 siblings. His father, an agriculture production expert with a degree from the University of Khartoum, had died two years earlier of natural causes at the age of 35. Until today, the day his father had died had been the worst day of his life. It was the first time he had seen someone close to him die as he stood by helplessly. Given the important role that fathers played in the lives of their sons in the Moru tribe, one of Sudan’s smaller tribes, Sisimayo was vaguely aware, even at this young age, that he would have to work harder than others to get ahead in life. His father would not be there to connect him to potential employers nor to help pay the substantial dowry that was given to the bride’s family by the family of the groom.
After gathering the wood, the brothers swept the area around the compound to rid it of places that could hide poisonous snakes or scorpions, always a danger in this part of Sudan. They lit the fire that burned each night from about 6 to 9 p.m. Living near the equator in the area of Sudan known as Western Equatoria, darkness fell on Mundri at nearly the same time throughout the year. As darkness approached, his family prayed to thank God for the food that had been prepared by Sisimayo’s mother and three older sisters. A deeply religious family, they prayed before each meal.
When the evening meal was finished, Sisimayo sat near the fire and listened as his mother told her nightly story to her children. Like other parents in Mundri, she told her children the myths and legends of the Moru tribe that had been passed down through numerous generations. Many of the stories were comparable to the fables that children in the West hear from their parents. There were good characters and evil villains, and in the end good conquered evil. The stories were used to convey values and expectations for behavior; they served the dual purposes of evening entertainment and education. Common themes were living in harmony and behaving honorably in your dealings with others. Among the Morus and other tribes of southern Sudan, the reputations of individuals and families were of paramount importance. A young man whose integrity was suspect or who came from a family with a questionable history, including a family history of mental illness or crime, would have a difficult time convincing another family that he would be a good husband for their daughter. Sisimayo was schooled in these matters by his mother who knew how to hold her children spellbound with her words; the lessons sounded more like adventure stories than Sunday school lesson but the point of each story was not missed by Sisimayo.
The evening campfire was also the place where the history of the family was learned. Sisimayo could recite the names and accomplishments of several generations of relatives. He also heard tales of family members who brought dishonor on the family. Although missionaries had brought literacy and Christianity to the Moru tribe during the British colonial period, oral history was still an important way in which children learned about their family, tribe, and traditions.
When the fire had burned down to a few red embers, the family ended the day
with their evening prayers. As was their tradition, they prayed that they would be protected during the night. No one suspected that this would be the last time they prayed together as a family. With prayers completed, they each made their way to their respective huts. Sisimayo and his older brother shared one hut, and his three older sisters shared another; his mother and the younger siblings slept together in the largest of the three buildings.
Shortly before dawn, the ground shook as artillery shells fell throughout Mundri. The civil war between Arab Muslim forces of the Khartoum government from the north and the Sudanese People’s Liberation Army (SPLA) from the south reached Mundri in 1989. Government forces were launching a counter attack against the SPLA forces that had been encamped around Mundri for the past 3 or 4 months. Sisimayo had been aware of the presence of the SPLA because the school had closed when they arrived. Like most other child, Sisimayo was happy to have time off from school, but his mother had made him stay closer to home than usual during these months. Her nervous demeanor and the bits of conversation among the adults that he heard recently, had made him vaguely aware that they could be in danger.
As the artillery rounds exploded throughout the city, people left their homes and ran for the bush area that rimmed the city. Sisimayo’s family lived in a neighborhood close to the bush, and he and his brother ran for cover in the area where they had gathered firewood the day before. It was the rainy season and the area was thick with tall grasses growing between large trees. He held his brother’s hand as they ran past the homes of neighbors and friends that now were ablaze. As they ran through the smoke and fire, they heard the screams and cries of the wounded. Sisimayo saw people covered in blood and
pleading for help. Many others were already dead and bodies littered the area around their home where he had played soccer with friends the day before.
Although it seemed like an eternity, they reached the bush about five minutes after leaving home. Without shoes and clad only in the t-shirt and shorts that he wore to bed, Sisimayo was running harder than he had ever run in his life. By now his brother was a few paces ahead of him, and he followed his brother through the bush. Artillery shells were falling in the bush where people sought shelter as well as in the city. As he was running through the thick grasses and smoke, Sisimayo suddenly lost visual contact with his brother. Frightened and alone, he ran as fast as he could hoping to catch up to his brother. Unfortunately, he would never see his brother again.
He caught glimpses of other people running through the bush and ran in the same general direction. His lungs burned from the exertion as he ran mile after mile trying to distance himself from the fighting. By now tears were streaming down his face. As he struggled to catch his breath in an opening in the dense vegetation, he crossed paths with a family fleeing the city. Noticing that he was alone and crying, the man instructed Sisimayo to follow them. Relieved to be with someone older, Sisimayo promptly followed the man and his wife who were carrying their two small children.
The man, named James Tabani Jima, and his wife, Mary Dudu James, were in their 20s and lived in one of the many smaller village that surrounded Mundri. Sisimayo had never seen them before. James asked Sisimayo about his family and discovered that he had known his father. Now aware of this small connection between their families, Sisimayo pressed on with this family to the north of Mundri and gradually the sound of fighting in Mundri grew more distant. By now the family had joined with other people
fleeing Mundri and the villages around it, and this stream of people eventually happened upon SPLA soldiers who were gathering up survivors in the area. The soldiers tried to reassure the noncombatants that they were now in a safe area, and that the SPLA forces were engaging the government army which was advancing on Mundri from the east
Exhausted and frightened, Sisimayo sat quietly with the other refugees whose numbers grew by the minute. However, no members of his family showed up, and he did not recognize anyone as being from his neighborhood. He wondered if any of his family had survived, but he would not know the answer to that question for 14 years. He feared that no one else from his family had survived. It was just a few months before his 10th birthday, and he was on his own.
The Attack
Nine-year-old Sisimayo Faki Henry gathered firewood with his older brother in the bush near his home in Mundri, a small city in southern Sudan. On most evenings he helped his brother prepare the campfire in the middle of the three houses in the family compound that housed his mother and 9 siblings. His father, an agriculture production expert with a degree from the University of Khartoum, had died two years earlier of natural causes at the age of 35. Until today, the day his father had died had been the worst day of his life. It was the first time he had seen someone close to him die as he stood by helplessly. Given the important role that fathers played in the lives of their sons in the Moru tribe, one of Sudan’s smaller tribes, Sisimayo was vaguely aware, even at this young age, that he would have to work harder than others to get ahead in life. His father would not be there to connect him to potential employers nor to help pay the substantial dowry that was given to the bride’s family by the family of the groom.
After gathering the wood, the brothers swept the area around the compound to rid it of places that could hide poisonous snakes or scorpions, always a danger in this part of Sudan. They lit the fire that burned each night from about 6 to 9 p.m. Living near the equator in the area of Sudan known as Western Equatoria, darkness fell on Mundri at nearly the same time throughout the year. As darkness approached, his family prayed to thank God for the food that had been prepared by Sisimayo’s mother and three older sisters. A deeply religious family, they prayed before each meal.
When the evening meal was finished, Sisimayo sat near the fire and listened as his mother told her nightly story to her children. Like other parents in Mundri, she told her children the myths and legends of the Moru tribe that had been passed down through numerous generations. Many of the stories were comparable to the fables that children in the West hear from their parents. There were good characters and evil villains, and in the end good conquered evil. The stories were used to convey values and expectations for behavior; they served the dual purposes of evening entertainment and education. Common themes were living in harmony and behaving honorably in your dealings with others. Among the Morus and other tribes of southern Sudan, the reputations of individuals and families were of paramount importance. A young man whose integrity was suspect or who came from a family with a questionable history, including a family history of mental illness or crime, would have a difficult time convincing another family that he would be a good husband for their daughter. Sisimayo was schooled in these matters by his mother who knew how to hold her children spellbound with her words; the lessons sounded more like adventure stories than Sunday school lesson but the point of each story was not missed by Sisimayo.
The evening campfire was also the place where the history of the family was learned. Sisimayo could recite the names and accomplishments of several generations of relatives. He also heard tales of family members who brought dishonor on the family. Although missionaries had brought literacy and Christianity to the Moru tribe during the British colonial period, oral history was still an important way in which children learned about their family, tribe, and traditions.
When the fire had burned down to a few red embers, the family ended the day
with their evening prayers. As was their tradition, they prayed that they would be protected during the night. No one suspected that this would be the last time they prayed together as a family. With prayers completed, they each made their way to their respective huts. Sisimayo and his older brother shared one hut, and his three older sisters shared another; his mother and the younger siblings slept together in the largest of the three buildings.
Shortly before dawn, the ground shook as artillery shells fell throughout Mundri. The civil war between Arab Muslim forces of the Khartoum government from the north and the Sudanese People’s Liberation Army (SPLA) from the south reached Mundri in 1989. Government forces were launching a counter attack against the SPLA forces that had been encamped around Mundri for the past 3 or 4 months. Sisimayo had been aware of the presence of the SPLA because the school had closed when they arrived. Like most other child, Sisimayo was happy to have time off from school, but his mother had made him stay closer to home than usual during these months. Her nervous demeanor and the bits of conversation among the adults that he heard recently, had made him vaguely aware that they could be in danger.
As the artillery rounds exploded throughout the city, people left their homes and ran for the bush area that rimmed the city. Sisimayo’s family lived in a neighborhood close to the bush, and he and his brother ran for cover in the area where they had gathered firewood the day before. It was the rainy season and the area was thick with tall grasses growing between large trees. He held his brother’s hand as they ran past the homes of neighbors and friends that now were ablaze. As they ran through the smoke and fire, they heard the screams and cries of the wounded. Sisimayo saw people covered in blood and
pleading for help. Many others were already dead and bodies littered the area around their home where he had played soccer with friends the day before.
Although it seemed like an eternity, they reached the bush about five minutes after leaving home. Without shoes and clad only in the t-shirt and shorts that he wore to bed, Sisimayo was running harder than he had ever run in his life. By now his brother was a few paces ahead of him, and he followed his brother through the bush. Artillery shells were falling in the bush where people sought shelter as well as in the city. As he was running through the thick grasses and smoke, Sisimayo suddenly lost visual contact with his brother. Frightened and alone, he ran as fast as he could hoping to catch up to his brother. Unfortunately, he would never see his brother again.
He caught glimpses of other people running through the bush and ran in the same general direction. His lungs burned from the exertion as he ran mile after mile trying to distance himself from the fighting. By now tears were streaming down his face. As he struggled to catch his breath in an opening in the dense vegetation, he crossed paths with a family fleeing the city. Noticing that he was alone and crying, the man instructed Sisimayo to follow them. Relieved to be with someone older, Sisimayo promptly followed the man and his wife who were carrying their two small children.
The man, named James Tabani Jima, and his wife, Mary Dudu James, were in their 20s and lived in one of the many smaller village that surrounded Mundri. Sisimayo had never seen them before. James asked Sisimayo about his family and discovered that he had known his father. Now aware of this small connection between their families, Sisimayo pressed on with this family to the north of Mundri and gradually the sound of fighting in Mundri grew more distant. By now the family had joined with other people
fleeing Mundri and the villages around it, and this stream of people eventually happened upon SPLA soldiers who were gathering up survivors in the area. The soldiers tried to reassure the noncombatants that they were now in a safe area, and that the SPLA forces were engaging the government army which was advancing on Mundri from the east
Exhausted and frightened, Sisimayo sat quietly with the other refugees whose numbers grew by the minute. However, no members of his family showed up, and he did not recognize anyone as being from his neighborhood. He wondered if any of his family had survived, but he would not know the answer to that question for 14 years. He feared that no one else from his family had survived. It was just a few months before his 10th birthday, and he was on his own.
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