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.