What Couldn't Be Written

I couldn’t write about it at the time. Perhaps a little paranoia lurks in my brain, but I wasn’t willing to risk that some of “them” actually might want to “get” me. So in one of my blog entries, I mentioned that there was something about which I couldn’t write until after I left the country.

On the Saturday before I left Sudan, Jermaine drove me from Akot to Rumbek. We had with us a couple of young Dinka pastors, also. Along the way, we picked up another man who had car trouble and was going to Rumbek for a part. The trip was going well – as well as any trip goes on a laterite washboard of a road where twenty-five miles requires an hour of driving. Then we reached a particular village, just over half way to our destination.

There are always huge “speed bumps” in the villages – as though 25 MPH might be too fast – and there are often police or army checkpoints, but these usually don’t cause much bother. That day, that village was different. 

As we approached one of the speed bumps, we saw an unusual number of soldiers, and then we noticed that there were a lot of stopped, empty vehicles. Then we saw that there was a large group of people sitting under a tree back off the road, and that soldiers with AK-47s and sticks were rushing more and more people into the group under the tree.

The soldiers were not gentle, either. We saw them striking men on the heads and bodies with sticks.

The soldiers motioned us off the road, into the field by the tree, and they began ordering us out of the vehicle. They were reasonably polite with me, but they began to herd Jermaine and our other passengers toward the tree. I intentionally played the “old man” card and moved as slowly as I safely could so as to stay close to the vehicle for as long as possible. 

Perhaps I should mention here that Jermaine, from Cleveland, is black, and although he was wearing his Baptist Mission ID, there was nothing that would immediately communicate his Americanness to the soldiers. What followed probably did not span more than four minutes, but at the time, it certainly seemed much longer.

On my side of the Landcruiser, I was trying to stay close while the soldiers searched the vehicle. I just kept smiling and being cooperative, while moving quite slowly with obvious elderly stiffness. I lost track of Jermaine and the others as they were being hurried toward the tree.

A sergeant came up and apparently realized that we were unlikely to be carrying whatever contraband they were looking for. About the same time, Jermaine must have managed to communicate to someone that his ID meant something to which they should give heed. 

Suddenly, Jermaine was back on his side of the car, and one of the soldiers, who had snatched the keys from Jermaine, handed them back to me and told us to go on.

Jermaine and I replied that we had to have the other men from our vehicle too, and the soldiers told him to go to the tree and find them. Jermaine is not noted for being often in a hurry, but he accomplished that task with remarkable speed. We piled back into the Landcruiser and were about to leave when a soldier told us to take another passenger along. We did not argue.

As we resumed our journey and drove slowly on out of the village, we weren’t sure quite how to act. Another soldier tried to stop us a little further on, but Jermaine called out that the other soldiers had told us to go on – and he did not stop. A quick image of AK rounds riddling the vehicle flashed through my mind.

As best we could figure it, the soldiers were searching vehicles for illegal weapons. After many years of civil war, there are still thousands of AK-47s hidden all across the countryside. These cause concern, and occasional trouble, for the military.

Note, also, that in many third-world countries, people from one section of the country are often used to “police” the people of another area – people with whom they may well have had centuries of traditional hatreds and war, and with whom they may not even share a common language. So it is in South Sudan. And no love is lost between a local population and the soldiers stationed in that area.

The rest of our journey was anticlimactic.

I have previously expressed my appreciation for American security officials and their adherence to the rule of law. That day on the road to Rumbek was one more reason why I feel that way.