Part One | Part Two
ou must be courageous” and “you must work with a broken heart”. These two pieces of advice I heard recently have helped me to make sense of the range of experiences and emotions I have encountered during my two and a half years in the Nuba Mountains.
I want to focus mostly on the second and ask: what has broken my heart? Frustration was the predominant emotion. It was an overwhelming and exhausting frustration brought about by the hundreds of things that went wrong and shouldn’t have gone wrong; the people who should’ve given a damn but didn’t and still don’t; and the historical, cultural and religious aspects of this part of the world that continue to oppress minorities, especially women and blacks.
The song “Endless Night” from The Lion King has become one of my favorite songs. It expresses frustration and the depths of despair:
Where has the starlight gone? Dark is the day…
When will the dawning break o endless night?
You’d promised you’d be there whenever I needed you.
Whenever I call your name you’re not anywhere.
I’m trying to hold on just wanting to hear your voice.
One word, just a word will do to end this nightmare.
Underneath the pervasive frustration I felt, lay an anger fuelled by hope. This anger energised and sustained me through many black periods of doubt; it kept me working rather than giving in and going home in despair. I wrestled with myself: “Go home. Stay, no, go!” I got to know the people. I got a glimpse into their suffering. They deserved something better. They begged for something positive. They yearn for an education and a hopeful future for their children. That was enough to break my heart.
Frustration has showed itself…
in some cultural norms…
Driving alone after a trip to Kharga Primary School, I saw that the road ahead leading down the mountain was blocked by a gang of youths. Forced to stop, I was ordered to take them to the clinic. I had not seen that they were carrying a young man curled up in a
fetal position on an angreb (a locally made wooden-framed bed), wracked with pain. Later, I learned he was the brother of one of the teachers at Kharga. The next day I heard he died because his insides had been eaten by worms. This condition could have been treated with tablets. Local culture dictated that he should go to the witch-doctor and be treated with the “magic herbs” he sells.
in the consequences of war and oppression…
One of my hardest experiences occurred recently. We had just lost three teachers and were desperate to find more. Two locally trained teachers in their mid-twenties were recruited. They had done a nine-month teacher training course through one of the nearby non-government
organizations (NGOs). During the interview I found they had only completed P6 in one of our Diocese of El Obeid primary schools. They had not completed their education because they went to Khartoum to work as builders to make some quick money. As part of the interview I gave them a few questions from the 2006 P6 exam.
Frustration was the predominant emotion. It was an overwhelming and exhausting frustration brought about by the hundreds of things that went wrong and shouldn’t have gone wrong
Unfortunately, they did not answer satisfactorily. They were embarrassed. They could only teach in the lower primary classes, yet they insisted they should teach P5 to P7! This, together with their excessive demands for food allowances, accommodation and transport, made it a very difficult situation. It ended up at the local court. Their anger was explosive. I suspected it contained the frustration of years of having their lives “ruined” by war, and further complicated by other elements such as “oppression by colonialists”. Steve Biko said: “am I good enough?… it’s hard not to believe there’s something inferior about being born black.”
Families in the Nuba, as in other parts of Sudan, still face the trauma of sons or daughters “going missing”. Raids by Arab militia were common during the war. Many children were taken as slaves and treated worse than animals. The comprehensive peace agreement signed between the Sudanese Peoples’ Liberation Army (SPLA) and the Khartoum government does not mean these abuses have stopped.
Other experiences and stories I could tell highlight the automatic response of violence and aggression when conflict arises; the resigned acceptance of death, especially of children, because of malaria,
diarrhea and other preventable diseases; the very frequent situation when the sick are carried on foot for miles to a clinic only to find there is no doctor, nurse or medicines; and the women who die in childbirth because they have waited too long before going to the clinic.
“Endless Night” also screams out a stubborn hopefulness that is so real in many parts of Africa:
I know, I know the sun will rise.
Yes, I know, I know the clouds must clear.
I know that the night must end.
I know that the sun will rise.
And I hear your voice deep inside.
The Nuba people helped me persevere. They pushed and pulled, supported and drew me on. It was for them that I kept trying to make a difference, but not only for their sake, for mine, too.
(From www.mercy.org.au)