Reflections in fiction, stories of struggling to survive. MJ-3, LJ & JK-4

Reflections in fiction, stories of struggling to survive.

As I think and process my role in South Sudan, both past, present, and future, I wanted to share some of the fictional stories I wrote one year ago. These stories, glimpses into other peoples' lives, are a culmination of stories I’ve heard, experiences that have been shared, laments offered in reflection, real people trying to make sense of this world. Though they are fictional, most stories are based on real people living in South Sudan.

MJ – 3

The anger was immediately seen, but the depth of its grasp was still to be learned. Years of war, running, instability, death and decay had produced a hardship of heart, not recognizable at initial glance, but festering deep within the youth and young men. They had always known war and fighting, and as he was soon to realize, fighting was still how they solved their problems now.

The façade of peace covered externally the inner struggles of rage that loomed within. True, lasting peace was possible, but he knew the reconciliation process was going to be long and arduous, time-consuming and slow, but absolutely crucial to the viability of the temporary peace. There could be no other way.

LJ

He knew of war; he was familiar with death.

He was more optimistic a few years ago, more eager to induce change in his life and for his family. He had dreams, though humble and unspoken, but they provided the drive and motivation to work hard, to labor on, to strive for what was yet unattainable.

Things were different now.  He married Nancy three years ago, by traditional standards, as no formal wedding actually took place. He still lagged behind on the customary bride price, and his second child was in his wives womb, soon to make his or her appearance in the world. But he no longer found solace in his hopes and dreams. Only the drowning of his sorrows in the local brew comforted him now. How quickly things had changed.

JK-4

“JOSEPH! JOSEPH!” he screamed out as he tossed and turned under the darkness of the night, the mosquito net looming overhead. What was going on inside his mind was yet unattainable. Maybe recollections of the war, or remembrances of the evil that led him here, to this home, to this very place of perceived shelter?

Joseph awoke at the calling of his name, and as he uttered JK’s name in return, he knew that JK was still asleep. JK’s shrills dimmed to mere grunts as his body rolled over, and Joseph wandered at the depths of his younger brother’s sorrow, as he himself was quickly lulled back to sleep, repeating silent prayers of peace.