Dec.

17, 2001 FUNERAL

Today I received an invitation to attend a funeral in Murahatiga. This village that consists of a
scattering of huts, is so small that probably it cannot be found on any map. The funeral – it was the
third and thus the last one, which is normally held a few months after the deplored death – was for
the wife and three children of a certain Dominic El Hakim. Small as the village was, an Antonov
pilot had found it. For according to the invitation, they had “died in the bombardment by the enemy
Antonov on Sept. 3, 2001”.
As it reached me late, I did not attend. But I imagine the rite followed the usual pattern. Early in the
morning a few elders may have poured little sacrifices of beer and grain on the four graves. And
later in the day many people will have congregated in Dominic's compound to share a meal and a
drink. And they will have told funny stories with happy endings about the MiGs and Antonovs to
chase away, if only for an afternoon, the fear these planes evoke and to comfort Dominic in his
loss. The bombings have been going on for over ten years now and there is perhaps nobody who
cannot ramble on a bit about them.
There are the two MiGs that in mid-flight ran out of fuel and had to make emergency landings in
rebel-held area. One went up in flames but the other one can up to the present day be admired deep
in South Sudan along the track from Bor to Kongor. It is still in good shape apart from the landing
gear that got crushed when it hit the black cotton soil. And also the parachute that these planes hold
in their tail had disappeared, probably to be turned into a few ladies' dresses.
On a sunny morning in November 1985 a MiG crashed in the middle of Juba. It produced a sound
as if thousands of glass bottles all broke in one go. It then exploded in a fireball, not only killing a
never disclosed number of people but also damaging the little office of the British Council. Back
then Khartoum fought the war already with all means at its disposal but did not yet want to
antagonise the USA and Great Britain. It would not be long, however, before the fundamentalist
preachers in Khartoum would start to call these two countries from their Friday pulpits “the dogs of
the West” and the British Council, revealed to be just another dog house, would be closed down.
Back in that period the older sister of my friend Iromo was seriously injured in a bombing and
people at the time thought she would die. But she is still up and about in spite of a damaged right
eye and deep cuts in her skull. She is a bright elderly lady and nothing indicates that she suffered
any brain damage.
The girls' school in Narus was lucky twice. The entire roof was lifted up from the walls by an
exploding bomb. But it settled back down again so that the damage was really minor. A second
bomb, that fell even closer to the building and might well have flattened it, did not explode. It is
still there, in a deep hole, and after every rain some more soil covers it.
Then there was the Anotonv that disturbed my wife and me during siesta time in our grass-roofed
bedroom. We decided to lie down on the concrete floor. While the noise of the plane came closer I
had done so already but she was still rummaging in the wardrobe. It transpired she wanted us to lie
on a blanket and I was ordered to get up again so that she could spread it out. When the horrific
rattle of the incoming bombs started a few seconds later we were close together on the soft blanket,
protective arms around each other. I was left with some fresh admiration for my wife's nerve but
did not delay to have a bomb shelter built right in front of our bedroom.
Things in Narus got so bad that the Toposa elders sacrificed a bull after which they buried the horns
pointing upward. It did not help much and in the end most of the local people moved a few km
Southwards to Nakodok.
Anyway, I now realise that these little stories would not have consoled Dominic in his great loss.
But they have assuaged my own fears.