by Jan Coates
“Come,” Daniel said. “I will teach you my bull song, my wech.”
“But I don’t have a bull. I am only seven years old,” Jacob said.
“Someday you will.” Daniel tapped his gaar; the thick scars stretched like pieces of rope across his forehead. “It’s never too early to learn.”
Daniel fastened a heavy iron bell to the neck of an enormous black bull. “While I sing to Macar, you pull him around in a circle and ring the bell,” Daniel said. “My song helps make him even stronger; he will make many more calves for me.”
As he tugged on the powerful bull’s rope, Jacob listened carefully to the rhythms of his uncle’s deep, chanting voice.
My ebony black Macar
Whose horns are as sharp as the thorns of the acacia.
He has the power of an angry elephant
And the speed and cunning of a hungry lion.
The white streak between his eyes is the purest of sweet milk.
He is a chief among cows, a most powerful beast.
After a while, Jacob’s feet began moving with the beat; the clanging of the bell blended perfectly with the words of Daniel’s song. I will have a big bull of my own one day ... I wonder what I will call him ...
Daniel began stroking Macar’s long horns with his strong hands. “I am shaping them so they will curve gracefully, like the flowing arch of a beautiful girl’s back.” He winked at Jacob. “His horns tell the other bulls of his great strength. Here, have a turn.”
“They are so smooth and clean,” Jacob said, “and they shine like two skinny moons.”
When they returned to the fire, the others were having a game of war. Several of the boys had made shields of cow skins; their swords were dried sorghum stalks. Two armies were marching around the outer ring of the resting cattle. When they met, a great battle erupted. They didn’t actually hurt each other, but some of their screams and shrill war cries made Jacob shiver with excitement.
“Do your soldier friends have real swords?” he asked Daniel.
Daniel laughed. “No, Jacob. The SPLA soldiers use guns, Kalashnikovs and ak- 47s. Have you not seen those before?”
“No—how do they work?” Jacob asked. “Are they like spears?”
Daniel picked up a stick and held it on his shoulder, like a rifle. “When it hits the right spot, boom! A bullet kills a man, or a lion, instantly. Already, many soldiers from the north have met our bullets. Maybe one day our bullets will teach them to leave us alone.”
“Are bullets faster than spears?”
“They are so fast, you cannot even see them,” Daniel said. He held up one finger. “And they are only as long as my finger!”
“But why are people attacking Dinkaland?” Jacob asked. “What did we do to them?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing ... they want our fertile land and our oil. The government in the north wants to get rid of all the black Africans in Southern Sudan, or have us do their work.”
“Are they lazy, Daniel?”
“I guess you might say that. This is our country. We must all fight to protect our land, Jacob. We cannot close our eyes and hope the war will disappear, like magic. I will be nobody’s slave!” Daniel hurled the stick into the air, like a spear, startling the nearby cattle. They mooed loudly and flicked their tails in complaint.
“Mama says I must go to school. She says that, with knowledge, we can learn to live in peace, not war.”
“Huh! I went to school—for a short time. All I learned was that I was a stupid bushman, or at least that was what some of the other students said.”
“But did they know you are a great wrestling champion?” Jacob asked.
“The people in that school wrestled only with words, not their bodies, Jacob.”
As they sat around the fire before bed, several boys began singing, an angry song of war.
How does the spoiling of the world come about?
Our land is closed in a prison cell.
The Arabs have spoiled our land,
Spoiled our land with bearded guns,
Guns which thunder and then even sound beautiful
Like the ancient drums with which buffaloes were charmed
Until their horns were caught.
Is the black color of skin such a thing
That the government should draw its guns?
Later, Jacob lay in the darkness, listening for lions, hyenas, and tiptoeing soldiers. He strained to hear the stars singing, like Mama said she did, but all he heard was the gentle mooing of the cattle and the snapping and crackling of the fire. Fireflies flickered high in the trees and in the long grasses. I’m sorry, Mama, for talking of war ... I think Uncle Daniel will become a soldier some day. He says we must all fight to protect Southern Sudan ... I cannot do that and also go to school ...
Chapter Four
Jacob arrived back in Duk Padiet with little interest in Sissy’s baby games. “Not now, Sissy. I have many things to do.” He went to find Monyroor, the son of his oldest step-brother, Adang. Jacob and Adang had shared the same papa, but had different mamas. Mama had been Papa’s most junior wife. Monyroor was fourteen and had recently had his initiation into manhood; the scars were still healing on his forehead. While Jacob had been at cattle camp, Monyroor had returned from spending a month on his own, growing his courage by living alone in the forest.
“What do you have?” Jacob asked, noticing from a distance that his nephew had something tied around his waist.
“Only the tail of a lion, Little Uncle.” Monyroor held it up for Jacob to admire.
Jacob ran his fingers up and down the thick, bristly tail. “I have never seen one so close. It’s longer than I thought. How did you get this?”
“It was not easy. One evening, I was building a fire to cook a hare I had caught, when I heard something moving quietly through the woods. I knew I was being watched. It was almost dark, and it was difficult to see into the trees for my fire was very bright. I stuck a branch into my fire, held the torch high above my head, and sang the hunting song, as loudly as I could.”
“Were you scared, Monyroor?” Jacob’s eyes opened wider as the story went on.
“I was not very scared, until I saw that my visitor was a lion—a male lion with a massive head and a bushy mane. I knew he was hungry because he had smelled the blood of my hare. He roared and began leaping toward me in great bounds. I was not ready to die, but I knew one of us must; we could not both be hunters. The lion stopped just outside my circle of firelight and stared at me. I had the strangest idea that he was about to speak to me, but he didn’t. Instead, he threw back his great head, and the most horrible growl erupted from deep down inside his belly. As I saw him prepare to lunge, I threw my torch toward him, grabbed my spear, put my whole body behind it, and drove it—as hard as I could.”
Jacob shivered. “I would never be so brave, Monyroor.”
“My aim was true, and the spear pierced close to the lion’s heart and stuck. He lived for several hours more, writhing on the ground, trying to stand, then falling back down, but my father, your brother, had made my spear very strong. When the beast finally stopped moving, I used my spear to claim the lion’s tail.”
Jacob had been eager to tell his nephew about his time at cattle camp, but his story seemed silly now compared to Monyroor’s tale of survival. “Will you go to cattle camp soon?” he asked instead.
“I will stay here. The others will soon return from camp. We will all need to help harvest the crops.”
“Will you go to school?” Jacob asked.
“Maybe one day, Little Uncle. But I am needed here now. I met some SPLA soldiers while I was away. They said war is just over the horizon; they warned that we must all be prepared to protect our villages. There are many soldiers from Southern Sudan, but not enough. They asked me to join them.”
“Really, Monyroor? Did they have guns? Did you see how they work?”
“They did have guns, but they weren’t using them. I will wait and see before I
decide whether to join them.”
“You are brave enough to be a soldier, Monyroor. You did not move a muscle when you received your cuts. Not like some of the other boys.”
Monyroor traced the scabs on his forehead with one finger. “My father is very proud of me. My scars are straight and even, not crooked as they would have been if I had flinched when the chief spun my head against the blade. I am sure you will do the same when it is your turn, Jacob.”
“I must spend time working on my courage before then.” Jacob reached out to touch the lion’s sinewy tail.
Jacob was excited to hear that his nephew would remain in the village, for a short time, at least. Before long, he knew they would not have much time to spend together. But first Daniel, and now Monyroor—would everyone join the SPLA? Or only the strong, brave ones?
Jacob helped Mama and his sisters work the earth for most of the afternoon. It was dry and hard. Mama looked to the sky in the west. She held her hand above her eyes to block the blazing sun. “I hope those are rain clouds. It is difficult growing beans and sorghum in this powdery soil. Our maize is half the height it should be. We should already have harvested it.”
“I can’t remember the last time it rained,” Abiol said. “When I was small, like Sissy, it rained for many weeks during Ruel. Now it seems the rainy season gets shorter and shorter.” She touched one of the dry yellow stalks. “The chief does the best he can, but even his power can’t always make it rain.”
Mama stood and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Maybe this will be our lucky year. We need some good luck; the river is lower than I can ever remember, especially during the rainy season.”
Jacob looked at the wispy gray clouds. Uncle Daniel says he will come home when it is harvest time, he thought. Jacob had been practicing his wrestling stance and moves, but it was difficult to do with a tree as an opponent! And Oscar had also promised to visit before the harvest.
That evening, the air turned, and a welcome coolness caused everyone to gather around the fire earlier than usual. “Tell me about Papa,” Sissy asked. “Tell the big fish story!”
“Again?” Abiol laughed. “Get your drum, Monyroor.” She crossed her long legs, leaned forward, and put on her storytelling face. Monyroor began playing his drum, adding its rhythmic voice to the story. Abiol’s dark eyes sparkled in the firelight. “This is an ancient event ... Many years ago, when Papa was a young boy, about the age of Jacob, he went fishing. He went alone, because his older brothers were away at cattle camp. There was also a drought in Southern Sudan that year, and food was scarce. He decided to go to the big river, which was a very long walk for a very small boy. The sun was high in the sky when he finally arrived. The river was much narrower than other years, and it moved lazily, like a sleepy snake. He sat on the bank, watched some hippos splashing about, trying to find a deep spot, and waited for the fish. He thought of Aweil Longar, ancient Dinka master of the fishing spear. He waited and waited, but the river seemed empty of fish that day.”
Mama picked up the story. “Your papa grew tired of waiting for the fish. He decided to go for a swim, just a quick swim, to cool off before catching his fish. He dove into the water like an arrow. He was a strong swimmer and swam back and forth beneath the water, searching for a flash of silver. He came up for air several times. When he went back under the fourth time, he almost banged into a huge gray rock that had not been there before. He pushed off it with his toes. But the rock did not feel like a rock; it felt squishy—and it moved!”
“My turn,” Grandmother said, smiling. She opened her eyes wide and leaned into the firelight. “Your papa swam quickly to the shallow edge of the river. He knew that a hippo can stay under water for a long time, and he knew that a hungry hippo is a dangerous hippo. He wanted to get out of its way, especially if it was a hippo in a hurry! He waited for several minutes, peering into the water, looking for air bubbles.
“Eventually, he figured out that the rock was in fact a fish, a very big fish! He wondered if it might even be a lost whale! He raced to the bank, grabbed his spear, and returned to the water. He stood as still as a crane. Soon he saw the fish swimming in tight circles just in front of him, causing the water to churn like a tornado. He stood as still as a tree, waiting for the fish to come closer. When it did, zing! Your papa stabbed his spear deep into its flesh and dragged it back to the bank. Well, that fish was almost as big as he was! How would he get it home?”
“I know, I know!” Sissy jumped up and down.
“Please, can I have a turn?” Jacob asked. Grandmother nodded. “Papa looked all around, but there was nothing, and nobody, to help him. He tried to lift the great, shiny fish in his skinny arms, but it was too heavy and slippery for him to carry. He sat down on the grass and thought for a long time. And then, because he was a very clever boy, he got an idea. He slit the belly of the fish with a sharp rock, scraped out the bad parts, cut two armholes and put the fish on, like a shirt!” Sissy clapped her hands.
“It took Papa a very long time, but finally, he made it back to the village. As he dragged himself over the last few steps, a crowd gathered on the edge of the circle of huts, watching the setting sun shining on something silvery. What on earth was approaching? It appeared to be a giant walking fish! When Grandmother recognized that it was Papa, her little son, inside that fish, she called for help. Other boys carried the prize to her hut, and Papa collapsed near the fire. Right where you are sitting now, Sissy!
“Even though Papa smelled like fish for days, no one complained; he was a hero, and everyone in the village feasted happily on fish until the rains returned. And the village elders predicted that one day Papa would be an important man, a man of many cattle, because of his ability to provide for the village, and, of course, his enormous cleverness.”
“They lived happily, and that is the end of my story!” Sissy said. Everyone laughed and thanked the storytellers for their story.
“You have a gift for storytelling, Jacob.” Grandmother caught Jacob by the hand as they stood to leave the warmth of the fire. “You remember all the small details and make the story real. You will have an important job to do, keeping my stories alive after I am gone.”
“I hope you will stay with us for a very long time, but thank you, Grandmother. I will do my best,” Jacob said, pulling on his ear. He kept his shoulders very straight and held his head high as he walked back to the hut.
BOOK II
Chapter Five
The stars sang their lullabies that moonless night, but Jacob didn’t hear them as he lay fast asleep on his cowhide mat. Except for the rustling of some mice in the thatch, all was silent inside the mud hut.
The steady buzzing of hungry mosquitoes outside was suddenly interrupted by a rapid series of terrific bangs that echoed through the night. The walls of the dark hut shook. The hard dirt floor shuddered as if a herd of rampaging elephants approached. The sky above was filled with what looked like giant, rumbling, roaring dragonflies. Their blades sliced wickedly through the air as they dropped their bundles onto the village.
Jacob jerked awake, then jumped to his feet, and began stumbling about blindly in the inky black, groping in front of him as he tripped over some of the smaller children. Someone found the small door, and they all poured out, sobbing and screaming, into a living nightmare. A herd of ghostly riders stampeded into the village, clearing a path, their silver swords flashing in the light of the flames. Some of them carried exploding sticks on their shoulders.
“Guns!” Jacob said aloud. He rubbed his eyes and crouched behind the hut, trying to pick Sissy and Mama out in the crowd. The dizzying chaos surrounding him was far worse than any of his nightmares. He looked around frantically for his sisters and grandmother. “Mama! Mama!” he cried, adding his voice to the chorus. There was no answer.
Great hungry gray monsters came growling into the village from the forest, eating up huts and people, their great trunks glowing red as they snorted out their exploding firebombs. Jacob watched in t
error, shrinking back against the mud wall, as the tanks rumbled over his village, crushing everything in their way.
Several roofs were soon ablaze; the roaring flames shot high up into the black sky while people scattered wildly, like screaming tumbleweed blown about by the helicopters’ whirring arms. People sobbed as they found family members too late. Jacob heard loud splashing, rushing and roaring, as terrified cows emptied their bladders while their luaks burned. Chickens squawked and goats cried like babies as their owners struggled to free them.
Jacob darted through the panicking crowd, holding onto his head, dodging the pounding hooves of the enormous horses. Their riders were shouting and screeching, angry words that made no sense to Jacob. His head felt strangely heavy. The explosions had hurt his ears. Everything sounded muffled, as if he were underwater. Had his entire family disappeared from the earth?
“Jacob!” Monyroor grabbed Jacob’s hand and began pulling him away from the burning huts, into the smoky darkness of the surrounding forest. “Quickly, Little Uncle,” he said urgently. “We must go, now. Cover your nose and mouth.” All around them the popping of gunshots echoed.
“But Mama, my sisters—what about them?” Jacob cried, digging in his heels. “I cannot leave without them!”
“There is no time—we must leave now!” Monyroor coughed and tugged hard on his hand. Jacob looked back over his shoulder. By the light of a blazing hut, he saw Jenny tethered all alone in the middle of the compound. Her furry head swiveled in all directions; her wild, bulging eyes met Jacob’s. He thought he could hear her bleating. Jacob forced himself to turn away and follow his nephew. They ran away from the noisy heat into the cool, quiet darkness and faded silently into the trees, like shadows. Jacob clung to Monyroor’s lion tail belt. He continued to glance sideways at the people running with them, hoping to catch sight of his mother’s blue dress amidst the forest of legs.
They ran, then walked, then ran some more. Peering ahead at the horizon, Jacob thought he saw a glimpse of faint orange beginning to color the night sky, when he stumbled on a root. He collapsed on the ground beside a tree, his small legs too weary for even one more step. “I am too tired, Monyroor,” he cried. “I must rest, just for a short time, please.”