An encounter with Dr. John Garang
de Mabior – Part I
For all martyrs
The place
was dark and quiet as the stormed had downed street lights. Not a sound could
be heard outside. I’d just come out of my car and was heading towards the door.
However, something seemed to have changed as the apartment towards which I was
walking looked different. It was my apartment, of course. Behind me, my car
looked the same. Left, right and behind, nothing seemed strange!
“I’m too
tired perhaps,” I said to myself.
Confident of my resolves, I slowly wobbled
towards the door. Nothing changed, strangely. Unlike the usual red, rectangular
door of the apartment, this door was red and squared.
“This is
stupid!” I said lamely.
Agitated by
the situation, I furiously rubbed my eyes in an attempt to shake of the
fatigue-engendered visions. Nothing changed.
“Why am I
being stupid? This is a wrong apartment!” I said with a sorrowful smile,
looking down with a mild temperament. As I looked up, the red, squared door was
gone. Staring at me was the usual rectangular greenness.
“It must
have been a long ass day,” I said with a smile and dashed towards the door.
As I turned
the door knob to enter the living door, the lights suddenly went on.
“Mm…I sure
didn’t open the lights!” I said not knowing exactly what to think.
With
agitation welling up inside me, I manned up and slowly walked to the living
room. Then I heard glasses clinking, footsteps shuffling and I knew I had
company. Robbers! Since the intruder was in the kitchen, I knew
I was fucked up. The knives and anything I could possibly use to defend myself
was already in the intruder’s hand. I’m
so dead! Luckily, I was at the door. However, I didn’t want the intruder to
assume I was a coward.
“Who’s this
in my apartment? Show yourself before I call 911!”
The
introducer started laughing. I felt irritated but still fearful.
“I’m not
bluffing!” I said with my mind at the door.
“Someone who
is bluffing usually suggests it before the other person does,” the intruder
said. I was startled. The voice was unmistakably clear. But the man, whom South
Sudanese know every very well, was dead.
“This is
certainly a dream!”
“You know,
Kuirthiy, dreams can be what we want them to be. You’ve been raised to think
that a dream happens when you’re sleep. But a dream can be anything,” another
voice said.
To say I was
freaked out would be a rude understatement. I was scared out of my freaking
brain. However, I couldn’t do anything. Whether I was dreaming or not, the
voices of the two men were enough to send me to the grave. They are all dead! I stood there, scared, confused and breathless.
Then they
majestically walked into the living room; both carrying two cans of Iced Tea. I
tried to talk but I only wheezed. Then everything darkened. I’d fainted. I then woke up only to see the two men
strangely staring at me.
“Dad? John
Garang?”
The two men
just nodded and smiled. I didn’t know what to do or say.
“Why do you
look surprise?” Dr. John asked.
I felt
irritated. I wanted to say that that was a stupid question but with the two men
staring at me, I knew that that word had to be stifled.
“You’re
dead!”
“So?” dad
asked with a frown on his face. He still
had his characteristic long hair combed backward. John Garang’s bold face
reflected the light in the living room onto my face.
“This is a
dream, right?” I asked still staring confusedly at them.
“How’s the
situation in Juba?” John Garang asked, ignoring my question.
Having seen
that my fear was receding, they moved back slowly and sat down. John Garang
said on the computer chair and dad sad on the couch.
“Okay.
What’s happening in Juba is not my problem now. My problem is that I’m talking
to dead people!” I said raising my voice.
“Stop
insulting us!” John Garang said.
I didn’t
know how to respond to that statement.
How’d you respond to such a question?
“I don’t
know what’s happening in Juba! You died and left us a man you didn’t train in
strategic planning and thinking so what do you think would happen?” I was
convinced I was dreaming so I felt justified in saying anything.
“I didn’t
know my son was funny. You used to be very quiet though thoughtful” dad said
and I felt a wave of nostalgia spiralling through my body.
“Garang,
let’s not send him into emotional recollection. Let’s see what he thinks about
South Sudan,” John Garang said, looked at dad then at me.
“I guess
you’re right,” dad said looking at me.
“I know SPLM
met in New Site after my passing and unanimously selected Kiir.”
I just nodded.
“Do you
think they were honest to themselves?” dad asked.
“You old men
know politicians are never honest.”
“Dad laughed
and said: “John, that’s for you.”
“Is this
really true?”
“That we are
dead or that we are alive?”
I frowned.
They just
stared at me.
“That’s not
your problem now. You write some good political articles so you’ll have to
answer us,” John Garang said.
I knew I had
to answer their questions if this dream was to end.
“Okay. I
thought what they did after your death was worthy of praise.”
“Good
observation,” dad remarked.
“They’ve now
abandoned what you guys fought for.”
“Are you
sure?” John Garang asked.
“You know
what is happening in Juba now. What does that say to you?”
“I’m the one
asking you. It could mean they only don’t know how to go about doing this
issues…not that they abandoned the vision of SPLM.”
“You are a
dead man. Why are you cautious? Besides, Kiir is not here!”
He laughed,
looked at dad and said. “Whether or not we are dead is a function of your
belief. But look, you seem to blame me about the problems in Juba now.”
“We can’t I?
You left us a clueless man and a sea of ambitious men who want to be you but
can’t.”
“But how do
you know I didn’t teach Kiir?”
“Remember
Rumbek 2004! Read his speeches! A man who calls a contract just signed an
achievement wasn’t certainly trained by John Garang!”
“Is that
supposed to make me happy?”
“What makes
you happy isn’t relevant now is it? What’s relevant is how schools, hospitals
and roads can be built. But hey…you are talking to me? Why can’t you talk to
your buddy?”
“He’s not my
buddy. He’s your president!”
“I agree,
but what kind of a president?”
“You gotta
give the man some credits. Don’t you think what’s done with the cabinet is worthy
of praise.”
I smiled as
dad started to shake his head.
“That smile
isn’t promising,” dad said.
“Indeed it’s
not! The cabinet is more than 50 percent Jieng people!”
“You seem to
know what should be done, Kuir Garang. What do you suggest Kiir should do?”
“Be a
leader…”
“Which
means?”
“Take the
initiatives of establishing and strengthening institutions.”
“How do you
establish institutions when your colleagues sabotage your every attempt?”
“It’s called
being a leader. He should deal with his colleagues.”
“I thought
he’s done that with the new cabinet!”
“What’s your
deal? Why are you defending president Kiir?”
He smiled
and looked at dad.
“I’m not
defending President Kiir. I just want to know if you’re honest in your writings
and thoughts.”
“And what
would be the relevance of that to the current problems the country is facing?”
“Do you
write out of leisure or do you hope to effect change?”
I knew what
he was driving at. He’d actually assumed my way of thinking so I was cornered. I looked at him and asked: “What do you think
could have happened had you not died.”
He didn’t
answer. I realized he avoided any questions that touched something about his
death. They both looked at me and simultaneously got up. With a smile on his
face, dad patted me on the back and said: “Think about all the things we’ve
said. We’ll continue this conversion.”
He slowly
and thoughtfully walked to the door. John Garang looked at me and said: “This
is just the beginning of our many conversations to come. Your father is here to
witness his son’s answers.”
They both
walked out of the apartment as I slowly walked to the door, confused and lost
for words. Having walked passed my car, they looked back and waved.
“Where are
you going?” I managed to ask.
They
continued to walk into the dark.
To be
continue….
NB: unedited.
