Arua

Going to a place that is known to be unstable requires careful preparation and gathering of information. When we found out that Dut’s father was in Arua, in Northwest Uganda, we were thrilled! Dut was going to be able to see his dad soon, and it was possible for me to accompany him; it was especially serendipitous because I was feeling sad that I was not going to be able to be a part of that process as well.

Arua is unstable because it is on the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), two hours from the border with Sudan, and in the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) territory. The DRC had its first “democratic” elections in 40 years on Friday, July 28. Anytime there are elections in any of these countries, the situation has a heightened intensity. There are expectations about rigged elections and corruption matched with hopes for peaceful transitions of power. The LRA is currently in negotiations with the Ugandan government in Southern Sudan; the LRA was funded by the Sudanese government (a part of the intricate proxy warfare which has dominated the region for the past 20 – 40 years). The Sudanese government, as a part of their own peace agreement with the Southern Sudanese rebels (Dinka – the tribe that Dut belongs to), agreed with the Ugandan government to stop funding the LRA. So, the LRA is backed into a corner and grasping at political straws at the peace talks… And the leader of the LRA – Joseph Kony – is currently holed up in NE DRC (near Arua). Needless to say, lots was (and is) going on in and around Arua.

Before heading north, I checked with lots of locals to find out about the situation on the ground. Often, I have found that these folks have a much more accurate sense of the situation than do “we.” I also did some checking online – and after all of that, decided that going was safe. Additionally, if the situation turned sour, I felt I could get out fast and safely, particularly if I kept my nose to the ground – keeping abreast of any changes.

We were off! With no ID checks, the three of us – Ayuen, Dut, and me – climbed onto a small prop plan and headed North. We were all so excited. I was tipped off to the situation in Arua when we first got on the plane – Dut and Ayuen, and me by association – were treated badly by some Ugandans. There was open seating, and I saw a man looking for a comfortable seat. So, I pointed him to the seat in front of Dut and said that it was free if he wanted it. Dut had placed his bag there as he was getting situated – the man said to Dut, “you did not pay for this seat. Move your bag.” Dut said that he knew that and moved it promptly. The man said “you are guaranteed an uncomfortable flight, bringing all of your luggage.” I responded that they were moving, so needed to bring many pieces of luggage. He then said something more about “you people” and turned around in a huff. During the flight, Dut told me in a hushed voice that people in Arua and Northern Uganda generally really don’t like Dinkas. He assumed that was what this man’s problem was.

We went through the rest of the flight without a hitch. When we were deplaning, I offered to the man to get off first as we had many things to get together. His reply was “next time, don’t bring so much luggage. It is an inconvenience.” I was so shocked by what he said – and Dut was angered but equally shocked – we did not respond. Things did not get any easier when we got off the plane.

We were met not with grinning happy faces and people meeting one another but a stiffness which permeated the atmosphere. Everyone seemed anxious and there were lots of men with guns. And, the man from the plane was staring at Dut like he was the most evil person. I was pretty angry – what did this man know? I returned his stare with an equal “don’t mess with me or my friends” stare. We had quite the staring match – but I think that he has had more practice. I gave up.

Dut’s “family” (loosely termed as everyone is a cousin, it seems) met us at the airport. Again, everything was reserved – not reserved sad like in Rwanda, but reserved anxious. This was not looking good…

We then drove around Arua, looking for a place to stay. Everywhere we went, people had guns – not like in S. Uganda, where people also have guns. In the south, the guns are treated as if they are never used. In Arua, people seemed too comfortable with them – as if they are used, and often. We found a place; while I was filling the paperwork, Dut’s cousin Awar came in and was convinced that we were getting cheated out of our money. Another signal that things were not alright here in Arua – there was such a strong assumption that one was being cheated… there was limited trust of one another. I had Dut take Awar out of the reception area because the situation felt like it was escalating too quickly – and it was not yet 10 in the morning.

After a frazzling morning, we headed with Dut’s cousins to the local government hospital. Here, people can get care for free. While we walked down the streets, we were certainly stared at. However, I took little notice of that as I was fascinated by Dut and watching him interact in this environment. Clearly, he is quite respected in the community. The Dinka that were with us walked on all sides of us as we marched into the hospital. Of course, Ayuen and I were in the back as the men had very important things to discuss :). As soon as we entered the hospital grounds, we heard people moaning and crying in pain. There were so many people – all bandaged, some with swollen faces or hobbling along a garden path. My heart just broke for these folks, but it was also evident that they were cared for in a (relatively) clean environment. There just is not an adequate amount of funding to treat everyone as they ought to be, but at least they are clean if not cramped.

We walked into one of the wards – beds stacked everywhere with little room between. People were getting wounds cleaned – clearly a painful process. The first person we met was Dut’s uncle who displayed more emotion than Dut and Ayuen combined when they met. His uncle cried and just kept gently, but persistently, hugging Dut. This was the reunification that I was expecting with Ayuen – but as I found later, Dinka women display very little emotion. It is the men who are excited, happy, sad, or angry. Dut then met his cousin, also named Dut. Little Dut was in the hospital, having been brought here by his dad (Dut’s uncle) from Sudan, because his arm had swollen to three times its size from an insect bite.

After two hours of talking – everyone sat on the hospital bed – Dut and I talked with the doctor. The doctor said that he did not know what he was treating with Little Dut and recommended that Dut take the Uncle and Little Dut to the main hospital in Kampala. At least in Kampala, there are laboratories which can conduct tests to ascertain what exactly is wrong with Little Dut. With that, we made plans to leave on Saturday or Sunday for Kampala with the family.

We ventured back on the streets to walk to where the Dinka community lives. It was about a ten minute walk from where we were staying but it was HOT. It is much hotter in Northern Uganda than the south, interestingly. As we approached the clustering of huts and cement shacks, people started greeting Dut, Ayuen, and me. They then would walk with us. By the time we arrived at where Dut’s father was, we had multiplied our group to around 35 people! Dut was thrilled by all of the people – he knew so many as he talked on the phone with them but had not seen them since he was a child.

As we rounded the corner, there was Dut’s dad. He was just standing there, waiting for his son to come to him. It was as if he was filled to the brim of emotion; once Dut reached him and touched him, he simply burst with an incomparable joy. For those of you who are parents, know that what you can imagine experiencing when being reuniting with your son after 19 years of separation (during which you thought your son had died) is what I witnessed in Jongkuch. Just thinking of it now brings tears to my eyes and warms my heart. Dut was hugging him, Jongkuch was dancing and singing, and everyone was standing around smiling at the wonderful sight unfolding before them. As soon as the hug ended, Jongkuch went around to the rest of the houses, singing and dancing “his song” and telling everyone that his son had returned. We could hear him for twenty minutes. Meanwhile, people were steaming to meet Dut – kids, women, and men. Everyone wanted to see Dut and greet him. It was a powerful sight.

As this was happening, chairs of all sorts were being gathered and placed in a circle. Once Jongkuch returned, all were gathered. First, I was thanked by one of the elders and by Dut’s father for bringing him home safely. (I was thinking that I had little to do with his survival up to this point, but the translation would have been difficult and inappropriate!) Jongkuch was very charismatic and gave quite a speech. The most memorable parts were his use of animals to get his point across. When Dut was first lost in 1987, Jongkuch said that he was like a dog searching for his tail – chasing after it but never reaching it. Now, he wished he was a dog so I could see how happy he was – his tail would be wagging. Ayuen translated everything for me, as it was all said in Dinka.

After two hours of stories in Dinka (and outside under the glaring sun), I was exhausted. Dut and I had previously talked about how I was going to need some time alone after such a full experience, so I excited as gracefully as possible and by myself. Whew! I headed back to our motel to rest and wait for my parents’ phone call. After hanging out there for a few hours, I decided to walk around town a bit and then head back to Dut.

Walking around Arua was strange and hostile. In any other place I have been in East Africa, people stare because I am white and sometimes alone. The difference is that those stares are friendly and curious. I often find some way to make fun of myself and situation – doing some little dance to make them all laugh at the mzungu and the fact that all are staring at me. In Arua, however, it was entirely different. The stares were hostile, anxious, and untrusting. Rather than enjoying being the center of attention, I almost broke down and started crying – that is how uncomfortable the situation was.

I booked it back to Dut. Immediately, I felt better being in a place where I was known and with Dut. Immediately, a man wanted to know if I had any children and wished me many sons as girls were not desirable. Oh man! It was the wrong time to say that to me – I got a little argumentative, saying that maybe he felt that way but I would equally welcome a son or daughter, as they are equal in my eyes. To which he responded that I didn’t know what I was talking about! It was weird – like being acceptably slapped in the face in public. Very strange.

During this conversation, the elder of the village asked to meet with Dut. He told Dut that they had protection for the village, but not enough to keep me safe (or the others around me safe while I was there). Yikes. We immediately headed back to our place, escorted by 15 large Dinka men, some holding my hand. It did not feel good at all.

We made it back and quickly locked the door. I did not want to speak for then our neighbors would know that I, a mzungu, was there. After a conference call with my dad and Dustin, we all decided that it would be best for me to get the heck out of dodge. It simply was not safe nor stable there for me.

After a dodgy night’s sleep, during which I had a nightmare about Dinkas fighting in the streets of Arua with local Ugandans, I awoke. Dut and I took the first bodas we found and headed to the airport. I luckily got a ticket and headed south. Once in Entebbe, I was able to catch my breath and gratefully feel safe again.