Doleip Hill, the English called it Khartoum Tet, the Nuer calls it Paal I call it. For my home it is. Here, I shared my bath with crocodiles and fish under the moonless night, with no fear.
I knew the reptiles of the Nile – We swam our ways, in silence of co-existence! It was here, that I learned to find my bread- I tilted the land the way my ancestor dared. It was here, where grandma passed down the knowledge to her granddaughter, she brought from lands far away, beyond the Hill.
I ploughed the land and within a few moons I earned my place, I was no longer Nyajur ,I was named after my fathers’ ancestors. The men and the gods! I knew the colors of the earth and the roots of my fathers’ by thousands names- I knew which to take when sickness came.I knew to awake in the barn and run to the farm before the birds sang my name. In the evenings, we sat around the fire and I learned my family tree way back-Back to the mighty kings, and the bloodlines continue to Nyikang. The man and the god.
I learned to pray to the gods of my father’s fathers. Under the full moon we danced beautiful rhythm in “ dithor”.Here, I leaned to dance Bul ki Thom. Here, I never heard gunshots nor did I see an Arab soldier on the Hill- For they all knew their place, Kaal Buin’. Now deerpatch is no longer-Where the men sat to enjoy Wijrach ka Akelh! My shrines have fallen and my history is tinged with sorrow-As Foreign boots and languages desecrate my Hills.
Now as I sit solemnly, in the wilderness, to write this- The Spirits of my gods whisper in the wind-My Panyidway is no more!Mothers and brothers have to pay for the land to bury their love ones! As I sit pondering of where my grandma shall rest, eternally- I awaken myself, for it must be only a bad dream!All shall come to pass, for my gods of my ancestors have not forsaken me-Nyikang, my god and the father of my fathers, watches over the Hills.
By: Abul Oyay Deng
