The Hill (by Abul Oyay Deng)
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…
Category Poetry
Moths to flame (by Nyibol Magok)
Like birds in a nest we would squeeze ourselves together
Together in a circle, in the middle of which burns a great fire
Amongst us is our Grandfather who tells us great stories of our ancestors, histories and myths.
Captivating our minds and hearts as the fire warms our bodies.
Astonishing stories make us wish we could see our ancestors as they lived, spoke and fought
Stories whose impact brought to us the meaning of life and explanation of our origin.
A poem, a story : Just pain no gain.
Most of us have lived a life with a story worth telling for the better part of it and sometimes for the the opposite. Figuratively, I would say for every two south Sudanese one was a refugee displaced to one…
