Thirty Girls (24 page)

One raid brought us again near the village of Gwere. This was the village of my grandmother, my father’s family. We were walking, getting closer and closer to this area I knew from visiting. My family was nearby. My grandparents were there, my two aunts, my cousins. Please, I prayed, don’t let us find the village. Protect my family. I thought of my cousin Caleb, who would sit with piles of chips growing between his feet carving wooden spoons and animals which he sold in the market.

We crossed the main road and all was quiet there. Everyone must be hiding, I hoped. At the bus stop by a concrete slab there was no one. Good, they have heard we are coming. I did not show I knew this place. I asked a guard, Where are we going? Would I have said such a thing at another time? No. He hit my shoulder with his gun. That blow made me feel safe.

We crossed the field where I played with my cousins. On one side are three rocks where we used to make a house and shred flowers for petal soup. I saw Caleb kiss a girl there. We came near huts out of sight belonging to neighbors where I had spent days and nights. My aunt Anastasia’s hut was farther along after the village. The rebels would go on and off
the path and soon they turned off again, walking through thick growth to another footpath where they chose to stay walking. This narrow path was the one to my aunt’s.

I saw objects littered in the grass. A plastic bracelet snapped open, the bottom rubber of a sneaker, a cardboard cereal box dotted with gray mold. Then came burnt things: a blackened soda can, a plastic fork with melted prongs, a pink towel singed with a hard foamy edge. I walked by eggshells full of ashes. A magazine was fanned open and stiff, as if dipped in black cement. The rebels at the front of the line must have come to the clearing because the walking stopped. Ahead were shouts and clapping. This meant we were about to raid. Would I see my family killed? Would I have to kill them?

We moved forward and I saw why there were no people anywhere. The huts were no longer. In their places were shallow burnt pits with all the ground black and straw like black wire.

My aunt’s hut was farther on, not in sight. We turned away from that place and the rebels led us the other way, so I did not see if her house was still there. I supposed it was not. The rebels would burn dwellings when they were angry to find people gone. Maybe this had happened. Later I learned that my family had escaped and were safe, even if others had not been so fortunate.

Did God see where we were?

I wondered.

Did God see into Sudan? Louise said there was too much evil in the camps so God would not look at us anymore. What kind of God is that? I would wonder. Then I stopped wondering.

I tried instead to stay alive. I am alive now and can breathe and that is as much as I know. Why one person should die this day and another be permitted to live, who knows it? If I ask the questions now, I still do not have an answer.

If God was watching Sudan, then he was allowing for these things to be so. In that case, I say, God let us down. He forgot the children of the north. He forgot Tabitha, the girl from Arum, in the red ruffled shirt. She was even looking at the rebels without hate, you saw no hate in her
eyes. And what happened to her? She was tied to a tree till the rope sank into her skin.

You see these things, and it is hard to think God is good.

Still I prayed. You get into the habit of praying. It comes when things are hard, so what can I tell you? At first I prayed to God, then soon I was praying not even to God, just to no one. It was just prayers going out to the air. I prayed for us girls to escape. I prayed to see my mother again, prayed to be able to fight again with my sisters, prayed to greet my father. I thought I would be happier this time when I saw him. I prayed to be with my Philip. I would think, please please please. That was a prayer.

And I had to start praying for Agnes. She was not always well and I worried she would become more sick. After a while I saw my prayers were not helping and I said to myself, I must do something. Then I remembered this man Chunga. And I had an idea of a thing I might do, more than just pray.

Chunga looked as mean as he was which is not always the case. Kony for instance did not appear mean in his looks, he appeared maybe he would be kind. But this Chunga had a face like a bulldog and short legs of muscles and dangerous red eyes. He carried anger in his shaking cheeks. He was with us sometimes, then would go with another group, but when he was there, he liked to stand over us with a bad look in his red eyes. He carried a gun wrapped around the handle with silver duct tape. You are not the type for me, he said, and kicked me a little with his dirty sneaker. But you I like, he said, and touched Lily’s cheek. The commander Lily was wife to was not there at the time. Chunga pulled her to him. We looked to Louise, and when Louise made no sign we knew there was nothing to be done. So he took Lily off.

At these times you are relieved not to be picked. I say this because I know it is not right, even if you cannot help the feeling. You are glad it is not you. You are not proud of this, but so it is.

We think it was Chunga who gave Lily the AIDS. But who knows it. Chunga kept two rebels near him, one in a purple windbreaker with a fat nose, the other with a bony face and yellow beads around his neck. He
would talk to them and we would listen to his big talk. He did not care if we were hearing. Who were we?

He said, If I have not seen blood in a while I get a headache. He grinned at us, with shining eyes. Maybe he was drunk. Even with the rule of no drinking, the rebels would be drunk in the day. Chunga said he was a better fighter than Kony. One day he said, Kony’s time is over.

I was not the only one hearing him, others of us were listening also. You must not say anything against Kony, but Chunga did not believe any of us would repeat it. How would we have the chance to do it?

He said, I had a vision in
my
dream. Maybe Kony would like to hear how the spirits are now speaking to Chunga. Maybe he would like to hear what they are saying to me. He laughed, meaning it was bad news.

Kony never liked to hear if he was in someone’s dreams. Only what happened in his own dreams he wanted to know. Once, another person gave Kony a prediction and after that, Kony was arrested in Khartoum from the bad luck.

We would hear Chunga speak this way against Kony. If Kony knew of it Chunga would not be alive. I saved the thought, and that thought came back to me when I was looking for it. I thought, I will try.

No one could meet with Kony unless he requested it, but I did not let this prevent me. Why would I want to go to Kony? One reason, for the sake of Agnes. Each time I returned after raids Agnes was more sick. Then this time her hair had become reddish straw, and on her face were scabs like fingerprints.

I am as selfish as anyone. But to think of Agnes I would not be thinking only of myself. Thinking of her I felt better. Thinking of her I had a mission. I went to the rebel named Ricky. He was not rude to the girls of St. Mary’s and would talk with us when no one saw. He had been with the rebels a long time, but was only seventeen. I had asked him, Why do you take us from our families?

Kony wants a big family, he said. If you want your family big you must have many children. On a string around his neck Ricky carried a vial of water. In battles the water would tell you what to do.

What about your real family? Where is your mother?

His face did not move. My mother is dead.

I told him I wanted to see Kony.

He believed I was making a joke.

No. I have something important to tell him, I said.

What could you know of important things? He was taking a pebble out of his boot, but I saw he was listening.

Bring me and see. Maybe he will thank you for it.

He put on his boot. I don’t know, he said.

After this for some days I would see Ricky near the fire or passing by while we dug roots. He said nothing. But other rebels were nearby. Once I was able to ask, Will you take me? He shrugged, but I saw his interest. The next time I had a chance I said, I see you are not able to go to Kony. He looked at me, then seemed to look inside himself. There was more interest in his eye.

Finally, while we were collecting firewood, he came to me. We will go to Kony, he announced.

Now?

When I say.

We didn’t always know what day it was, but sometimes I would see the date on the watch of a rebel. I was surprised to find that more days had passed since our abduction than I would have guessed. Time was longer, not shorter.

Finally the day came and Ricky said, Now we go. Greg Lotti was away and this may have allowed for it. I walked in front of Ricky. He said, If this is a trick you will be sorry.

It is not a trick.

Anyone can say something and make it sound true. Saying it makes something exist which did not exist before. Once the words are said, it becomes real, whether true or not.

After a short walk of an hour we arrived to Rubanga Tek at another different hut. Children were pushing each other around outside and women nearby hit them. Ricky approached a guard. This girl wants to see Kony. The guard stared at him. He wore a brown football shirt with gold numbers.

I undestood then that Ricky had not arranged it. We were just coming
in this way and it made me worried. The guard entered the hut. When he came out he went to talk with the women, forgetting us. We waited. The guard looked at us, not caring.

Finally, Ricky went again to him. Can we see Kony? he said.

Kony refuses to see you, the guard said. What? Does this girl belong to you?

Ricky frowned, as if he were concentrating on a serious matter, but I saw he was embarrassed. I had to think quickly.

I am returning this to Kony, I said. I slipped my bracelet from my wrist and held it out. So far I had kept this one thing of my past life.

The guard took it, knowing I was lying. He would take that bracelet perhaps for himself, who knows. He returned to the hut and we stood waiting. A shout came from the hut and Ricky looked at me with worried eyes. What would happen now?

You come, the guard said, his gold thirty-nine in the door.

He was not holding the bracelet. We entered the dim hut and waited for our eyes to adjust to the darkness to see the people there. Kony was the only one sitting on a chair. There were two guards holding guns and two officers with braid on their shirts, one with gray ruffled hair often with Kony. The women sat with children in their arms, Kony’s children. I saw a St. Mary’s girl there, Helen. She was holding a child. I did not show I knew her.

Who must see Kony?

She has said it, Ricky said, and stepped away from me, not to be blamed.

Seeing Kony’s face again made my body split apart from me. He wore a baseball hat and beneath the brim I saw impatience in his face. I felt I would not succeed.

Kony remembers this one. You are one of the girls of Aboke. Again you invite yourself. A woman’s vagina must be watched carefully or the devil will enter her.

The women nodded.

So you are having a child, he said and nodded, sure of it.

No, I said. I remembered his thin braids slapping my shoulder like tassels. I bent to my knee in front of him. I have danger to report to Kony.

Kony smiled all around, as if this was preposterous.

Go on.

A rebel is saying things against Kony. I spoke quietly, not looking at him.

Women leave now, he said. Those on the floor rose up and took the children away. Helen did not look at me. She was a girl I always liked but had never made friends with at school. She kept apart from most girls, but I admired her. At this moment I even had the thought of how I had missed my chance to be a friend of Helen.

Who is this man? Kony was no longer smiling.

The one they call Chunga. And I told him what I knew.

Kony turned to his commander with the gray hair. Do you know this Chunga?

The man nodded, looking at me. He is from Kotito.

What do we know of him?

Sometimes he is not right in the head, the commander said.

He is against Kony?

It is possible.

I looked at them now. I thought, Am I watching to see if I would have a man killed?

Bring this man Chunga to Kony, he said. Where is he?

The soldier whispered to the other officer, who was wearing a khaki shirt and had a narrow beard on his jaw. When the soldier stepped back, the officer said, He maybe is with Omona in Nebbi.

Can he not come from Nebbi, then? Kony said.

Yes.

Then he will.

This girl can go, Kony said. I hope you speak the truth.

May I have a blessing? I said.

He looked confused. Are you sick?

In Sudan there were many sick among us and we were sometimes given medicine. For diarrhea you were given dead water—stream water that has been boiled, so it is no longer alive—mixed with shea oil. You would take three sips for the Holy Trinity and get better. But this medicine did not help for the AIDS. Nothing would help but Kony’s blessing. Maybe I did not believe it, but Agnes did.

It is for my friend, I said.

The rebels did not speak of AIDS. If you had AIDS they might let you escape. Or they would paint a white cross on you and if the cross fell off, it revealed that you were HIV positive. In this case you were to be bathed in a river, and if he was nearby Kony prayed over you. If he was not, a controller or technician would pray. As you left the river you were not to look back or you would not be cured.

Kony’s head dropped back on his shoulders and his eyes rolled up. He made a strange gurgling sound. One knee was going up and down fast. Some people said Kony did not sleep. Some said he used drugs. When I looked at him I had the reminder of his wet mouth and other unpleasant things he did to the girl on the bed who was me. I looked away.

Finally he said, If you are right about this Chunga, Kony will bless your friend. Who is she?

One called Agnes.

He turned to the man with the narrow beard. Kony will remember this, he said. The man nodded, but he was watching me with unhelpful eyes.