When Elephants Fight (14 page)

Population:
39,000,000
Location:
Latitude: 15° N, Longitude:
30° E, Northern Africa
Area:
2,500,000 square kilometers
Climate:
arid desert in north,
tropical in south
Languages:
Arabic (Official)
Nubian
Ta Bedowie
dialects of Nilotic
Ethnicity:
Black 52%
Arab 39%
Beja 6%
Religions:
Sunni Muslim 70%
Indigenous beliefs 25%
Christian 5%
Life Expectancy:
49 years
Infant Mortality Rate:
92 deaths per
1,000 live births
Per Capita Income:
$2,400
Literacy Rate:
61% (male 71%,
female 50%)

They moved together toward the source of the smoke. It was coming from the far side of the village. Other people came out of their huts and as they walked their numbers increased until it seemed like everybody in the village was with them. There on the outskirts of the village were the charred remains of people's huts. Sitting on the ground were the women and children—people she had known her whole life—crying. The men poked through the ashes trying to find anything that had survived the flames. There was almost nothing, just like there was almost nothing that could be done to help.

The men gathered together and talked. Loud angry words were spoken, but she wasn't welcome to hear what they spoke about. Instead she stayed with the women as they made arrangements for the families that had been burned out to stay with other people. Whatever was lost was gone. What remained in the village would be shared with those who now had nothing.

The women talked as well, and Toma heard them speak. They said how terrible it had been—the huts burned and livestock taken—but they were grateful that nobody had been killed and the Janjaweed were gone. Maybe they wouldn't return.
Maybe
seemed like such a small word. No protection from what might still happen. They were gone, but what was to stop them from coming back?

There was a pounding on the door of the hut and people were screaming! Toma and her sister jumped to their feet and ran out to the courtyard. Her mother and brothers were already there, but where was her father? Then she remembered...he'd already be at the farm. Outside the fence, people were running away, riding donkeys, trying desperately to drive cattle that didn't want to be driven.

Nobody needed to tell Toma what was happening. Her family ran through the gate and joined the people running from the village. As she ran she heard shots. She turned and looked over her shoulder, and her heart froze. Coming into the far side of the village were armed men on horses and camels. They were firing their guns and screaming. People were running in front of them, but they were no match for the racing horses and would be quickly overtaken!

The people in front of her ran off the path and scrambled into the tall grass, hiding from the pursuing men. Still holding her sister's hand,
her mother holding the other, and her brothers in front of them, they all abandoned the path and followed behind, hoping to hide before the men reached them. Off the road they continued to run through the undergrowth, moving quickly, trying to stay silent. Finally the people in front stopped running, satisfied that they were far enough to be safe, not hearing any sounds pursuing them.

Toma lay in the grass, her heart pounding, straining to catch her breath again, while trying desperately to listen to any sounds in the distance. All was quiet.

“What are we going to do?” Toma asked.

“We'll wait a little longer and then go to the farm.”

To the farm! To their father! He'd know what to do.

Toma's mother got the children to their feet. It was time to move.

The family farm was a small patch of fertile land, close to ground water. There they grew the vegetables and fruits that they either ate or traded to support the family. It wasn't far—they could only hope it was far enough that it hadn't been noticed by the armed men.

Some of the people from their village moved along with them. Others branched out heading to their own patches of land or to where they knew somebody was tending to a herd of grazing animals.

It wasn't long before they reached the farm and told their father what had happened. He hadn't heard any of the sounds, but by now the sky was filled with evidence of what was happening back in the village. They stood there together, watching as thick black smoke rose up into the air, marking the spot where the village was located. More homes were being burned.

“We have to hide,” Toma's father said. “Everybody come.”

He led them into the tall grass that lay on the one side of their farm, and once again they took refuge where they couldn't be seen.

After some time they heard a different noise, but it wasn't horses and it wasn't from the ground. It was the sound of a helicopter. They scanned the sky until they could see it—a big military helicopter off in the distance. For a fleeting second Toma thought that meant that the government had sent it, filled with soldiers to chase away the armed men—then she remembered what she had heard. The helicopters and the soldiers weren't there to stop anything. They were there to watch, sometimes even to help the armed men on horses. Even if there were soldiers, they weren't going to stop anything.

They stayed in the grass all day, eating some cucumbers and watermelons from the farm. The helicopter had long since gone, and the fires had stopped. The evidence, the black smoke, had been blown away by the winds.

Slowly, cautiously they moved back toward the village. As they walked they were joined by other members of their village. Larger numbers seemed safer, but really there was no safety. They just presented a bigger target.

Some of the men, including her father, went ahead. When it was deemed safe the women and children were called to follow.

Toma could not believe what she saw. The village was gone. All that remained of almost all of the buildings and fences were charred, still-smoldering remains. A few dead chickens and dogs that littered the ground were all that was left of the animals. The rest were gone, stolen.

People moved through the village, expressions of stunned disbelief on their faces. Hopelessly, desperately, men poked through the ashes trying to glean anything of value that might have survived the pillaging and the flames, but there seemed to be nothing. Possessions that couldn't be taken were scattered about the ground where the huts had stood.

How could so much be lost so quickly? What would drive these men to not just steal, but to destroy? Why did they hate them so much? Why couldn't anybody stop them? So many questions swirled through Toma's mind. And then she saw the bodies.

Lying on the ground, scattered through the smoldering remains were the bodies of people who had not been able to flee in time.

“Look away,” her mother warned. “Don't look at the bodies.”

Toma wanted to look away, but she couldn't. These weren't just strangers. These were friends, neighbors and even family members. Tentatively the survivors moved away, picking their way past the bodies. Some looked like they were just sleeping. Others, though, bore the evidence of what had killed them—crushed skulls, wounds and puddles of darkened, blood-stained dirt flowing out from beneath them.

They stopped in front of where their home used to be. The fence and the two huts were nothing more than smoldering embers. All that remained was the stone and brick building where her parents slept. Scattered about the property were a few items—a blanket, some clothing, cooking pots. Everything else was gone.

Toma's mother slumped to the ground against the tree. She buried her face in her hands and began to cry. At first it was soft, but then it became
louder and louder until her whole body was convulsed in sobs. Toma tried to console her mother, and the children all gathered around trying to console her with their words and touches. Never had they seen their mother this way before.

Finally, their father appeared and spoke to her, stopping the tears.

“A decision has been reached,” he said. “Tomorrow, before light comes we will leave.”

Toma was shocked to hear these words. How could they leave their home, and where would they go?

“We should stay and fight,” Saddam said.

“Fight with what?” their father questioned. “They have guns and we have nothing. They have taken our animals. They have destroyed our homes. When they come back, there will be nothing to take except our lives. We have to leave before they return.”

“Maybe they won't return,” Toma found herself pleading.

Her father placed a hand on her shoulder. “They will return. I must protect my family the best way I can. The men of the village have spoken. We've decided. Tomorrow we leave... all of us...the whole village.”

Toma, her family and members of her village walked, mainly hiding during the day and moving at night. At one point during their journey, they were met by Sudanese soldiers. The soldiers beat her father and some other men, taking what little money they had, before allowing them to leave. It took five days of walking for the village group to reach a refugee camp on the border of Chad.

Now three years later they remain there, unable to return to their home due to ongoing dangers presented by the marauding militia. Toma's family, along with up to three million Sudanese, are alive due to the humanitarian relief efforts of international aid organizations, including the work of the United Nations. Toma's father, Khamis, as a respected elder, is responsible for helping to ensure that aid is distributed fairly in their camp.

Despite the massive effort, the aid has not been sufficient and tens of thousands continue to die from starvation, lack of medical attention and diseases caused by malnutrition.

Toma remains an ongoing victim of war.

Sudan is the largest country in Africa, about one-fourth of the size of the United States, and stretches from the sub-Sahara to tropical Africa. It shares borders with nine countries (Central African Republic, Chad, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Egypt, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Kenya, Libya and Uganda) and the Red Sea.

The Nile River and its tributaries cut through the length of the country. Despite the presence of these major tributaries, lack of water and drought are major issues throughout the country, particularly in the north, and less than 7 percent of the country is arable. This lack of water and arable land has often put different people in conflict over the scarce resources available for farming and grazing.

The capital, Khartoum, is situated at the conjunction of the White and Blue Nile rivers and is home to close to three million people. Literacy levels are low, especially for females, and health, education and social services are very limited. At times of drought, many people suffer from famine and are severely limited in their ability to feed themselves.

The land that now constitutes Sudan has been settled for over sixty thousand years. In ancient times it was known as Nubia. The Egyptian Dynasty dominated the Nile, and the northern parts of Sudan came under Egyptian control. Christian crusaders overwhelmed the area in the sixth century but were eventually replaced by Arabs, who spread the Islamic faith. In the sixteenth century, the Fung conquered the northern parts of Sudan while different African tribal groups came to dominate the south. In 1874 Sudan once again came under the control of its neighbor to the north, Egypt. This was short-lived, as it became part of the British Empire in 1898.

The British saw Sudan as being two very different regions and administered the north and south as two distinct entities—the north was Arabic and Muslim, and the south was African and Animist.

At the conclusion of WWI, there arose increased internal desires within these countries to seek independence, and the influence of the British Empire began to wane. The people of the Sudan continually pressed for independence. In 1956 the two regions, north and south, became the independent country of Sudan.

Sudan has been politically unstable throughout its entire history, with numerous governments, political coups, military dictatorships and a lack of true representative government. It was often seen as a battleground in the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States. At times it was controlled by a Marxist government and has been seen as supporting international terrorism. It has been the target of Western or US economic sanctions and, in 1998, a cruise missile attack on a factory in the capital.

Partly because of and partly as a result of this lack of stability, Sudan has suffered through an almost continuous civil war throughout its time as an independent nation. There has been a constant conflict between the people and interests of the north and south of the country.

Prior to gaining independence, there was concern in the southern regions that they were going to be dominated by the north. Through political negotiations, and then violence, people in the south fought against being included as part of the larger nation and fought to have greater power and wealth. Civil war broke out, pitting the Muslim, Arabic-speaking northern region, against the southern region.