By: Chol Michael Maker
How they wish against my wish to see me walk away.
I won’t leave you alone SPLM even if they skin me alive for you’re my life.
Like my mother, you have shown me the way to freedom.
O’ my father SPLA!
You have raised me singlehandedly when my mother SPLM was busy soliciting for funds, political support and material assistances overseas.
I have never called you my foster parent before you mercilessly handed me over to Mama SPLM who no longer cares.
My biological parents were convinced beyond doubt you could bring me up – yes you did help me foster a sense of self-worth,
But today I cannot complain even if you’re willing to forsake me.
I am aware you have your own blood children that were born out of blanket.
No doubt a prodigal child always gets away with it all.
Since it’s your wish, I won’t sneak out of the fosterage for I will bet you farewell before I call it a quit and leave your homage.
I doubt your adopted children are any better than the kids you had fostered,
And your own biological kids who remained loyal to you come what may.
You know how much I have rot in the trenches to keep your glory alive,
And how I did persevere under the rain of Antonov deadly cluster bombs,
How I suffered and stank like a skank when a booby trap caught up my leg in Lakes;
Whereas when an enemy tank blew up my Jeep, and it sank deep down a creek and I lost my arm in Ashwa.
Yet when my platoon assaulted the enemy as we march across the minefield in Kapoeta,
And how dare you don’t listen to the wail of your own family members mother SPLM.
You know very well that I lost my hearing by the time ‘Guanguang’ lobbed a grenade into my foxhole in Nyin-thar-Malual.
I thought you would rehabilitate me first before you could forward my dues to rewarding yesterday’s renegades who had ruthlessly fought against us during war of liberation, as we struggle to free ourselves from the shackles of bondage.
How I wish you will one day celebrate me as a hero.
Yes you’re mindful of the martyrdom and the martyrs who have cemented our liberty with their blood,
But you seemed to be ignoring the fact of the truth that even living heroes still need your care mama SPLM.
A five-year old teenager cannot be pitted against a horde of the yesterday’s mercenaries.
SPLA is bleeding because you have wrongly prioritized your duties to hoarding your prodigal sons.
O’ mom, have mercy on us!
I know our historical enemies bewitched you, and as a result you gave in hurriedly, and you subsequently turned your back on us.
How come you have easily forgotten our battles and an unassailable resistance in Kurmuk and Gizan, Maban and Khor Amer.
How true that you forgot Nasir and Jokuo?
Are you serious that you lost your mind that you don’t recall Khor Bo, Kayala and Jebel Labalwa.
Do you really still remember Juba-chok, Malakal-chok, and Wau-chok?
O’ no SPLM!
You can’t kid me that you could turn a blind eye to your boys who captured Torit, Yei, Yambio, Maridi, Boma, Kapoeta, Tonj, Rumbek, Yirol, Gogrial, Maridi, Bor, Nasir, Nimule, Kaya, Kajo-Keji, Mundiri, Terkeka, Akobo, Pibor, Pachalla, Raja and those who made you proud when they overran Hamesh-koreb.
As well as your loved ones who perished at Kura-angreb, and the ones who got killed at Khor-deleb.
Yes you’re cursed and presumably they are willing to hijack you, if you’re not yet fully taken.
How so soon that you have forgotten me defecating blood in Bonga UTC?
Mama SPLM, it seems you’re more interested that you want them elope you today before tomorrow.
Why Mama, that you think I can’t remember how my feet bruised when I trekked from Aweil to Bilpam, and from Lafon to Dimma.
And how come you believe them and softly give in to their pathological lies.
Don’t you know that it was the same old school of swindlers and solicitors you know that brought them up?
O’ SPLM my mother!
You weaned me before my milk teeth grow, and I can see you now breastfeeding your adopted children who have never fended for you when you were sick and bedridden.
You should first treat us well like your own children before you replace us with our cousins, nephews and nieces.
You once taught us to be watchful and curious and at some point you said that ‘your father’s house has many rooms.’
If so, why don’t you keep them at bay before they flock into our neighbourhood?
Look now how they behave like Robbenhood that I read about his larceny during my childhood.
They have infested our camp with something called corruption, a term totally foreign and opposite to our usual correction norm.
Wake up Mama!
I know it’s not a period of recrimination as yet, but I am worried about you since you’re willing to bolster your bruised pride.
What counts the most is that you will never save our lives if you don’t pluck us from this grim orphanage.
O’ God why?
O’ Garang why?
O’ Gallant patriots why?
O’ Guandit Kiirdit bring the vessel into its berth since the stormy tide is over.