100,000 Men
2015; Indiana University Press; Issue: 117 Linguagem: Inglês
10.2979/transition.117.91
ISSN0041-1191
Autores Resumo100,000 Men Fafa Foofo (bio) “Hush, hush,” he said expectantly, jittery, running about the camp, the gaping hole in his brown shorts thoroughly visible, as was his entirely emaciated state. “Do you not hear them?” he turned around and around, looking about, pausing, staring intently at each face, as if to will them, to force them to apprehend what he was saying. “Do you hear them coming?” He breathed heavily. “They are coming! I saw them with my own eyes, my own two eyes! I swear they are coming.” “Taidor, Taidor, Choul is having another of his fits again,” Alek said to her husband, stating the obvious. Taidor looked on, unable to shake off the melancholy expression on his visage. Of course he knew there was no one coming. He was the sober one, calm, collected, resigned to fate without complaint. And he knew there was definitely no one coming. He hated the hopeless optimism of Choul. Even from their days at the university in Khartoum, Choul had entertained and nursed this ridiculously hopeless idealism. “They are coming where?” he scoffed. “Who? Who is coming?” He shook his head sarcastically and proceeded to scratch his unkempt hair. “Do something,” Alek beseeched, staring again at Choul, and pointing. “Do something!” A crowd had gathered now, around Choul, watching the spectacle, neither entertained nor unentertained. They just looked on because that is what people do when there is a spectacle of this kind in a crowded refugee camp. They were now refugees, refugees in their own country. The word itself tasted like bile in their collective mouths. Taidor could not believe it. Was it not just yesterday that they had gloried in the birth of a new country? And drunk, and sang, and danced, and made love into the early hours of the morning? The crowd looked on. There was grief in their entire being, the sunken reddish eyes from the many tears they had cried, arms that hung too loosely by their sides, backs slightly bent forward, [End Page 91] and the terrible resignation in their entire demeanor. There was no hope. The rebellion had taken its toll, and they had borne the brunt of it. Only a week ago, hundreds of rampaging Dinka youth had stormed their camp and murdered their people, their women, their children. Or at least so the media said. They did not know how many youths there were. How could they know? They were the ones running for dear life. You do not stop to count, when you have to run. You run. Click for larger view View full resolution Congo l’ombre de l’ombre [Congo, Shadow of the Shadow]. Stems of matches, mixed media, variable dimension. 72 × 99 × 30 in. ©2005 Aimé Mpané. Collection: National Museum of African Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington DC. Image courtesy of the artist and the Skoto Gallery, New York. “Taidorrrr!” Alek was screaming now with disapproval. Taidor was still calm. He knew there was nothing to be done. Choul was delusional, period. Or maybe he had a high fever. Any man would be delusional if he had only eaten half a slice of bread in two days. He looked towards Alek to explain himself. But the words failed him. What was he to do? What was he to say? She was stubborn and obstinate. He [End Page 92] fell in love with her for this exact reason. Few South Sudanese women will raise their voices at their husbands, but Alek, his Dinka bride, would. The other Nuer men laughed at him, thinking him weak, but he thought himself learned, progressive, a trained sociologist from the famed University of Khartoum. Yes, he would not indulge their backwardness. And when they advised against a Dinka bride, he had been adamant. He was no small, waifish man either. Standing tall at a little above six feet, with burly arms, his friends did not repeat their claims of weakness for too long. The just watched him and his eccentric wife with interest and incomprehension. Alek was a truly beautiful woman, having that rare complete form of beauty. She had large imposing eyes, with pure white irises that contrasted sharply with her...
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