Political upheaval in Ethiopia was spreading. News that the Mengistu government had been toppled reached Pinyudu. But we down played that news. We knew little and no one was explaining the looming consequences. Those who felt they understood politics and the unfolding events talked day and night. They said the Tigray People’s Liberation Front, and Eritrean People’s Liberation Front, had joined forces to overthrow Mengistu. Like many of us, I was a bystander. But the news of Mengistu’s exile reached all corners of Ethiopia. Where would we go if the new occupying forces didn’t want us in Ethiopia? My young mind wondered. ‘The radio said that the fall of Soviet Union in the late 1980s affected communist governments around the world including that of Mengistu.’ The political novices couldn’t stop talking. At three each afternoon, they sat around the caretakers’ news radio, then they walked around the camp, spreading their knowledge.
During April 1991 the SPLA/SPLM General, Salva Kiir Mayardit, arrived in Pinyudu. The next morning, a man with a loudhailer called everyone to the parade area. I attended the gathering to which General Kiir talked about imminent evacuation of refugees. But after his sketchy, rudimentary speech, he left. Camp life continued as normal. The rainy season had just begun. Schools were about to open. But as April drew to a close, SPLA soldiers began arriving in Pinyudu. Their green uniforms and black boots were muddy. They had been engaging the new and advancing Ethiopian-Eritrean joint forces. These soldiers seemed demoralised. They had been defeated. News spread that the enemy had taken Itang and Gamela. All refugees had fled to the Upper Nile region of South Sudan. These events sent shock waves across the camp. That Bonga had been captured was even harder to swallow. As reality dawned, we had many questions but no answers came to mind.
On May 1st 1991, we suddenly left Pinyudu, a place we had called home for some four years. The twelve Red Army Groups led the evacuation. On my back I carried a nylon bag containing my blanket and a few clothes, and on my head a nylon sack containing a kilo of maize grain. We all looked the same. The sky was fat with dark clouds. Disaster was descending. We followed the rocky and gravel road to Markas. The bush seemed aware of the looming danger. Everything was quiet and serene. Even birds on marula and date trees were eavesdropping. Around mid-day we arrived at Markas. Immediately the town authorities opened the local food store, distributing adequate food for us to carry. Maize grain and white beans had become our main food. Cooking smoke soon rose above Markas. The town was green and wet. It had been raining. We spent the night there, sleeping in the open. SPLA soldiers stood picket throughout the night.
We woke at dawn, brushed and washed our faces, and resumed our journey. Fear occupied every bend and turn in the muddy road. Even monkeys in the surrounding bushes and trees were silent. The jungle reverberated as our feet landed in unison. Sadly, rains began to fall. Heavy rains, with the dreadful conditions impacting on our progress. Time and again, we fell into large flooded potholes which had become invisible. The nylon bags on our heads became heavier as they absorbed water. The sticky mud underfoot drained our energy.
We passed SPLA soldiers repairing the road. They were using axes to cut trees to lay as wooden bridges. They said a military convoy of vehicles was coming behind us. I thought about my cousins, Mayom and Mabior. We had not seen one another for a long time. I didn’t know which group they lived in. But I knew they were in this travelling crowd. My heart hoped that I would meet them by chance. ‘Walk steady Red Army.’ Our caretakers urged. The rain stopped and the sun appeared. We needed sunlight. It warmed us and dried our clothes. Rainwater had flooded the forest. Sticky clay soil underfoot became our enemy. Trees were fewer as the forest became more grassland. At midday, the leaders stopped our progress. We camped under trees on a hilly ground near the Gilo River which became our water source. We divided duties of fetching water and gathering firewood. We cooked a mixture of maize grain and white beans. We had salt and oil.
At three in the afternoon, we resumed the journey. As the sun approached the horizon, boys began to talk about lions and what they were capable of in complete darkness. After the sun set, the SPLA soldiers stopped our journey to camp overnight. Lions roamed the Ethiopian jungle. They had snatched and eaten many among us in Pinyudu. SPLA soldiers provided security. The night was miserable. Mosquitos buzzed. I imagined snakes and other deadly creatures.
Early the next morning, we resumed the trek. In small numbers that evening, we arrived in Gilo, the last Ethiopian border town with Sudan. Pine trees stood in rows stretching along the Gilo River. Grass-thatched houses appeared scattered in a strategic fashion. SPLA soldiers lived here. It was calm and peaceful, apparently hidden from the troubles of Sudan and Ethiopia. I felt at ease. In our groups, we spread out under the long pine trees. The surroundings were green and serene. It hadn’t rained yet here.
We spent two days in Gilo. Authorities had to find boats to carry us across the overflowing crocodile-infested river, whose currents roared like lions. On the third morning, authorities led our group to the crossing point. Two wooden boats were docked to an anchor. A dozen people per boat were paddled across at a time. As waves pushed the boat up and down, it felt like it would capsize any moment. Hungry crocodiles surfaced everywhere in the river. After crossing the river we camped in Gilo two, just the other side. It took a week to paddle all the boys across.
Rumours flowed that the enemy was close to Pinyudu. But thousands of women and children were still evacuating from Pinyudu. We were SPLA special commodities, potential rebel fighters so we were given precedence. The SPLA general in charge of evacuating refugees, perhaps had failed to foresee the unfolding events. Perhaps he had no premonition about the needy situation. SPLA had many failures.
SPLA forces also lived in Gilo two. With all boys across the river the trek would resume. In the local army store, authorities distributed maize grain and brown beans. We had to carry our food. I felt well and ready. A week later, we left Gilo for Pochalla, a South Sudan border town with Ethiopia. Mosquitoes buzzed as soon as darkness fell. The route was wet and swampy. Towering grass swayed and trees appeared in groves. On the trek were a group of Sudanese prisoners of War. And among them was a prominent Sudanese Army General named Abdulla Majuot. Reportedly he was tipped to replace the then deposed by coup d’état Sudanese prime minister, Sadiq AL Mahdi. But SPLA forces, led by General William Nyuon Bany, captured him in a fierce battle over control of a key southern town of Nasir near the border with Ethiopia. SPLA captured him and the town. Several hours after leaving Gilo, the prisoner’s route diverged to another border town with Ethiopia called jabel Raat.
June 1st, 1991, we arrived in Pochalla. We crossed the rocky-bottomed tributary by the town, wadding through flowing water that touched our knees. A few grass-thatched huts stood under pine-like trees. Green grass was leg-high. The town looked serene. It took several minutes to register movement. Local villages appeared at the horizon. As we entered the town, a couple of soldiers in green uniforms with dangling AK-47s at their backs emerged and halted our line.
‘Salama lekum Jesh Amer.’ how are you, Red Army?’
‘We’re fine, just drained.’
‘When did you leave Gilo?’ ‘Two days ago.’
‘Welcome to Pochalla.’
They then called our caretakers aside. We looked on as they talked, pointing into the distance.
‘Follow us’, the caretakers said as they led the way. Later, on a grassy bushland, a few kilometres away from the town centre, we halted. ‘This is our residence for now.’
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