I met him in Agok, whose roads are bustling with displaced people from the destroyed town of Abyei.  For some reason the man stood out from the rest, and my translator Wol insisted we speak with him.

Simon Dut is a Dinka man from Difra, a town just a day’s walk north of Abyei.  He is not much older than I am, maybe late twenties.  He looks sick, thin.  There is a gap where his front teeth once were, and his eyes are bloodshot, tired, with the look of someone who has given up on people.

Underneath a light rain, Simon gingerly removes his shirt, and turns around.  I cringe at what I see.  His back is a map of pain, etched with dozens of fresh scabs slowly forming into scars.  I think to myself that this is what a slave’s back must have looked like two hundred years ago.

“When did this happen?” I ask.

“Four days back,” he says softly.

We sit in the back of a Toyota Land Cruiser by the side of the road while Simon tells me his story.  He had been living peacefully on a farm for seven years, splitting half his profits with the owner of the land, a well known Misseriya chief.  Simon had married a woman called Angar two years earlier, and their twin children John and Mirria were now just over a year old.

Shortly after the attack on Abyei, the chief came with his two sons looking for Simon.  When they found him, they separated him from his children, wife and her sister, then blindfolded his eyes and tied his hands with rope.  They took him along with three of his cousins and a man from town to an unknown place near Difra.  He doesn’t know where they took his family.

When they arrived the chief explained why they took him and the others. “Your people have taken our area, taken our town.  We are killing them, and will kill you now.  We will not leave Abyei for you.  Either you leave Abyei or we will kill you all.”

They left Simon’s arms tied and beat him for an entire day with a whip made from hippopotamus hide.  It’s normally used for driving camels, a tightly woven braid of heavy leather about four feet long.

They killed two of the other men in front of him.  Before it was his turn, he slipped out of the rope and escaped into the bush.  He ran south, away from roads and people, until he reached Agok, where I met him a few days later.

Simon does not know what happened to his remaining cousins, or his family, if they are alive or not.  He is hungry after days without eating, his body is tired, but it seems more than anything he burns with revenge.  He says he doesn’t care whether his family is alive or dead, he will go back and fight those who did this.

Simon finishes talking.  I quietly take a few photos, but I don’t know what to say.  I have no words of comfort.  I say thank you, but it’s a hollow phrase that echoes down the road as soon as it leaves my lips.  He nods, not looking at me, and walks away in the rain.

Posted By: Michael Graham | July 01, 2008 | Comments (1)