10 April 2008

I wrote this entry on the day that could have marked a historical day in Uganda, giving peace to millions of Acholi people in the North. Two years of peace talks between the LRA rebel army and the Ugandan government came to this day: 10 April 2008, the day that Joseph Kony, leader of the LRA had agreed to sign a final peace agreement, in the middle of the jungle where he and thousands of abducted children were living in the Congo. With the scratch of a pen, millions of mothers, could ease up on the grip of their children and sleep with both eyes resting. The fathers could begin the first walk back to their farms overgrown, and make the first slice into a ground, where sustainable life for his family could be cultivated. It was a long day in Acholi-land, full of unrest, causing locals to courageously dig up these old dreams and visions of a peaceful future, buried under the same jungle of chaos that has overtaken their farmland. I tried my best to understand, observe and write what this day was like.

10 April, 2008
Like ocean against sky, the mood of Gulu seems to mirror the atmosphere that hovers above it. Dark clouds, ominous and foretelling hardly allow the pink streaks of sunrise to shine through. Illuminating against the storm of 22 years of terror, a small daub of hope is all that remains on the Acholi’s palette for this day. With timid anticipation, the Acholi rise, again for their 8,030th day of war.

An older woman in her 60s, walks towards town, hunched over, by the weight of a heavy bag carried from her neck. Asked about the day, she strains to lift her tired head. Through deep wrinkles, her eyes stand out in brilliant, youthful excitement. “This day is historic for Acholi Land” she replies with glitter swimming in her eyes. “It is time. Time to go back to our Land, resume our life and farm again” she says as her eyes sink into the back of her head. Wading beyond the current tide of misery, her eyes were backstroking past thrashing breakers to reach the predictable, calm surges that lay in the distant, deep waters of her memory.

To younger Acholi's, devoid of any memory of tranquility, this reaction is far less genuine. Lukewarm anticipation mixed realistically with doubt are natural reactions, caused by three previous peace talk flops. If dawn was the hope, vulnerable and fragile, the heat of midday is the harshness of reality. Skepticism set in as colors disappear and flatten the tone of this raw town.

Afternoon sun beats down, to intensify the anticipation. Hovering around the largest radio station in the North, locals wait in almost nonchalant expectation, as if to not be caught with their hope exposed, should today's news slash it to unrepairable pieces. Upstairs, the radio DJ sits in the news studio overlooking the people on main street. In reverence to the situation, he is silent. With one phone call, he will have a heavy responsibility. With the microphone before him, he will bring either limitless joy or painstaking grief to a fragile audience. Different from the typical final score announcements of a sports game, this outcome holds the weight of millions of people in limbo. The fate of 40 IDP camps sit waiting, straining to hear the news.

Silence is broken. The News Correspondent slumps in his chair. The angst pours down the windows of his building as rain has paradoxically began to fall. “Joseph Kony is not serious” he says in a defeated whisper. The radio clicks on across thousands of rusty radios throughout Acholi Land. Joseph Kony has delayed the peace talks to a halt. The sky, once broad with morning possibilities, now lowers itself overhead, dumping reality on withered spirits. The same heads that stood fearless against the dawn’s early light now bow in defeat to a pelting rain. Sauntering home in descending dusk, the world is still, hanging for but a very real moment. And in that moment, a realization that life must go on as it always does. The people push ahead with the day given to them. Steam swims through the night sky, a faint indication of the life that continues from the thousands of dinners cooking on open fire below. The people will rest and rise again. Tomorrow, on day 8031, they will once again find the raw courage to streak the morning sky with their bold belief in peace.

Please Pray for Peace.