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While
visiting church partners in southern Sudan a delegation of the German
Protestant Development Service witnessed the bombing of civilian targets
in the area of Nimule, close to the Ugandan border, on 14th March 2000.
Following
is an excerpt from the diary of one member of the delegation:
Ajumani,
Uganda, about 2 o'clock in the morning.
I don't know the exact time, having lost my watch when the first
bomb fell, which came so suddenly. Some
minor injuries on my left arm from when I dived for cover.
Only, later in the bomb shelter did I realize that I had lost it;
better the watch than the whole arm...
Now
I am sitting here, listening to the heavy rain which people have been
longing for. Sudanese say,
"Rain is a blessing," and whenever a visitor brings the rain,
she or he brings the blessing...
Yesterday
evening everything was so peaceful on the compound in Nimule.
When a few raindrops appeared, people started clapping their
hands...
Now
it is really raining and has been for about two hours.
Will this rain bring a blessing to stop the bombing?
A
kind of unrealistic feeling, as always after unusual experiences.
I feel calm; strange enough, even though, in a way, guilty that I
brought my colleagues Klaus and Franz along, into such a situation.
Praying that they will be able to cope with the shock...
It
is so terribly hot; the rain does not bring any release...
How
did the day start? Peaceful,
as so many times before in the midst of the war zone.
The first cock had woken me up.
Behind the tukul the sound of a convoy of trucks bringing in food.
A shower to refresh me; during the day the temperature will reach
47C. Some small talk with
Klaus, a brief inspection of the tiny bomb shelter on the compound, dug in
the ground, but not looking very solid; an unusual sight for people coming
from Germany. Breakfast.
Sister Felicitas comes along, shares her experience during the
shelling of Juba in 1991, when the Mother Superior allowed the sisters to
decide for themselves whether to stay or leave.
She stayed and now, amongst many other duties, she heads a
pre-school. She asks us to
find some contacts who might be able to provide toys for the children.
We discuss partnerships. Two
hours later the first bomb will explode next to her place.
After
breakfast we visit the hospital. The
kind doctor receives us warmly and shows us around.
Everything looks well maintained.
I have seen many worse places.
The common variety of patients: three victims of landmines who have
lost arms and legs, some TB patients, serous malaria, somebody bitten by a
crocodile, burns, one suspected HIV.
A father cares for his son, the calm little boy showing no emotion.
Outside
we meet Deng, the local secretary of the humanitarian wing of the
liberation movement. He told
us he had lost his leg fifteen years ago in the early years of the war.
"You are most welcome; enjoy you stay."
"Thanks a lot."
The
patients get two meals a day, quite unusual.
They even have beds and mattresses.
Unlike other places, nobody has to lie on the ground.
"Thank you." "God
Bless; we shall meet again." The
doctor does not know that only and hour and a half later he will have a
fresh workload when the first of the injured would be brought in.
We
are heading for the primary school, passing by the Episcopal church; we
decide to visit it later on. We
will miss that chance. No
sign yet that very soon this church will cease to exist.
"Welcome,
nice to meet you." The
headmaster is a bit shy. Some
classrooms with up to 130 students, two classes under trees, a boy in a
wheelchair...we briefly visit Primary 7; to our surprise we also find some
adults there. Right now there
is not much work as the rainy season hasn't begun, so they take the
opportunity to get some science lessons; very good!
The desire for education is tremendous...Any community
participation? Not much, but
two new classrooms are under construction.
Klaus moves ahead to have a look.
We discuss various issues with the headmaster.
Suddenly
the children burst out from the classrooms, yelling and shouting.
For a moment I think they are having their break.
I haven't heard it yet, the government Antonov aircraft.
The children are always first...
From
one second to the next everything changes.
"They are coming; get down!
Get down! I can only
shout to Klaus to get down immediately, recognize that Franz is already on
the ground, try to get close; if we have to die we should die together.
Now I hear the sound of the approaching bomber.
I find myself trying to cover my head...
Immediately
the first detonation, very close, followed soon after by the second.
For a moment I don't know whether I am still alive or already
dead...
But
there is no time to think seriously.
The children are running again, screaming, not knowing where to
seek protection. We try to
get out of the dirt, back to our feet.
Everybody OK? What
next? Our host keeps very
calm, directing and advising us, "Let's go back to the compound, just
round the corner."
There
it is again, the sound of the aircraft approaching.
They are coming a second time!
We start running, the others ahead of me.
The plane is close, shall we just dive for cover right here?
I am about to do this when someone shouts, "Go on; we will
make it!" Our driver is
close to me, grasps my backpack, helps me out of the foxhole.
I run again, get to the compound, head for the bomb shelter and
reach it as the next bomb falls.
Is
it over now? They don't
usually drop all their bombs in one place.
But no, we hear the frightening sound again.
It's coming back! I
just grasp one of the small children, try to protect it.
Who needs the comforting presence of another living body more: the
child or myself?
It
is hot and sticky inside the bomb shelter.
The women bring some water; we give it first to the children, who
remain completely silent.
Bill
and Rose from neighboring compound enter, obviously very confused.
The first bomb hit their compound; they don't yet know how many
were killed or injured.
I
am just about to get out when they return.
Throwing myself down, covering the child, who still makes no sound.
We try to count; how many bombs have they already dropped?
How many are left? A
quick Lord's Prayer. Thanks;
again it did not hit us.
Six
bombs have fallen already. Will
they leave now? How many
bombs does this aircraft carry? Some
say twelve, some twenty-four.
A
man enters the bomb shelter looking for his child but it is not with us.
Our host notices that I have lost my watch somewhere.
"Sorry; we will ask someone to look for it; we are so
sorry..."
I
leave the bomb shelter. A
quick cigarette. Hear them
coming. Know that the bomb
shelter will not withstand a direct hit, but we feel safer inside...
The
same terrible "game" for one long hour.
In between, exchange of news.
Did they hit the hospital? Yes.
No. Where were you
when the first bomb exploded?
The
sickening humming of the plane again.
Everyone runs back to the bomb shelter.
Finally
the twelfth bomb.
Silence.
Could it be true?
It
seems so unreal. Coming out
of the bomb shelter, people greet each other with handshakes.
Chairs are placed under the mango tree.
Some water, discussions.
Why
did they bomb Nimule today? Have
they targeted any other location? I
look around; we, the khawajaat (foreigners), very pale, wide-eyed,
dirty...but alive. Thanks be
to God. We pray.
Anna
comes along. Everything OK on
their compound. I give my
camera to the priest who wants to record the damage.
I don't feel like taking shocking photos of victims right now...
Later:
trying to find my watch. Ridiculous
in a way. Having a look at
some of the damage. The
victims have already been carried to the hospital.
Now there is a life before and after the attack...
New
reports come in. One bomb
fell in the river right next to a woman and her child.
It didn't explode. The
shock rendered them both unable to speak.
One bomb scored a direct hit on the church.
A man was trapped inside his burning house.
The
worst-affected place is the neighboring compound.
The store-keeper is dead, arms and legs cut off by the bomb.
Seven people injured...
And
now again everything seems to be peaceful.
The sun is shining; we try to behave in a normal fashion.
At 3 pm we leave. "Are
you fleeing the Antonov?" "No,
no." We have decided not
to follow our original plan to visit another town in southern Sudan.
One such experience is enough for my colleagues' first visit.
We
can leave the place, go far away from the nightmare.
But our new friends have to remain behind.
Will we ever meet again? We
are advised to have some counseling.
Who is going to counsel the women and children and men in southern
Sudan, deeply traumatized by this war?
And
now it is about 3 am. I am
sitting quite safely in Ajumani. It
is still very hot and it is still raining.
I smoke and I do not feel sleepy at all.
And the sound of the Antonov and the screaming of the children is
deep inside me.
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