Many Peace Agreements Signed and No Implementation
The air hung heavy with the scent of dust and despair. A lone acacia tree stood sentinel in the parched landscape, its branches skeletal against the unforgiving sun. Beneath it, a young woman named Ayen sat, her hands cradling a tattered book. The pages, once vibrant with stories of a brighter future, were now faded and worn, mirroring the hope that had dwindled in her heart.
‘Mama, what is this place?’ Ayen’s son, Deng, a boy of barely five, tugged at her hand, his eyes wide with confusion.
‘This is our home, Deng,’ she whispered, her voice strained with the weight of unspoken truths. ‘But it’s a home that has been broken.’
Deng didn’t understand. He knew only the harsh reality of their existence – the constant threat of hunger, the fear of violence lurking in the shadows, the absence of a father who had been snatched away by the war. He knew nothing of the promises whispered by the politicians, the peace agreements signed with fanfare, the dreams of a nation that had been born in blood and shattered in betrayal.
Ayen knew all too well. She had witnessed the birth of South Sudan, the jubilant celebrations, the naive hope that had bloomed in the hearts of her people. But the hope had been a fragile flower, easily crushed by the winds of conflict. The promises of peace had turned to dust, the agreements to broken treaties, the dreams to nightmares.
President Salva Kiir, the man who had led them to independence, had become the architect of their despair. His leadership, initially lauded, had devolved into a reign of self-preservation, prioritizing power over the well-being of his people. The unity he had promised remained a distant mirage, the tribal divisions festering like open wounds.
‘Mama, will we ever have peace?’ Deng’s question echoed the unspoken longing of every child in South Sudan.
Ayen had no answer. She could only look at her son, his innocent eyes reflecting the pain of a nation, and feel the weight of responsibility crush her. She had been born into war, had witnessed its horrors firsthand, and now, she was forced to witness the same fate befall her son.
Across the country, in the bustling city of Juba, the President sat in his opulent palace, surrounded by advisors and sycophants. The news of the escalating violence in the countryside barely registered. He was preoccupied with solidifying his grip on power, playing a dangerous game of political chess with the lives of his people as pawns.
‘The situation is under control, Mr. President,’ his chief advisor, a man with a silver tongue and a heart of stone, assured him.
Kiir merely nodded, his gaze distant, his mind preoccupied with the upcoming elections, the power struggles, the ever-present threat of a rival faction seeking to seize control. The plight of his people was a footnote in his grand scheme, a minor inconvenience to be dealt with later.
In a remote village, a young man named Samuel, Deng’s father, lay hidden in the bush, his heart heavy with guilt and longing. He had been forced to flee his home, his family separated by the relentless violence. He longed to return, to see his son, to hold his wife, but the fear, the distrust, the shattered trust in his leaders, held him captive.
He had fought for his country, for a future where his son could live in peace. Now, he felt like a traitor, a failed soldier, a man who had lost everything, including the right to hope.
The stories of Ayen, Deng, and Samuel are not unique. They are the echoes of a broken nation, a testament to the failures of its leaders, a chilling reminder that the dreams of independence can be easily extinguished by the flames of greed and ambition. The young generation of South Sudan, born into a war they never asked for, are paying the price of their leaders’ betrayal. Their future, once so bright, now hangs precariously in the balance, a fragile hope flickering in the darkness.
The writer is Dr. Gai Chol Paul, the Chairman of the People’s United Forum (PUF). He wrote this piece as a gift to SPLA veterans of liberation.
