The Plight of Refugees, a Burden for Us All

Martha joined hundreds of fellow South Sudanese on a military truck bound for Uganda, to refuge. Bullets had rained down upon Juba leaving not a soul left alive who knew of her existence; no-one to remember her childhood or family, no sibling or companion who could tease her, no lover or pal with whom to reminisce of halcyon days.  

Anything about her past from birthdays and exam results to illness to health, history here had been obliterated by the gun, and gun powder, its scent, the only pervading odor her nostrils could identify now, like an undercurrent, a constant reminder, should she survive, of her last fateful days in Juba. But she had lived, she’d luckily escaped the clutches of death, but was that a good thing, she thought, she was alone and now found herself amongst strangers, all being herded like cattle, and packed like sardines, toward the Pagirinyi refugee camp in Uganda. 

When Martha finally arrived in Pagirinya her life became more endangered what with the reality of chronic malnutrition and poor sanitation.  Her hair shifted to brown, her stomach ballooned, and the sudden loss of her weight to a running stomach had left her eyes turned yellow. When once a mirror reflected a beautiful queen, now she was broken, and invisible, and barely able to line up for the daily meal of beans and posho. 

So terrible it was that every time she felt the need to empty her bowels, a queue of about one hundred children and adults blocked the way to their singular pit latrine forcing her, and others, to always find harmony in the nearby bushes.

More so after going for days with little sustenance and no water, life had proven itself too heavy for Martha to bear. And notwithstanding the thirst, the hunger, the pain, the indignity and the loneliness, she finally found comfort in the thought of a hangman’s noose and a low hanging branch, of ending life, such as it is, yearning for the company of those who’d been taken from her days before.

So, ok, assume Martha a sacrifice, one of many, her story is hardly unique and can resonate with many, but this shouldn’t make us complacent, or too jaded to care, or something just too big for us to change. How long shall our fear or detachment prevent our ability to share, to understand, to love and forgive, our seeming indifference plagues the world with violence, racism, war, genocide and all kinds of vices that bring about innocent casualties like Martha, who would sooner choose death than continue in the life that is left. For how long will she remain desperate and out of time, how long for justice, peace, forgiveness and love beyond politics, color, religion, tribe or even sexuality? 

Have people chosen violence as the way to justice because they see violence as the way to peace? Sometimes, uprising against one’s oppressor is the only way forward, or seems to be, but this means violence will play its part, because peaceful ‘parlez’ does not always work, not with dictators, and a struggle of opposing forces will incur violence, and violence begets violence, so how do we then best proceed? Knowing that days will grow darker first, and for how long?

What mayhem to see children and women fall for political scam and decide to give up their lives to the hand of men who violently search for justice and peace but only in time to create punches on economies through long held greed, corruption, exploitation and so many other forms of impunity.

So time-up. Now is when the world needs to pay great attention to this particular man made catastrophe called war. It’s time we suffocated all forms of war causes whether for rosaries or surnames and those who benefit from them. Prohibit toxic shares and default investment in our foreign endeavors.

A bullet that kills a woman somewhere in the remote villages of South Sudan might be financed by the neighboring countries. A bomb that dismembers someone in the township of Sudan might be financed by the West and a child that is made an orphan in a war torn country of West Africa might be financed by her neighbor.

Henceforth let’s be vigilant to empires or groups that promote in-human acts not by fighting back but, through our arts, music, literature, joy, brilliance, sheer relentlessness, stories of tolerance, love, justice, peace and forgiveness. 

There is this need for all of us to raise awareness about the enormity of the problems in war engulfed zones. It is a challenge for us to share information. To let the world know about the human rights and humanitarian catastrophes unfolding within conflict countries. 

By committing ourselves to peacefully end wars, we become partners for humanity. We become warriors for dignity. We weave but the web of hope for the world’s nonrenewable resource, children.       

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Nelson Byaruhanga is a Uganda Journalist, Author and Filmmaker who works every to create a better world through the power of storytelling.