Driving from Wau to Mayen Abun

We got to the station around 10am Thursday morning and had assistance from Michael’s cousin’s wife’s driver: Kuot. He helped us find which outfit to use for the journey. The cost would be 6500ssp or approximately $35. The old school Toyota Land Cruiser, built to take about 11 people would be stuffed with about 17 people and topped off with all the luggage it could take without tipping over. Before leaving and as the vehicle was being packed, we walked down the street to charge the phone and get some tea. While waiting for the phone to charge, the woman at the tea stand called out to Michael in Arabic and he responded with a very warm greeting. He then introduced me as his wife and the ladies that were already having tea smiled and called me Kawaija – Arabic slang for white person or outsider. Imagine that!?

The ladies spoke to me in Arabic but I let them know, “Arabic maffi.” Basically, I don’t speak Arabic. But I let them know that my Mongjieng (Dinka) was better or at least I could understand what they were saying. They smiled and asked me how many children I had and why they weren’t with me. I did my best to respond using the language and they just laughed and called me Kawaija again…this time in a more friendly way. The owner of the tea stand asked me if I needed to use the restroom before the journey because, “It will be difficult for Kawaija.” And of course I said yes and went with her to use a proper toilet before getting on the road.

After finishing my business and my chat with the ladies at the tea stand, I left Michael to wait with the phone whilst it charged and went back to the station. By now it was almost 12pm and the luggage was finished being packed on top of the truck. I walked past some older gentlemen who greeted me in Arabic and welcomed me and then back to the station. I was standing watching the truck we would be packed into thinking, “Where will Michael and I sit?” when this guy seated a few feet away called out, “Hey boss! Where are you going?”

I asked, “Are you talking to me?” I knew he was because no one else at the station was speaking English. And in a very flirtatious manner, he asked, “Where are you going?”

I gave a short disinterested answer: “I’m going to Mayen Abun.” To which he responded, “I’m staying here. Would you like to stay here with me?”

“Maybe you should ask my husband. He’s just down the road there and will be here in just a few minutes.” And then I turned my head for about 30 seconds and when I looked back at the seat, it was empty. Like clockwork, Michael began walking up the street and Mr. Flirty-pants scrammed.

Once Michael arrived, it was time to go and just as I was telling him about the man who was flirting with me, the dude got in the front seat of the truck on the driver’s side! And then I was told that I was to ride in the front seat! I refused and said that I would be sitting with my husband and I was ignored. I was then placed in the front seat right next to Mr. Flirty-pants between him and a really nice Muslim lady who was carrying a small thermos of water for “washing”.

After everyone was packed into the vehicle, we set off for Mayen Abun: a drive that if in the US would take about 1.5 hours but because we were in South Sudan, was going to take about 5-7 hours depending on how many times we’d stop. With really good African music booming from the speakers, we began our journey from Wau to Mayen Abun on an extremely bumpy and dusty road.

During the first part of the journey, I dared not complain about being squished between Mr. Flirty-pants and the Muslim woman because my super long-legged husband was behind us knee-to-knee with an old lady and smashed next to a very funky man. I didn’t even complain about the woman’s wash water soaking my freshly pedicured feet. At least I was able to stretch my legs and the woman smelled nice. It took us two hours to get to our first rest stop; Kuajok. There, we were able to stretch, use the toilet, eat, and then wait 3 hours for the driver to come back and get us because the truck was malfunctioning! All I could think was, “Our bags will be stolen off the top of the truck and he’s never coming back to get us.”

In an attempt to move beyond the negative imaginings, we struck up a conversation with the smartest little boy: Ayei. He was about 7 years old and was holding court in the little restaurant. He was able to speak to the grown men in a grown man kind of way and explained why he didn’t have good clothes. His father was a general in the war and was killed. His mother left for Juba and didn’t take him with her and had been promising for a long time to send for him. But in all the time she’d been gone, life got worse for him.

Ayei had the wit of a street child and the charm of a choir boy. He did not beg for anything. He only spoke his truth with confidence and pride. He was actually scary to watch in action because one could see in him the ability to do great good or great harm depending on how life continued to play out for him. Because he spoke Dinka so well, Michael started the conversation with him and couldn’t help but buy him a hot meal too. He told Ayei to ask the owner for whatever he wanted and that we would pay for it. Ayei wanted fish and fish he got. The owner’s son made him a BIG plate and because he was so small, Ayei took a seat on the dirt floor to enjoy his meal. He said that he was a child and that the seats at the table were too big for him and he ate in silence while the adults in the room commiserated about the state of education in South Sudan and what could be done about it.

Just as I thought we’d never see our bags again, Mr. Flirty-pants pulled up and we all took our seats. The sun was beginning to drop from its high pirch in the sky and he pushed the vehicle to move as fast as it could over the bumps. At some point, he blasted some crappy rap music with “Nigga this and nigga that…” and I said, “Nope! Turn it off!! I’m tired of this crappy music and enjoy the African music.” He obliged and I was grateful. However, my gratefulness was short-lived as we were stopped at check points along the way and I was asked to get out of the car.

As we pulled up to the first checkpoint, I could see the 9mm toating soldier look at me and lick his lips. He walked up to the driver’s side of the car and said in Arabic, “She needs to get out. Immigration.”

“Oh hell naw!!” I thought and did not budge. I said my husband is right there and I am a resident of South Sudan. The soldier spoke to Michael in a gruff manner and then the driver compensated him for his time. We then moved on only to be stopped again at the next check point.

The soldier was carrying an AK-47 and demanded that I and the Muslim woman get down, “Immigration!” I began to think, “Why the fuck did they put to red-brown sisters in the front seat? Didn’t they know we’d be pulled over?” Anyway, the soldier was not amused at my antics of not budging and called the Big Dog out of his office to come and get both me and Michael. I was NOT afraid. I pulled out my residency card and asked the man why are people harassing me.

“Madam, you are not a citizen.”

“I never said that I was but, I am a resident who is allowed to travel freely within the country. So, if you don’t want anything from me, please let us move on to visit my husband’s family. They are expecting us. By the way, you’ve not even greeted me properly. I am MonMalou, the wife of one of your brothers and you are making me feel very unwelcome. GREET ME PROPERLY! And you call all the other check points on the way and let them know not to harass me anymore!” and I extended my hand. He shook it, apologized, and let us go without asking for “water”…money.

By the time we’d crossed over into Twic State, Michael’s state, there was another checkpoint but, we were allowed to pass without any problems. The soldier walked around the vehicle, inspected it, and let us pass through. Michael was visibly frustrated by the experience and I let him know that it was how I felt after 9/11 when we traveled and he was always pulled out of line for an “extra” security check. I also let him know that I was not worried about it just disappointed that the soldiers at the check point didn’t know how to do their jobs. I refused to complain – unlike the lady in the back with Michael.

As we continued on our journey toward Wau, this woman began to make a fuss about the bumpiness of the road. She also complained about the need to make another stop for herself and her son. It wasn’t so much what she was saying rather how she was saying it. Mr. Flirty-pants was not happy with her tone and began to threaten to put her out. At which point Michael stepped in as the voice of reason. He told the driver to ignore her and he also let the woman know that she was not the only person in the vehicle uncomfortable and eager to reach the final destination…which we were a looooong way from at the time. I think she was just mad that a Kawaija had been the cause of the delay at the two check points.

When the sun finally got to a place in the sky where it could no longer be seen, we were still driving: it was about 5:30pm. I noticed that it seemed very dark outside in front of the car. Then I realized that we were driving without the headlights on. “No big deal…we can still see.” I thought. About thirty minutes later, it was actually dark outside and there were still no light in front of the car. So I asked, “Shouldn’t you turn on your lights?” And Mr. Flirty-pants said, in an extremely apologetic manner, “There are no lights.”

“WE ARE GOING TO DIE! WE ARE SERIOUSLY GOING TO DIE TONIGHT!!” is all that played in my head to the rhythm of the music he had automatically turned down as if to help him see better. We were driving on the road with potholes the size of the Grand Canyon and with no lights. We were traveling about 45mph and no one but me and Mr. Flirty-pants were aware of the fact that there were NO LIGHTS. The wall that I’d put up between us began to crumble as I felt the need to assist him in getting us through the dark while the lady in the back continued to whine and moan.

An hour later, we were in Wunrok and the driver called security to the car. Michael stepped out (or more like unfolded himself) and spoke to the driver; telling him to let it go. He reluctantly listened to my husband’s wisdom and at the same time told the woman to shut up talking to him. We all got out, found some place to wee in the dark (not in a toilet), got water or soda, and stretched as best as we could. I took a short walk with Michael and told him about the lack of headlights and how Mr. Flirty-pants was driving with the hazard lights flashing to help him see in the dark. He thought I was joking until it was time to go. When he saw that the driver did not turn on the headlights, Michael began to pay closer attention to what was going on.

It was now about 10:30pm and the ride from Wunrok to Mayen Abun should have taken thirty minutes. BUT…it was nighttime, the vehicle stopped on the road at some point, and we were driving blind. I was praying, “Lord, thank you for the life I’ve lived with my husband. Thank you for all the blessings you’ve given me throughout the years. Thank you for keeping us THIS night.” I saw that the driver had covered the dashboard to keep the light out and I took note and covered the clock: it helped a bit and everyone was silent as he did his best to maneuver the vehicle and keep us all alive.

By 11:30pm, with no moon in the sky…just a billion stars, we arrived in Mayen Abun. That’s when I realized that Mayen was not the final destination for everyone. Some people would be going all the way to Abyei!!! Another 45 minutes or so if driving by daylight but only God knows how long it took them to get there that night. I was just thankful that we’d made it with all of our luggage and most importantly our lives.