What a Godly Privilege to Be Born a Man

Copyright © 2021 by Tabitha Biel Luak

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-5186-8 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-5185-1 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-5187-5 (eBook)

Contents

Author’s Note

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Author’s Note

There is a famous saying among the Nuer people which goes a little like this: Every family has its way of talking and eating. I don’t know what thoughts may pop into your mind upon hearing this saying. Personally? I see it as a universal family description—or perhaps the nature of these two things, talking and eating, are indeed that which differentiate us, the human race, universally.

Of course, there are other differences amongst people. And although one of the obvious differences is the colour of skin, there are also things formed with conscious intentions for the purpose of them becoming our ways of life. In most cases, although this can’t really be said about skin colour, there are persuasive goals set prior to forming a way to live. For instance, we teach children how to do well behaviourally so tomorrow is a bit clearer for them. However, within a formation, a tendency is developed. Sometimes, these tendencies come in the form of beliefs, which influence what and how we teach them..

Take this belief from the place I call home. Where I come from, in South Sudan, it is overwhelmingly believed that there is a difference between a male child and a female child. Of course, there is a difference. And so this difference is often exhausted and exploited to identify potential inequalities between the two. Unfortunately, the further this persists, the more limits we place on what we consider males and females to be capable of.

Nevertheless, humans are known to loathe dwelling in a valley of non-competitive spirit. Therefore, the only way forward is still to lean strongly toward one side and confidently unwrap the other side as if someone was there when she was all assembled.

It has always been the belief here at home, exhaustedly theorized and relentlessly practised, that one thing must be different from another. Often, to roll out one thing is enough but the other is not. In a remote way, this perception unconsciously brings us to inherently believe one is the product while the other is the producer.

In other families, this way of reasoning may look a bit different; nonetheless, the derivation of the tendentious tendency in this family walks its way persistently from a claimed, precise understanding of fullness that can only be explained in four ways.

These involve precise understanding of the structural beauty of appearance, the strength of the structural body, the enormity of the group to which one belongs, and the sophistication or smoothness of the tongue.

As a result, every response, every act and every performance revolves around these four things. Therefore, how each family teaches the two is different, for each family believes the two exist for different, unbalanced reasons. And that, unlike other families, this family eats and talks differently.

The stories you are about to read, with the exception of names and certain places, are real people’s stories, which, to this day, are still happening. As you flip through the pages, I urge you to ask yourself the following questions: What, then, is human? Who is human? And what does it mean to be one?

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mother, Elizabeth Chuol Lam. Of everyone I know, it is her story I’m not able to process. But I’m certain that the time will come when all wounds will be healed and the toughest stories will serve to teach us about a past no one wants to relive.

To the women at the shelters, both those who seek help and those who provide it. You have heard the painful stories of what it still means to be a woman. Seek help, provide help. You never know how far it will go.

To the women at the intercultural daycares who have issued me and thousands of other women, both single and married, the freedom of mind which is only possible when a woman understands another woman’s story in this merciless world.

To all the women along the way who have extended their hands to pull me up—even if most of them don’t know the half of what I live with.

To all the beautiful sisters who had to be sold to Murle because you have no value.

This book is for you.

Thank you for wanting to read this book. As you read though, there are a few words I would like you to get a handle on. These are places, slang terms, terms and names you will come across throughout the book. There are also definitions of names of the characters, but those are defined as each character is revealed. Some spellings are as they are in Nuer, but other words are spelled in English.

Places:

Malakal: Capital city of Upper Nile State

Khartoum: Capital city of North Sudan.

Bipor: Capital city of Greater Pibor Administrative Area (GPAA)

Bieh state: A combination of three counties predominantly inhabited by Lou Nuer.

Pibor: Pibor River

Gezira: state in Sudan

Pulrieli: a currently abandoned town situated in Bieh state

Slang terms:

Nyada: A sneering name-calling, spoken as a warning (among women).

Nyade: My girl

Nyame: This girl

Mah: Mother

Maah: Used when requesting, advising or asking for favour. Used only by young men around the same age (please)

Gari: A demanding request to be given something or when something has to be done (used mostly by a husband)

Waa-wut: An interactive nicknaming between man and his son. Wut means man.

Wuri: It means ‘man’ and it is used by men of the same age when opposing each other.

Terms:

Pei: a cow that produces less milk.

Baba: father

Mama: mother

Guan: father of

Maan: mother of

Noong: escorts

Cou-nyade: sons in-law

Kaah: a name given to a divorced woman. The connotation is to say she is no longer valuable. Or as she becomes single again, she loses the value to be considered a girl or woman. A mere virtual female. No longer real or true of what makes a woman valuable.

Guandong: grandfather

Maan-dholi: mother of boys

Maan-wuni: mother of men

Balang: a name designated to man’s popularity in social contact

Lawe: a thin traditional piece of clothing that goes over a woman’s dress

Yat: a half-slip skirt that goes beneath a woman’s clothing

Foul: bean

Names:

Kuoth: God

Murle: tribe

Nuer: tribe

Dinka: tribe

Shilluk: tribe

Bor: sub-tribe (Dinka)

Interjections:

Waah: a denial response when shocked by a sudden act or statement

Waaw: a way a girl responds when her attention is called to something (smooth and gentle).

Aah: a way a boy responds when his attention is called to something (rough and ungentle).

Prologue

And here, getting older while still young—they are right, who am I? What is my purpose in life? It was the third time that a young lady had come to sit on a fallen tree between the house of her uncle—her father’s brother—and a neighbouring church. In this suburban area, afternoons tended to be the least travelled times of the day. She would come here often, but not many would see her.

She was a mother of three children but at the time she was not allowed to see them. She was in her early twenties but in a stranger’s eyes, no one would argue she was thirty-five.

In her community, she was someone whose life story has reached many. And in addition to her living shame, she had recently lost a battle she was mentally not ready to take on. The laws and the customs of this area had finally given the children to the man who bought them before they were born. So outside of the church she gave her leftover strength to the hope that God might hear the cry of the desperate. But at the same time, she couldn’t drop the thought that He may not hear her since between God and woman there seemingly stands man, the deliverer.

Among the three children was a one-year-old child. On the day her ex collected his things, he insisted on taking this little one. But the assisted community jumped in, saying, Why would you take a child who has so much growing left to do? Leave him and come back when he is a person. To finalize that she and her ex would no longer be together, the cows that he paid had come back to him. But this was complicated by the fact that the two had three children, which came with some subtractions. Out of the twenty-five cows he initially paid the girl’s parents, eight came back to him. It was ruled that each of the two children would cost five cows because they were still under ten years of age, but the last child cost seven cows because he was a boy.

The man left with the rest, leaving the infant behind for the birth nanny to nurture, after weighing the number of cows he paid against the priceless energy it would take to raise his son up till he came back for him.

This is one of the greatest places the Nuer people have ever inhabited: call it beautiful, and green would immediately be an inherent characteristic of beauty. Green from the toes of her feet to the natural hair of her head. In this land, seasons have abandoned their natures and she is perpetually lush and verdant. She has all the good things to look for in a developed, caring mum though she may lack a good partner. Around her are the growing sisters but she and her reputation are the one attracting the brightest star! The fields are full of green grass. Cattle enjoy the gift of love from Above each morning. Green as her love is her name. She lacks a partner, though.

She is only 1.89 miles away from the city, the other sister. And in her, it was every Saturday’s activity that the young, married, never impregnated, never divorced women gathered together and went to the church to practise songs for the next day. Today, like any other Saturday, the gathering began again. This young lady was part of the group until a month ago when the focus of the whole practice began to be about her twisted and messy life.

Her name was publicly withdrawn from the group as she no longer met the criteria for eligibility. As she sat on her fallen tree, she saw the group pouring into the church and as they walked in, laughing, she was triggered to call to mind some of the horrible, demeaning remarks she heard them say to her.

Some of the exact words of the demon-hearted women were as follows: Why are you leaving your husband? Don’t you know we all live the same life? To which she responded, Why shouldn’t I leave? I don’t see the things that happened in my marriage happening in yours.

No. NO, no, the women would argue. We just don’t like going around and talking, they would say.

However, even if the young lady had mistaken this indirect blame for some advice, the intentional deceit often revealed itself. And so, as they would speak this way, they would act another way.

She had noticed some fake reunions among women whom she knew were rivals. While she still socialized with them, the women would laugh with each other and make her feel excluded for being the only one having made a universally considered sinful choice.

To the women, she was a stand-out being separated from them by a dirty status. And as she would wear the theme of her life around her neck like a silver chain, these sisters of hers had already made up their minds that she was more of a sinner than she was even aware of.

This way of thinking is the general view of most people in this society.

And almost every man has fallen in love with this attitude. To men, a struggling woman—one put to terror by her husband yet never refusing the suffering—is a woman worth a thousand praises. However, a woman who had found a man who strays from the only known way of men, deceives herself, thinking she has worked for it.

But overall, there is one reason for this: It’s about finding one’s purpose, secretively and recklessly overthrowing the world while simultaneously being madly loved back by the same world.

Nonetheless, the young lady was truly aware of what she had lived, and she was by no doubt convicted by what she saw.

What could I have done differently? said the young lady to herself as the group of women kept dripping into the church. When you are supposed to love your virtual enemy husband, yet dare to keep the irrelevant title the same?

Not going to church this afternoon? A voice startled her. She turned around and it was an old lady she knew from the community.

No, she said. She then faked s a smile on her face and suddenly turned her head in the direction of the church. She then began breathing heavily by blowing the air out through her mouth.

I see you don’t even give a care to the fact that there could be Murle behind these green shrubs around here! the old lady said. The Murle are one of sixty-four tribes in South Sudan and a common fighter of the Nuer, living alongside the Pibor River with this part of the Nuer clan.

The young lady moved her shoulder to indicate she did not care. Let them shoot me, I’m tired of living anyway.

The old lady stared at her for a moment then spoke. You know what? You’ve got to stop doing that to yourself. Look around you. What is really going on? Do you think the world has an interest in anything still maintaining its validation? Or would you suppose it fears that it could destroy it?

Look around you, repeated the old lady. It’s not only you, alone. But anyone who examines and separates what is wrong and what isn’t is questioned. Take Pastor Peter as an example, continued the old lady. Look at the stones that get thrown at him by his brothers for a very simple conscious decision he made. Now that he has made this decision, some are even becoming concerned about why he still serves in the church.

The young lady still kept her head turned away. You know Pastor Peter, huh? asked the old lady.

Yeah, I do, admitted the young lady. And we all know how he has been living his life until now. Because now, when he finalized who he wanted to be with, he decided on a woman who was once married, for he doesn’t think this godly-claimed ‘perfection’ of men depends on the purification of their consumptions. Consumptions! Ha ha! I always put it that way, but I have never been allowed to explain what I mean by it. Perfect women, the young lady mumbled to herself.

But look at his brothers, the old lady went on. Peter is the one righteous man who has ever been witnessed bending the will of God in the eye of men. He violated the fifth chapter, verse thirty-two of the New Testament’s first book, making himself a sinner out of a woman’s adulterous act.

I don’t know, Mama. I never met a man who was once a virgin angel and has now become a sinner. I don’t know how we would relate, said the young lady.

That is exactly my point, dear. If men aren’t sinners, how do women become sinners on their own? Get up, said the old lady. See that compound over there? The young lady nodded her head. In that compound, there’s an eleven-year-old whose engagement ceremony will be happening at the end of this coming month.

What about her? asked the young lady impatiently as if she has never heard of her or the story itself.

Eight months ago, the man she will be getting married to came back from Khartoum. The man has lived half and quarter of his life there. You know the ones that go and begin having trouble returning home? she said this in a funny way as she wished to cheer up the young lady.

Well, now he is back. And now he is ready to marry. Now he is finally ready to destroy a child that could have been his. The old lady continued, The little girl has been projecting her voice. But who has a heart with functional normalcy around here? Here, where what matters is that anything having the likeness of man has to get married. She gained herself a name. She is now a disrespectful child to her parents for saying no. ‘He is an old man,’ she said, and her father asked her if she ever witnessed an old man producing an old child. That tells you something about the profit motive, doesn’t it?

Hmm, the young lady mumbled as she kept her eyes fixed on the church.

"And I tell you this: the man is not only that old, but a drunkard and a smoker. He found himself in the firepan of alcohol as Shumal became his second home. He was constantly spotted in bars drinking anything that has a liquidy look with a group of other drinkers. That was his nighttime meal. When the end of the day came, he would come home to another Nuer man’s family, demanding that this man’s wife cook him Kob, the traditional food he loved. He would eat it, and nobody would know where he disappeared to again until the next day.

"Every woman knew him. He was the king of borrowing alcohol and would decline to pay it back. He would come to this man asking for money. The man would give him some so he could clear balances he owed people. Thanking the man for rescuing him, he would go and only buy alcohol for other drinkers who had bought it for the group yesterday. His daytime job was walking around the marketplace, begging anyone he saw enjoying a cigar to let him have it. Some people would refuse him the share of theirs and whether they liked it or not, he would find a way to pull it out of someone’s mouth and pretend he didn’t do anything. His greatest source of this smoke he craved came from the littered butts of cigars that had been thrown by other smokers. He would get into fights only to realize he has been wounded many times.

"A girl his family married for him was sent his way. She came as a surprise to him. Nevertheless, he accepted the surprise. And, like always, the man who had the home accommodated both of them. However, nothing about the wife was a motivation for him to let go of his habits. He continued everything he was doing. And to his surprise, he found that all that he had once had had been reduced to nothing . . . except, no one can really say it like that.

The source of his problems had to be the wife. Like a man, he had told her one day the problem they both faced was due to her early years of playing with men. ‘You have been with many, and all that which can accommodate a child has been destroyed, he said to his wife. The accusation led to brutal fights and one day, he beat her within an inch of her life, leaving them just one more day with her and then she was gone. After the incident, his family here informed the girl’s family that they could just keep the cows as opposed to giving them back—as if she had just run away with another man. Without a rebuttal, her family kept the cows and that was the end of the story.

"It was then that the man with whom he was staying had become worried about the aging man’s health. He didn’t want to be informing his family when his time came. So, he saved money for his return. And that was the only way he was able to come home. The pending death had kind of stayed in the air. He is now a healthy person, and all that is left is a wife whom he is now marrying. He lost mostly everything that makes people look twice at a person. If you saw him, you would know he doesn’t look like anybody. But like Nueri would say, ‘Teeth are just bones; they serve no purpose.’

You see, the moral of the story is that when you are a man, it doesn’t matter—even a believable animal can take a girl, said the old lady.

Hmm, how nice to be a male. How lucky to be a man. Let men consume, said the young lady quietly.

Exactly, said the old lady. Who will ever constrain this overflowing stream of desire of men? Let them eat till aging prevents them perhaps.

For a moment, the two keep quiet. Look my child, said the old lady. "If I had the means to help you, I would wipe off your suffering at this very moment. But I don’t. All I have is to tell you to be strong. Or else weep with you, like we have always been doing. Remaining where we lay our eggs, hoping this unreasonable price will only fall on us. But what does happen? This mistreating only gets passed along through generations. However, we can’t stand against it; otherwise, we would risk losing our seeds.

Seeds, with which we form such a closeness, even when they are just being put together. Her voice began to crack. The young lady put her hand on the old lady’s shoulder; she looked up and the two looked into each other’s eyes and were quiet for a moment.

When the young lady removed her hand, she said, You mean their children?

No, they don’t consider them their children unless they know their presence benefits them. Otherwise why would your ex leave the little one behind? asked the old lady.

Good point, but I still don’t see how this girl and I would relate. She has a father. If at any moment the husband starts becoming her enemy, her father will step up. But not me. I’m an open place that wind crosses at its convenience, said the young lady grievously.

While she was still talking, a woman appeared suddenly in front of them, accompanied by a girl of approximately eight years. The girl had a big water container on her head. The woman was walking behind the child with a stick in her hand but carrying nothing else.

The young lady and the old lady knew who this woman was and that the child in front of her was her stepchild. It all began three years ago when the mother of that child was murdered by her husband. The mother, after giving birth to their three children, thought her marriage was draining her, and she couldn’t do it anymore.

This resulted in her leaving, which the husband thought no woman was entitled to do. After the wife successfully left him, he came to conclude that no man should live with the shame of being left by the person he had bought. He went on as he desired, got rid of her and had been living happily after. Now the girl and her dear siblings had been living the life which was once their mother’s.

The girl and the woman passed the two seated women without greeting each other. The young lady turned her head toward the stepmother, watching her walk away. Then she turned her head back and dropped it down in an emotional motion. And her tears began to drip.

If I were you, I wouldn’t cry. You know the unproved illogical ninety-nine percent belief that claims the only contribution women ever make is providing sacs for already made and fully developed people, said the old lady.

The young lady lifted her head and said, The fact that I don’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t being enslaved. She turned her head back to the stepmother, who was now even further away. She held her breath and said, What a godly privilege to be born a man.

You really think so? interrupted the old lady.

She nodded her head.

I don’t think so, the old lady said and shook her head.

Well, who is a woman then?

There was a long silence, then the young lady said, "I have witnessed on several occasions what she does everyday with these children. Everyday, she has her three stepchildren, plus her own two children, surrounding a one-dish meal. She pours the stew on it and asks the three siblings to hold up their spoons until her own two children carefully pick out each piece of meat, then she asks them to join. She often hides some food for her children and gives it to them in front of her stepchildren to eat after they all have eaten. Sometimes when the meal is small, she denies her stepchildren the meal and gives it to her children instead.

This little girl right here is her maid. She does all the work. Many times, she will go for days without eating. She can’t say no to anything or everything becomes about how her dead mother genetically transferred her laziness to her, which the woman always uses as the reason her mother was killed. And she does all of that right in front of him and he doesn’t say a thing. How are these children theirs? the young lady said unhappily.

The old woman gave her a look of disagreement. And she said, You may think you are here for no reason, but there are some who believe there is a purpose to their existence.

Who? asked the young lady.

Those women coming out of the church.

The two began to stare at them. Then the stepmother, who at this point was passing by the church, saw the women, as well. In the middle of the road, she asked the child to wait for a minute. The child tried to put down the water container as the mother detoured to the church. The mother yelled back, Don’t! I’m coming.

There at the churchyard where the group was gathered, they started laughing and engaged in what appeared to be deep conversations. In the distance, the young lady and the old lady kept watching. They can’t even ask the child to put down the container, said the young lady.

I tell you, my child, you may stumble at the notion of enjoying life. But the first thing you get out of it is what it actually gets out of you, said the old lady.

And what would that be?

A sense of awareness, and they all suffer from that.

I can’t look. I’m leaving, Mama, the young lady said and got up.

Sure, but don’t you come here again, the old lady advised her.

It helps me. Nature helps me. Out here, I’m able to detach myself from my world. Of course, when it is really windy, it helps clear my mind.

I understand that but try to put your time into something else. The two smiled at each other and went their separate ways.

The next day arrived. This was a day when the community freely left its many tasks for later and went to worship. From the youngest children to those having difficulties with walking due to aging, Sunday left no one out.

Like always, the worshippers poured themselves into the neighbour’s church that was arranged according to the genders of the congregation. If you looked inside, you would find the chairs on the right belonged to men and those on the left side belonged to women and their crying children.

Around eight-thirty a.m., the old lady rushed to avoid missing a service which began thirty minutes ago. A baptism was being done for one of the families in the community at today’s service. Baptism had been a thought in the mind of the mother of this family as a way to turn her worldly family to Christ. But it had hardly been possible. The father knew none of this free salvation and had no interest whatsoever. He had run his affairs through witchcraft. In fact, he had his third wife walked back to him this way. A girl who expressed her loathing for him by running away with another man surrendered herself to him after he said she would never have children until she came back to him. He could not have managed to have her all to himself if it wasn’t something else the bridge of the song called marriage. But he succeeded since his ability controlled the underlying gain of this union and destabilized the other man’s claimed love. Here, no child equals no marriage. Luckily, this year he passed away. And the older wife among his wives couldn’t wait to bring this dirty world for a free cleaning.

The old lady wanted to witness this life-changing event. She rushed out, hoping to catch the rest of the service, and to her surprise she stumbled upon the young lady sitting in the same spot as yesterday.

Not going to church this morning? asked the old lady in her untiring, motherly voice.

Not when you have to eat the same food from the same plate, at the same time every Sunday. I mean, is the whole entire Bible written out for me alone? asked the young lady.

No, not really, said the old lady. But from the perspectives of the interpreters, yes. In fact, the instructional underlying purposes of the words of God in the minds of these individuals these days has become about teaching women to become better at serving men. However, there is one thing you shouldn’t let glide over your ears. And that is this. Life comes down to two things: you are either a learner or a consumer. And the understanding of either one comes with each situation and depends on what kind we find ourselves in; we pass it on, along with its danger."

The old lady looked around absurdly and asked, What time did you come out here? The young lady said nothing. You shouldn’t be coming out as early as this. You know what the Murle did last week.

I wish they had taken me, as well, the young lady mumbled to herself. The old lady managed to hear it. Last week, the Murle came and took a large proportion of livestock from the Nuer people. And along with the animals, the attack left fifteen wounded. Seven died and thirty-five were abducted, mainly children and women. There is nothing too foreign about them killing and taking. That’s the usual behaviour. The old lady glared at the glittery risen sun. She shook her head, remembering a time when the Murle waged a massive, senseless attack on Nuer people. It is these days referred to as Khor Pulrieli" (The Pulrieli War). There were attacks prior and after the year 1977, but nothing comes close to the damage the Murle inflicted in just one night. Different sub-clans suffered from the attack as they were taking their livestock from the hayfields