Sudan fighter returns home

By Mark Snelling
ICRC, Lokichokio, Kenya

Abraham's fighting days are over

The current session of the Sudan peace talks has raised hopes that a concrete peace accord will be reached, bringing to an end the country's 20-year civil war.

The fighting, pitting rebels from the Christian and animist south against the Islamic government, has left more than 1.5 million people dead.

But for 23-year-old Abraham Machar from the southern Sudan's Dinka community the war is already over and he is going home.

Until a few months ago, it is a day he could almost not have dared hope for - for years Abraham was a soldier with the Sudan People's Liberation Army (SPLA), one minuscule cog in the devastating machinery of Africa's longest-running civil war.

But his days fighting forces of the northern Khartoum government ended in September last year, when a single bullet wound left him paralysed from the waist down.

He was then evacuated to a field hospital in southernmost Eastern Equatoria region, some 600km southeast of his home in Rumbek in Lakes region.

"I can't walk, so I couldn't go home. I don't know when I would have ever had the chance to go back," he says.

Family ties

A glimmer of hope came in May when he sent a message via the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) to his family.

They wrote back a month later, and the ICRC was requested to organise a reunion.

The journey home has been a long one

Every year the ICRC forwards millions of so-called Red Cross messages around the world to restore links between family members torn apart by conflict.

When their whereabouts are unknown, a global tracing network works full-time to try and locate them. Thousands of families are reunited this way.

Sudan alone - at war since 1983 - has at times accounted for a staggering 10% of the global total of messages sent, but despite the vast numbers exchanged both in the North and the South, there are often disappointments.

"I find it frustrating with tracing cases that were opened two or three years ago and we still can't locate the people," says Emmanual Zino Riko, one of the ICRC's Sudanese field officers based across the border in Lokichokio in northern Kenya.

Which is why, Emmanuel says with a smile, Abraham's reunion with his family - whom he has not seen for six years - is so satisfying.

"This is everything that the work of tracing is about," he says.

Long road home

So as the sun rises over the vast semi-arid plains of northern Kenya, a Twin Otter aircraft takes off from Lokichokio carrying Emmanuel and New Zealand nurse Marion Picken, bound for southern Sudan.

Abraham's reunion was arranged through an ICRC tracing system

One and a half hours later, in a breathtaking change of landscape, the aircraft drops onto an airstrip amid the lush, sub-tropical hills of Eastern Equatoria.

After a short wait, a vehicle arrives from the local hospital and those who have been caring for Abraham carry him from the vehicle and onto the aircraft.

"I didn't know that I was going to survive," Abraham says after take-off, rolling up his left sleeve to show where the bullet entered his upper arm. It exited through his back, clipping his spinal cord.

"God's Plan"

In the terminology of the Geneva Conventions, first drafted specifically to protect the rights of war wounded, Abraham was officially hors de combat - a fighter no more.

"After regaining consciousness, I became aware of my surroundings slowly, and the hospital officials said I was going to be okay" he says.

"If I never walk again, then that will be God's plan".

Another two hours and the aircraft begins descending towards Rumbek - a slow, deep smile works its way across Abraham's young face.

Abraham is helped to the plane by those who cared for him

Little in this part of the world ever goes quite according to plan, and the expected reception committee is not there to meet us.

Undeterred, Abraham with some help from Marion, uses the airstrip to practise manoeuvres on the hand-driven tricycle wheelchair provided by the ICRC.

When still no one arrives, our little group sets off on foot through the stifling humidity towards Rumbek, a noisy gaggle of local children in tow.

After a bit of asking around, we find Docbol, the local tracing officer, one of 100 volunteers in southern Sudan who form the backbone of the network here.

Moment of truth

Notification of our arrival, it turns out, did not get through, so Docbol leaves us at his hut and sets off by bike to find a family member. After 20 minutes, he returns with a white-haired man, Abraham's uncle.

As is often the way with reunions, the initial encounter is formal, a handshake, a nervous look, and we sit for a moment in silence as the uncle moves stiffly to a corner.

Abraham never imagined he would return home - at least not in style

But the ice quickly melts.

"I'll take the boy back to the house, and we'll take care of him," the uncle says, his old eyes slowly brightening.

"Thank God he is still alive, I am so grateful he didn't die".

Abraham, who is clearly exhausted, manages a wide grin.

"Morale 100%!" he says.

Our ground time has run out and we need to get back to the plane.

The required paperwork is completed. Then Marion makes sure both Abraham and his uncle know where to go if the wheelchair needs repairing, and reiterates the messages that he mustn't spend all day in the wheelchair to avoid sores, and must look after his thin, immobile legs.

The tiniest scratches turn nasty with frightening speed in this climate.

So we leave Abraham to his future.

For one young soldier, this war is over.