In Makur-Panalang village, where “Kesh”, a kind of sorghum swayed like gold in the evening breeze and the land stretched wide beneath the setting sun, the close of day used to belong to us, the barefoot and ruggedly dressed in rags kind of boys who emerged from the fields, with bows and arrows in hand, and ready for the hunt.
After spending hours harvesting the finest sorghum our land could yield, we would set aside our tools of labor and take up the weapons of the chase, slipping into the bush with quivers full of arrows crafted by the gifted hands of a man named Ngeth Ayiei, the blacksmith whose craftsmanship products, produced through his blazing furnace, helped us kill the wild game that nourished our bodies and kept our stories alive.
Growing up, we formed a brotherhood of the bush hunters and dancers: myself, Maluach Gai Awuou, Majuong Gai, Ilualthiep Majak Mading, Madit Telar, Tok Maker, whom we affectionately called Mawuou (may his soul rest in peace), Makor Imen Achieny, Makogo Amukdut, Relwek Amuom, Puorchien Makuei, Ajiemtok Amuom, Mabor Mayor Akech aka Ayakgaan, and others whose names echo in the land’s memory. Together, we roamed the thickets of thorny bushes, united by the thrill of the hunt and the laughter of brotherhood grounded on the shared joy of the chases that we make.
Our arrows, although crafted by our youthful hands, carried the essence of Ngeth Ayiei. His blacksmithing workshop, situated under a tamarind tree in the house of Nhial Achieny, shone like a bright sun in our village. It is where we produced the sharp arrowheads that made our shots accurate and powerful.
Those who knew Ngeth Ayiei would truthfully attest that he was not just a toolmaker; he was the artisan who created the “Gaar” used to add the taste to Keelei, a type of dance that aroused euphoria among the youths and even elders across villages. Gaar is a brilliant metallic apparatus with clashing cogs that generates sound, which filled the night with music when the boys danced. Even those gifted with the art of explanation have expressed that Gaar sets the rhythm for the young hunters’ and warriors’ steps. This invention of Gaar has not only elevated cheerfulness, it has also made the name of Ngeth Ayiei boom in the songs of Keelei, composed in celebration of his brilliance that brought pride to both hunters and dancers.
Those who knew the song would sing, “Ngeth ee, Ngeth Yiei, Yen Anyic Luoi de Gaar ee,… x2, Ke du abe Cuec nhiak, Ngeth ace ya raan ee,” ke du abe loi nhiak, Ngeth abe ya raan ee.
Unmistakably, the bushes we entered were as familiar as they were wild. The Ameeth, Tit, and other trees, towering and wide-canopied, guarded the secrets of the land, their deep shadows cloaking the tangled shrubs where prey concealed themselves.
Our paths wound through Gut-Yimur, dense and filled with whispers of hidden stories. As told, we all became familiar with who the legend of Gut-Yimur was, the cunning lioness who nearly erased a generation through deception. She would entice the youth with the eerie rhythm of her own private part (vagina or mur) beating, not from drums. Drawn by what they thought was the call of a joyful dance, the young men and women followed the sound into the dense thickets that would later bear the name Gut-Yimur.
When the young men and women reached her, she would let out a sigh and pretend to feel regret. “The dance ground, where the drums beat, is still far away. You cannot reach it tonight. Come, rest at my home.”
Grateful and unsuspecting, they would accept her offer. Unfortunately, in the dead of night, when darkness enveloped everything, she would slaughter them one by one. Their detached heads were cast into a deep well, a well that, as curious boys, we dared peer into, but no matter how hard we strained our eyes, we could see nothing in its endless blackness.
Our hunting paths would also wind past Amat-Nhom, where boys and goats alike drank from the rare pools that broke the arid heartland. We not only ended there; we sometimes reached as far as the vast swamp of Loot.
To jog the memory of those who know Loot, I would roughly express that the very Loot stretches from Dharah Thon Ater, an area near Manhiany, all the way to Taryier and Malek. It forms a huge watery barrier in the wet seasons, and it marked the boundary between the Ador lands adjacent to the Lou community and those extending toward Unity State and Jonglei. It served as both a frontier and a lifeblood, a place where bush and water converged.
We don’t just trek these areas alone; with us always are our dogs, each a hero in its own right.
We enjoyed the companionship and the hunting prowess of Talimat, who was always the master of the kill, lean, scarred, and relentless. During most of the evening hauntings that we carried out, it was his blood-soaked nose and clenched jaws that marked the end of every chase. His silent pursuit would inevitably lead to the demise of numerous bush creatures.
Nyanekuei was a slender and swift kind of a bitch; she moved like the very wind. With her, no squirrel, mongoose, duiker, or even impala could outrun her by the sheer elevation of a pace. She would weave through the undergrowth when driving the prey forward, though it was often Talimat who delivered the final blow. Another one is Piny-alotueng, the largest of all the dogs in our possession. He was powerful beyond comparison. His heavy chest, strong shoulders, and crushing jaws could end any struggle; however, he was lazy at heart, always content to rest beneath a tree until the hunt’s fury stirred him. When he finally rose, his charge would shake the earth, and no prey could escape it.
With the knowledge of the forest, the strength of our dogs, and confidence in our crude weapons, we had no worries. We do not even think of what to eat because we feasted on the land’s bounty as we hunted. Fruits like akuliek, sweet with a hint of sourness, used to engage our senses, pique our hunger, and lift our spirits; it was always like a flavorful starter in the bush menu that balanced the taste and whetted the appetite. After it sharpened our taste buds, we would then gather and devour the pulpy Ziot, crumpy joch, bittersweet akuanychot, tangy to tart cuei, sweet aluta, watery abiac, and sour amelaat, all fruits that nourished us and kept us strong as we waited and watched out for any catch or kill.
Among the trees whose fruits blessed our evenings during the hunt was Chum, the tree that stood out, its fruits were cherished by us as much as by the pigeons and other birds that flocked to it. It was beneath its branches that we waited with arrows at the ready, knowing the pigeons would feast until their hunger dulled their awareness of danger. It was here, under the chum tree, that many of our finest shots were made, with pigeons falling before they could take flight.
The hunt unfolded with our spirits energized like those singing Koryom and Muor-Muor songs of the liberation struggle, and our instincts were sharpened and pointed like the tips of our arrows, ready to exploit the gifts of the land. The vigilant Nyanekuei would surge forward at the first crack of a twig with her barks sharp and urgent. Talimat would trail silently and confidently, his jaws severing where Nyanekuei could not. When the bush erupted with the sounds of flight and fury, Piny-alotueng would finally rise, crashing through thickets with unstoppable force. With accurate aiming, our arrows flew true; pigeons startled from their chum feast plummeted from the branches; guinea fowl that flushed from cover met the sting of iron; hornbills croaked their last as they fell to our robust shots.
When night fell, we returned home with our catch of kill balancing on sticks, our dogs trotting alongside us, and our hearts full of joy. When we gathered around the fires in our varied abbots’ compounds, beneath the whispering sways of the yet-to-be-harvested sorghum, tall Ameeth trees, and the countless stars, we shared the stories of the day, of Nyanekuei’s remarkable speed, Talimat’s lethal grip, Piny-alotueng’s rare fury, and the arrows that flew true, thanks to Ngeth Ayiei’s skill. We would also speak of the Gaar that inspired the Keelei dance, the songs and dance of Awaan that illuminated and united us just as surely as the hunt itself.
Makur Panalang raised us to be highly competent boys in all sorts of skills; it has made hunters, dancers, and unshakable sons of the land. Even when time has scattered us and when the bushes might have grown quiet, those evenings and all the memories that shaped them, like the remembrance of sweet Chum fruit, fierce chases of duikers, and the clang of Gaar that makes us remember the girls we dance with, will forever burn in our hearts.
This piece is just a hint of how bustling Makur Panalang was. I didn’t just hunt it with dogs, bows, and arrows; I hunted it with a machine gun after I was taught by my beloved cousin, Abraham Mangar Kot Nyithou, or Mangar Nyarong Marier as his maternal uncles called him. Mangar and Mayor Makur Dakbai did not just teach the art of hunting and the ability to use guns; they taught me strong ways of life, and above all, the wrestling skills. Of all the skills I learned from them and that I used to conquered the wrestling fields, I have not seen many in use today, including Tung-Yeth, Aluangic, Dingilis, Mataar, and others.
Till then, yours truly, Mr. Teetotaler!
The writer, Dr. Sunday de John, holds MBA and Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery (MBChB) from the University of Nairobi, Faculty of Business and Management Sciences and Faculty of Medicine respectively. He is the current Chairman of the South Sudan United Front-Progressive and can be reached via drsundayalong4@gmail.com
The views expressed in ‘opinion’ articles published by Radio Tamazuj are solely those of the writer. The veracity of any claims made is the responsibility of the author, not Radio Tamazuj.