In the previous episode, the missionary and his companions flew into Lafon with nerves jangling, hoping to find out what had happened to Father Joseph while trying not to make matters worse. They were met by armed soldiers and Commander William Nyoun, but Bishop Paride calmly softened the tension with warmth, stories and quiet wisdom. As the talk slipped around war, rumours and dangerous alliances, the missionary watched uneasily, realising how fragile every word could be. While Bishop Paride stayed behind for a private, hard conversation with William, the missionary led the visitors through the battered village of Lafon, seeing again how ordinary people were left to suffer whenever powerful men fought their battles.
When we return to the tent, the people of Lafon are called together. All along they have followed the proceedings at a distance. Chairs and a few benches from a neighbouring school are carried over to provide proper seating for the guests. Again we are welcomed by Commander William as friends of Sudan. ‘If you want to know whether you have any friends, all you have to do is fall ill and your real friends will come and visit you. Southern Sudan is gangrenous with the evil of war, and you have come to visit us. You indeed must be real friends. There is loud applause. Is this man really our opponent, I wonder? Then I remember that so far not a word has been said about Joseph Okello, the object of our mission!
Bishop Taban rises and thanks everyone for the warm welcome. He tells us that peace has to grow in the hearts of the people themselves; it cannot be engineered from without. He asks the Important Guest (I am numbered among them) if we have any peace for export in Germany, Norway, Belgium, Holland? No? Then he speaks about making peace with others. Yes, over and over again things tend to go wrong, especially between people of quality. That’s what has happened here in Lafon. Would anyone deny that Commander William Nyoun is a man of high calibre? No, none of us would deny it. He continues: ‘We, here in Lafon, are pleased to have a church leader who is also of great standing. His name is Father Joseph Okello.’ This is the first time since we arrived in Lafon that his name is mentioned. The bishop explains how important it is for great leaders to talk together and that they have much to say to one another. And he tells the people what has been happening over the past few weeks. ‘Joseph has been in the base camp of William Nyoun where they have straightened out their differences. He has returned to Lafon this morning. In fact, here he is.’
And then suddenly, Joseph Okello appears out of nowhere. The people applaud enthusiastically while he embraces the bishop and greets the commander and the visitors. He greets the people and says that he is happy to be back in Lafon. He takes a seat between Paride and me. Whilst the people sing a song he takes the opportunity to talk to the bishop. Yes, it is true that he was arrested and held for several weeks. He had been afraid he might be handed over to the government. He is hugely relieved that we have come to free him. We all feel that we have liberated Joseph and we expect him to fly with us to Nairobi.
However, to my surprise, the bishop asks Joseph to stay on for another week. If he would come with us now the impression would be given that William was forced to let him go. Then it would look as if we would have won and William would appear to be the loser. The bishop promises that he will send another priest in a week’s time to take Joseph’s place. I find this a tall order for Joseph, but he understands, especially when he hears that in Nairobi scores of journalists are waiting to interview him. He has no clothes but what he is wearing. He washed them this morning and they were drying in the sun when we arrived. A Belgian of comparable size and frame offers him a T-shirt and pair of trousers.
Now it is time to celebrate; the bull has been slaughtered, and there are rice and vegetables brought by the Norwegians. Commander William Nyoun sits at the head of the table flanked by Bishop Taban and Joseph Okello. I observe them from some distance and it suddenly strikes me that this is not show: they really enjoy one another’s company whilst they recall events of the past. It is as if the mistake of arresting Joseph Okello does not take away all the good that this Commander William also has done.
An hour or so later, we are at the airstrip in the scorching heat of the afternoon sun. William Nyoun and his soldiers, with Joseph Okello and his parishioners, see us off. Commander William carries a young antelope caught by one of his soldiers. He offers it to Bishop Paride as a farewell present. The bishop has to refuse because there is a ban on importing animals into Kenya, but it would be impolite to refuse out of hand. So the bishop accepts the little animal, and gives it to Joseph to care for in Lafon.
We climb into the plane and when we take off, we can see Joseph and William standing side by side waving at us. As the hills of Lafon recede below, Bishop Paride thanks us for having been such ‘friendly guests’. For our part we are relieved that everything went so smoothly, and we all feel a little less confident in our own notions of diplomacy, a little less smug. Then the bishop leans back in his seat and falls asleep. It is not his way to talk about loving your enemy; that is not African; he simply refuses to see a fellow human as an enemy; that is more African.
A week later, I meet Joseph Okello in Nairobi. He is relieved to be out of the maelstrom, and says with a faint smile, ‘Our friend William sends you his greetings’.
It is a few years since all this happened. Joseph Okello now works as a missionary in South Africa and Commander William Nyoun was killed in the war. The bullet that killed him may well have been fired from a gun held by a government soldier, as Bishop Taban had hinted in the story he told at Lafon. The forgotten war continues, well beyond the glaring lights of the international media. Khartoum still plays fast and loose with human rights with impunity: the systematic genocide of the inhabitants of the Nuba Mountains is well documented. Forced conversion makes a mockery of the rights of minorities. The SPLA is not without blame either. Children are rounded up in recruitment drives for the rebel army. NGOs are coerced into providing food for the soldiers. Like any war, this is a dirty war. But what right do we have to point an accusing finger at the Sudanese if we do not ask where those bombs, grenades and land mines come from? Is there no way of breaking out of this infernal circle?
