In the last episode, our wandering missionary found himself face‑to‑face with Commander Kuol, a man who at first glance looked every inch the hardened guerrilla fighter—bearded, armed, and standing in the road in the dead of night—but who quickly revealed a surprising warmth and an unshakable sense of hospitality. What began as a tense encounter turned into an unexpected night of shelter, conversation, and reflection, as Kuol shared both his bed and his beliefs with a frankness that disarmed more effectively than any weapon. The missionary, still learning the shifting truths of Sudan, discovered that this feared SPLA commander was not only fair‑minded and curious but deeply committed to peace in his own way. Their conversations—ranging from faith and war to the oddities of Christian fear and Muslim duty—opened a new chapter in the missionary’s understanding of the people shaping this land. Little did he know that this meeting, born in moonlight and dust, would become the beginning of one of his most unlikely and enduring friendships.
That evening Kuol and I had a long talk about marriage. He told me that for a long time he had believed that the missionary sisters were the wives of the missionary priests. Nowadays he believed that this was not the case, and he seemed to pity me, being celibate. Yes, he had heard about religious life. He saw the importance of obedience. He also obeyed orders and he expected his soldiers to obey him. With the vow of obedience he had no quarrel. But an Italian sister had tried to explain to him the vow of poverty, stressing that it meant owning no personal property; that everything belonged to the religious community. Kuol was not impressed; he thought that the missionaries were rich and as far as he was concerned they could be a bit more generous. With regard to the explanation of the sister, Kuol had come to the conclusion that most Africans lived the vow of poverty. Did not being rich mean having a lot to share? But in the eyes of Kuol we had it all mixed up in the Catholic Church. You see, what we call celibacy is, according to Kuol, absolute poverty. A man who does not have wife or children is poor. As a Moslem, Kuol can marry more than one wife, and in his eyes I am poverty-stricken, even if I have all the material goods in the world. Smiling, he adds that he is also a bit of a missionary, and that he has an advantage over me, for often Moslems spread their religion through trade and marriage.
As the weeks and months passed, the town of Yambio became more accessible, and non-governmental organizations became interested in starting all kinds of relief programmes, especially when people started trickling back from Zaïre. But relief organizations have their own rules which often do not exactly dovetail into the local way of life, in this case, that of the Azande people. People had to be registered as living in refugee camps, since that was simpler for the relief distribution system. This prevented people from finding land, necessarily at a distance from the camps, and starting their own gardens. Kuol was furious. The SRRA had accommodated the NGOs, and now another delegation was coming to take photographs which they needed for their fundraising. For this they needed a permit from the SPLA. One of the officers made the request to Kuol when I happened to be in his office. The commander was uncoperative, and I had to smile when he said: ‘The world seems to think that Africa is just a zoo. We don’t need any more people who just want to come and look. Putting these people in camps is like putting animals in cages.’
That evening Kuol visits me; he is obviously still unhappy with the approach of the relief organizations, who all follow a distribution system which has been thought out in a far-away country, without taking the local people into account. The givers decide who is in need, and very often they decide that the ones in need are those who can be reached easily. Kuol tells me that this is very wrong according to the Koran, where the poor and the needy have a special place. He knows his Koran better than I my Bible. We talk at length and conclude that both Christians and Moslems do not always live up to their holy books.
He has another problem. He has organized the soldiers to cultivate their own gardens in an attempt at self-sufficiency, but it will take time before the harvest is ready. His soldiers have to eat, and the SPLA is taxing the people to provide food. It causes tension between the SPLA and the local people. Kuol must make the decision: either he has to tax the people, which in practice means taking food from them by force, or he has to commandeer food from the relief organizations. He wants my advice, which I refuse, but secretly I hope that he will take part of the relief food. Most countries and organizations send delegations to monitor their relief donations to make sure that no food goes to combatants. But these same countries often provide the weapons and ammunition. A hungry soldier with a gun is more dangerous than a hungry soldier without a gun. It bothers Kuol that it is often easier to get weapons for his soldiers than to get food for them. The relief programmes are often the most difficult programmes to handle, but also the most difficult ones to ignore. How can people help themselves when all they think about is food? Even for a soldier the belly is more important than war. Give them food and they can put their heads to work for more constructive developments. It bothers me that I cannot come out and say: ‘Take some of the food which is being supplied by the churches’, but in my heart I hope that he will do that rather than take it from the people who hardly have enough to feed themselves.
Now we know each other better, and in some ways have become friends, without having to admit it. Kuol has become rather critical of the churches, and at the same time I seldom praise Islam or the SPLA. In his office he is the tough commander, and I sound pretty unbending when I have to speak as the representative of the Council of Churches. But when we sit together in the evening we regularly admit that we often feel a lot smaller than we pretend. The history of the Church has been sometimes less than glorious, and I can understand Kuol’s disappointment in us. But he is also disappointed with the divided SPLA and the government in Khartoum, which claims to act in name of Islam. Maybe Kuol and I can talk together because we can admit that over the years we have all made mistakes.
We wonder together about the fundamentalism in both Islam and Christianity. Kuol thinks that it is rooted in fear and that it grows especially in times of turmoil. We agree that a Catholic fundamentalist is just as dangerous as a Moslem fundamentalist. Religious bigotry of all colours has exerted a great deal of influence in this war. Kuol asks me whether I still think Catholicism is the only right religion. I tell him I have never thought it, although I was taught that this was so when I was young. I add that some Moslems claimed a similar ascendancy in the past. Does he believe that Islam is the only way? Kuol claims no such thing, but with a smile adds, ‘Islam is not the only true religion, but it is still the best for me’.
Kuol and I have spoken about the dialogue between Moslems and Christians in Sudan. We are not very optimistic about it. Too much has happened in the past and is still happening now. We have come to the conclusion that any fruitful dialogue is too much to hope for. Or could it be that the meetings between Kuol and myself are precisely part of that dialogue?
Next week, the journey takes a sharp turn as the missionary steps into a land simmering with heat, danger, and unexpected kindness, guided by nothing more than a dusty airstrip, a battered T‑shirt, and the promise of a bishop who seems to attract trouble as easily as hope. As old loyalties surface and new threats lurk just beyond the edge of the road, the missionary soon discovers that in this part of Sudan, even a friendly smile might hide a story worth fearing—or following. With the sun beating down and rumours hanging thicker than the dust, Episode 11 hints at a meeting that could reshape everything he thinks he knows… or lead him straight into deeper uncertainty.
