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When Two Elephants Fight—Sudan, 2023
The regular army and the Rapid Support Force (RSF)
are at war with each other in Khartoum, the capital
of Sudan, Dharfur, and other places, and civilians
are paying the price. There’s a saying in Africa:
‘When two elephants fight, it’s the grass that suffers.’
A king was crowned with pageantry and pomp
while in Sudan two army factions fought
on Khartoum’s streets, uncaring that their romp
for power was in death and bloodshed wrought.
My mum-in-law, a brother, sister, too,
fled north when thirteen fear-filled days had past.
Half-starved and thirsty, once they’d paid their due
(ten times the bus fare), refuge loomed at last.
My more extended family and friends
are trapped beyond the border to the south.
They ‘footed’ to this no-man’s-land that lends
too little food and water for each mouth.
A state transformed from home to hellish hole,
the Heart of Africa has lost its soul.
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Paul A. Freeman is the author of Rumours of Ophir, a crime novel which was taught in Zimbabwean high schools and has been translated into German. In addition to having two novels, a children’s book and an 18,000-word narrative poem (Robin Hood and Friar Tuck: Zombie Killers!) commercially published, Paul is the author of hundreds of published short stories, poems and articles.
well put
Thank you, Wayne.
My sincere wishes for a better life for friends and relatives in such a predicament. I fully understand the wages of war and they are not pretty. I was sincerely struck by the proverb Africans say that “When two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.” That is so descriptive and set up your poem perfectly. I know that Sudan is in the heart of Africa, and the citizens are suffering for the loss of home and soul. Poems such as yours are such meaningful contributions to the rest of us attempting to decipher the context of such a conflict.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Roy.
Before the Sudanese Civil War ended and was partitioned into Sudan and South Sudan, the country, on a map, was actually shaped like a heart, and was known as ‘The Heart of Africa’.
My wife’s family originate from ‘Abya’, where the two countries meet and where, unfortunately for them, there are oil reserves to fight over.
“A state transformed from home to hellish hole, the Heart of Africa has lost its soul”
So incredibly well-put. Thank you so much for shedding light on the war in our homeland. This is the best piece of art I’ve seen in a long time.
Thank you, Minna. Stay well.
Nice Paul. Choosing my words carefully here as I don’t want to attract too much attention. After all, this is your spot. I guess I would argue that the entire world lost its soul from Eden onward. Wars and reports of wars…
Jesus will do away with all warfare and injustice soon. Thanks for poetically bringing this particular heartache to our attention
Thanks for reading and commenting, Tom.
It does seem a bit surreal trying to carry on like normal with all this going on.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Tom.
It does seem a bit surreal trying to carry on like normal with all this going on.
Interestingly, Jesus suggested there would be an attempt at normality during these tumultuous last days – Matthew 24:37-39
Paul, thank you indeed for bringing notice to this horrific conflict with a sonnet ably sketching the situation as if in blasts of sand and smoke. And a most expressive alliterative couplet to sum up.
I find a couple of issues that I think may have arisen from rapid composition and submission. Line 8 seems to be missing a word that would regularize the meter, such as “their safe refuge loomed at last.” And it appears to me that lines 9-12 are upside down (that is, 11-12 come more naturally after 8, with 9-10 better placed after 11-12). Just my impression, and of course the rhyme scheme is not affected.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Margaret. I did compose the sonnet rather quickly. I’m consulting with Evan over line 8. My wife’s family did not use people smugglers, per se, but rather greedy bus owners who were changing 10 times the usual bus fare to move people beyond the war zone.
My wife’s family fled north and are relatively safe in the first major city you come to. However, my wife’s extended family fled south, which has proven to be out of the frying pan, into the fire. They’ve reached South Sudan, but can only get to the capital city by plane. Only those who have relatives abroad and who can send them money can afford the airfare, so the majority of the refugees are stuck near the border, with no food and just what they fled the fighting with, if it hasn’t been stolen.
The poem summarizes the predicament well, and you did a good job of writing as if you had simple thought in the form of a sonnet.
I can’t even begin to imagine how awful it must be for the speaker, let alone his family. (I say “his” because I always assume the speaker is the same sex as the poet.)
Thanks for reading and commenting, Joshua.
My wife’s family are more or less safe, even though they are still in Sudan. We hope their security situation stays that way. Coincidentally, I met a guy who passed through the town they’re in on his way to Port Sudan and he couldn’t believe how untouched by events the town was.
Those who fled south, walking most of the way, over the border into South Sudan, are not so fortunate. Poverty and red tape, the usual banes of the Third World, mean most of them are still stuck where they are with whatever money and food the can obtain. They’re being asked / told to get to a town some distance away if they’re to get a flight to Juba, capital of South Sudan.
My wife’s best friend’s family (her mother and sister my wife’s best friend is the breadwinner after her father passed away), are the only people I know who’ve managed to get to Juba.
It just amazes me how quickly conditions deteriorated in Khartoum, a city that has in the past avoided the consequences of the country’s conflicts.
Thanks for an informative poem about a subject that couldn’t have been easy to write about. Little attention seems to be paid to this horrendous situation in this country. One notable exception has been the work of several Sudanese NBA basketball players, such as Luol Deng.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Russel.
Yeah, it was difficult to write, especially while the fighting in the capital was so fierce and outcomes were uncertain. My close family are looking at trying to get to neighbouring Uganda so my nephew, my sister-in-law’s son (I couldn’t fit him in the poem for space) needs to go back to school.
The major worry is still those trapped just over the southern border because the road (dirt track) to the capital, Juba, is virtually impassable and few vehicles are making the trip, airplane evacuation has been moved to a different town, hundreds of miles to the west and the rainy season is approaching.
There are quite a lot of South Sudanese in the NBA, principally because they’re from about the tallest tribe in the world. I’m five ten (180cm), and in group photographs with Southern Sudanese I look like a dwarf.
I’ve read that the AVERAGE Sudanese man is about 6 foot 6. If quality youth basketball gets more widespread around the globe, I suspect that many more Africans will be playing, which would be exciting.
Paul, those of us who live relatively safe lives often view these conflicts as out of sight, out of mind. I never imagined that it could impact a fellow poet. My understanding is that there’s supposedly a cease-fire. We can only hope that the situation is peacefully resolved, and soon.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Cheryl.
The ceasefire seems to finally be holding. Let’s hope that the older heads that call the shots in this internal conflict see sense and can put a control the young people under their command.
At the end of line 6, I think that “past” should be “passed.”
Thanks, CB. I usually catch that one.
Thanks for reading.