(Tiny Little Town, Southern Sudan)
I sat in a plastic chair under a tree with three of the blue army, waiting. I’m not sure what the difference is between the blue and the green army, but these wear blue camouflage instead of green. InRwanda
Two of the blue army wore blue berets with silver insignias. The third had Nuer scarring on his forehead and a silver filigreed costume jewelry ring with a huge green oval stone. He had a satellite phone in his pocket that periodically sat alerted. He walked out to the sunshine and answered the phone, but no one was ever on the other end.
They had propped their guns on the ground – two against the tree and one pointing at the tree on its own little kickstand.
They were no older than 20. A younger girl, 15 or 16, sat with them, talking.
We tried to communicate. We exchanged names. One name was very long, although I managed to pick out Hakim and I went with that. Communication failed us after that exchange. They went back to talking amongst themselves. I leaned back and watched the breeze in the leaves. One of them lit a cigarette, then another. The last one held an unlit cigarette in his mouth for a while, dangling in a cigarette holder, before he finally lit it.
The oldest of the three, the most muscular and adult, motioned for my sunglasses on the top of my head. I handed them over to him and he put them on and mimed driving a car, fast, around tight corners. He spun his hand on the imaginary wheel of the car. Then he laughed and handed them back to me.
I sat in a plastic chair under a tree with three of the blue army, waiting. I’m not sure what the difference is between the blue and the green army, but these wear blue camouflage instead of green. In
Two of the blue army wore blue berets with silver insignias. The third had Nuer scarring on his forehead and a silver filigreed costume jewelry ring with a huge green oval stone. He had a satellite phone in his pocket that periodically sat alerted. He walked out to the sunshine and answered the phone, but no one was ever on the other end.
They had propped their guns on the ground – two against the tree and one pointing at the tree on its own little kickstand.
They were no older than 20. A younger girl, 15 or 16, sat with them, talking.
We tried to communicate. We exchanged names. One name was very long, although I managed to pick out Hakim and I went with that. Communication failed us after that exchange. They went back to talking amongst themselves. I leaned back and watched the breeze in the leaves. One of them lit a cigarette, then another. The last one held an unlit cigarette in his mouth for a while, dangling in a cigarette holder, before he finally lit it.
The oldest of the three, the most muscular and adult, motioned for my sunglasses on the top of my head. I handed them over to him and he put them on and mimed driving a car, fast, around tight corners. He spun his hand on the imaginary wheel of the car. Then he laughed and handed them back to me.
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