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Album of stories
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Original Stories From The War
Here are the original
stories of three woman who participated in
the workshop: Mounira, Aisha and Mawaheb.
They have written their own stories and
delivered them to be especially included in
this book. This process helped develop the
expression of their experiences into a
written form.
Having the intention and will to write their
stories for publication meat a clear concept
of social responsibility towards all
Sudanese woman. All the participants of to
workshop were very sincerely engaged in
developing their communities and reforming
the condition of woman. They have an
unbeatable faith in life; a hope that
nothing can destroy.
Form that hope in a better future, we
publish these original stories. Our stories
are not only testimonials, they are part of
ourselves. They are our pain and our
freedom. Our stories will always remain
ours, but in retelling them they belong to
us all.
Mounira
My story happened on
January 12th 1997; it was the time of the
North South war in Sudan. I was living in
the town of Alkurmuk in South Blue Nile
where I was working as a teacher at Khadija
Bent Khowaylad primary school for girls. The
town was controlled by the Sudan Army Force
(SAF).
On the morning we heard news that the Sudan
People Libration Army (SPLA) was about to
enter Alkurmuk. Suddenly, I heard a bomb
explode; I ran out of my house immediately.
My thoughts were mainly on my students and
how I could protects the little girls. I ran
to the school and found the girls full of
fear.
I escaped with my students and many other
people. We reached the area of Albaraka near
Alkurmuk. We were trapped and held as
prisoners of war by soldiers form the SPLA.
Later that day an officer form the Sudanese
army arrived in Albaraka and tried to
negotiate our release with the SPLA
soldiers; he was not given a chance, they
immediately shot at him form all sides.
I was sitting with my school colleagues and
students not far from the shooting. Several
bullets reached us and one of them hit me in
my right leg. I was injured in my right
thigh and my thigh bone broke. I was very
frightened and in a lot of pain.
I remained thee for three days. I couldn't
move and I had no medicine. Thankfully,
because we were close to the boarder with
Ethiopia, some Ethiopians had arrived and
helped transfer me to a hospital in
Ethiopia. After four days I was moved to a
military hospital in Assosa town on the
boarder with Sudan where I spent another 22
days. The nurses were very kind to me; they
used to cry when they cleaned my wound. I
was only given pills and injections which
did not make me any better. I thought of
traveling to Saudi Arabia but my request for
a visa was refused due to the bad relations
between Ethiopia and Saudi Arabia at the
time; so I returned to Sudan. I started my
therapy again at the Army forces hospital in
Khartoum. I was operated failed. After a
month, the second operation took place with
not much improvement.
I traveled to Syria looking for better
treatment. The Sudanese government covered
the expenses of my travel and therapy at
Syrian hospital. I was operated on twice in
Syria, the first operation was to lengthen
the thigh bone which was affected due to the
prior surgeries in Sudan and to having
stayed for long periods without therapy. The
second operation was to attach a metal
support to the thigh which was to be removed
in one year; but I did not remove it on
time.
I decided to pursue my career and move on,
so I continued ,y university studies in
Arabic Language and Islamic Law and let
nothing stop, me.
On 25 November 2006, the support was removed
at Khartoum Educational hospital. My led is
now in good condition and I do not suffer
anymore. I now live my life normally and I
thank God.
Mounira Elsheikh
Aisha
My story began on the
20the of July 1993, when I was transferred
by the Ministry of Education to the remote
village of Magda. I loved my teaching career
and my husband was very supportive of me. So
we took our children and traveled form
Damazine, the capital challenge.
When my little boy Gehad became sick there
was no health service to help him.
Eventually, a private car form Damazine came
to our area, I used that car to go with my
son back to Damazine where he got the
necessary treatment. We returned to Magda,
but a few days after my son's health got
worse. I could not find any solution and my
husband was not around; he was in Damazine
bringing some food and equipment for the
village. I decided to take my son and go the
Dandaro, a nearby village, where there was a
hospital for animals: but time was not on
our side, my son died before we reached
Dandaro.
In June 1994, there was no water in the
village. The residents to the village. The
residents of the village fled to Alteir
mountain area where they could acess some
shallow wells. I moved with my family to the
area of Kamir. After the rainy season
started, shallow wells in Magada were full
again, so the school principle asked us to
return to continue the school year; we went
back.
On the 20hte of July 1994, we started our
journey back to Magda. On our way down the
road we ended up in an area full of
landmines. My husband was carrying our
smallest daughter, Refka, with him on the
same donkey. A mine exploded underneath
them.
My daughter died instantly but my husbands
pain was unimaginable. His body exploded and
scattered in the air before my eyes. Parts
of his flesh were glued to the tree and the
mountain, but my daughter's body was intact.
She was dead but not in any way deformed;
she looked serene. My husband was still
alive but mutilated when I reached him. He
called my name so I sat next to him. I read
him cerses of the Koran until his soul left
his body.
God had chosen who would die and who would
live in that instant; I was on the next
donkey with my other daughter, Rofayda, and
before us were my two older sons Diaa Alhaq
and Bashir. The four of us survived the same
mines that exploded under my husband's
donkey. That is destiny.
My children were crying and screaming, but I
was strong. I helped them to calm down. I
hugged them and told them it was God's will
and that we must accept it. I took my
husband in my arms. With the help of many
good people we gathered all the parts of my
husbands body. They carried it and
transferred it to Damazine, then to his
parent's village where he is buried now.
My son Diaa Alhaq is now in his final year
in university, Rofayda is in her first year
at university, and Bashir is passing his
final year at secondary school.
During the last part of my story I was
pregnant. When my husband and daughter were
killed I had already reached my third month
of pregnancy. Six months after the accident,
I delivered my youngest child, Hameeda; she
is now in the seventh grade. She is a living
memory of survival.
Aisha Ismail
Mawaheb
On the evening of January
12hte 1997, the Sudan People Liberation Army
(SPLA) invaded Alkurmuk form the east and
the northwest sides of the city. The
citizens were trapped inside.
I had just given birth the night before. The
next morning, a Sunday, the city itself was
attacked and people ran in all directions to
escape. Some were wounded, some were trapped
and others were killed. My family and I
tried to run away but my body was still weak
having just delivered a child. Nonetheless,
we had to keep walking bullets were coming
form all directions, I was shot in my left
foot. My husband took our children to get
them to a safe place and promised to come
back for me. He didn't make it.
I was left alone in the middle of a road
outside of Alkurmuk until night fell; I did
not move. The next morning I started to move
and tried to walk; I reached Alzereeba
village and found all the houses empty. I
did not even have a drop of water to drink.
I pushed myself of walk all the way to the
main street with the help of a stick. While
I was walking, I lost consciousness. When I
woke up h found that I was surrounded by tow
soldiers from Sudan Army Force (SAF). They
gave me water and dates and I moved with
them while we were walking, we were ambushed
by soldiers from the other side nying me.
Then one of them pointed his rifle at me,
but the soldier with him said, "she is a
woman". At that moment, a car came with
another group of soldiers who were well
armed; they picked me up with them and
dropped me at Albaraka village.
Later I managed to move to Ethiopian
territory with Ms. Mounira Alsheikh. We
received treatment at a hospital in
Ethiopia. They offered to move us to Kenya;
I refused but Ms. Mounira accepted and
traveled there. Some of Alkurmuk's citizens
came and carried me to AlKurmuk. I stayed
there for several days until I could start
walking again. I them moved to the village
of Mayk, West of Akurmuk. At Mayk my foot
became more swollen, I could walk no more.
Thank God, a man from the Bedween appeared
with his camels, he carried me to the
village of Beldego near Dandro.
Form there we moved to Deranek, and then to
Damazine. I was operated on twice at the
hospital in Damazine, then transferred to
the police hospital in Khartoum.
I was finally reunited with my family in
Damazine.
My life is going ok, every time I look at my
little girl born on that day, I feel so
pleased that both of us are alive; but I
will carry what happened to me forever.
Mawaheb Bashir Soliman
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