| Lahash
Musician Profile: Emmanuel Lasu
You can sample
one of Lasu's MP3's online here For roughly 10 years, Lasu Emmanuel and his family sought refuge
from one of the longest running civil wars in African history – the
civil war in Sudan. North fought South, civilian protectors
quickly became enemies, and Lasu and in his family narrowly escaped
the violence. His family remains separated today, but alive.
His father in Juba, older sisters in Khartoum, his mother and younger
sisters in Kampala Uganda. Today, Emmanuel makes his living
as a musician, writing music that carries the hope for continued
peace in Sudan. The following is a snapshot of his story which
he gifted to me, under the shade of tree, in Uganda.
 |
My name, Lasu,
means “replacement of what was lost.” I
was born directly following my brother, who died shortly after his
birth. I was born in 1978 in Juba – the southern capitol
of Mamaland – Mamaland Sudan. I was seven years old when
the war came to disturb my family. This is my story.
We fled south to Kajo Keji.
We were 10 in number – my mother, father, and 7 brothers
and sisters. We hid in caves to protect my father from being captured
by the SPLA (the army of Southern Sudan), and forced to fight
against
the Arabs from the north. We slept during the day, and
kept watch at night. We often would have to put out our
cooking fire to remain hidden. When the SPLA found out
that people were hiding in the caves, there was an ambush, and
arrests. We
were forced to seek refuge in the Arab barracks.
We stayed for two years in the barracks.
Everyday there was shelling. It would begin at 7am. We
counted 70-80 bombs at a time. We hid in trenches. We
buried ourselves underground. We dug holes and ditches and
hid in the darkness, covering ourselves with sticks, grass, and
sacks filled with sand. We slept there. We ate there. We
relieved ourselves there. When we heard gunshots, we knew
that the bombs were coming, then inevitably we heard the cry, “Conda!
Conda! Conda!” The bombs are coming. Everyday people
were dying. I don’t know how people lived – how we
lived. We
survived on okra and goat. We ate just one time a day. We cooked
just outside the barracks but would keep water right next to it
so we could put out the fires when we heard the bombs coming. When
the SPLA raided the Arab barracks, we were forced to walk on
foot, with the military convoy, to safety in Juba. We walked for
months.
The convoy moved by foot. My pink shirt was black with travel.
You traveled light on the convoy because you never knew if you’d
reach where you were going. You walked apart from your
family so that you would not all be killed at once if the convoy
was attacked. When
you are walking, you are just waiting for your time to die. The
convoy would be attacked by the SPLA. Sometimes 20 would die
at a time – there
was no time to bury. The SPLA came and took clothes off
the dead people. Those we could bury, we did, but we could only
dig a
small hole – just enough to cover the body. Sometimes there
was not time to bury the dead. The vultures were very happy.
There is no time to cry. Only to speak “Allah karim” or “God
is greater.” Everywhere we moved the SPLA was waiting. Eventually,
we made it to Yei, but there was no way to survive there, no
salary for my father.
Our family was separated.
My older sisters had been sent to the north – Khartoum – when
the war broke out. Now my father came to tell us he was leaving us
to go find work in Juba. He would go alone as it was safer. We
cried the whole day he left. We said “Baba, we don’t
want you to go!” He said, “My salary is in Juba.
It will help take you to school. It will give you a better life.
Pray for me.” We were young, but we could pray. We knew
God was there. My father reached Juba safely, but was made
deaf by the bombs and the guns.
We toiled to
live in peace as refugees in a foreign land.
We stayed in Yei, then moved into Uganda from Kabuku to Moyo
to Adjumani. We
had no money, no jobs, no schooling, and no way to survive.
The SPLA came to kidnap people into the army. People
just disappeared. We were given refugee land by the UN, and
we planted maize and cassava
and sorgum, but the LRA came and disturbed our food. When
the LRA came, they threatened us with guns. My mother
pushed one of the men with the gun, and when he tripped over
a potato vine,
she was able to run away. But they took everything. My
mother would cry for mamaland Sudan and for my father, who
she could not reach because of the war. She would say, “We
cannot die here in Uganda.” Our worry was very bad.
 |
Survival.
In all this we survived. God helped us really. We eventually
made our way to Kampala – Uganda’s capital. We
found small jobs. I would dig latrines or mix cement. It
was heavy work – hard
work. Today you will hear me having difficulty breathing.
I cannot sleep well. It is hard, you know, to tell
these stories. Sometimes it is so much that I want to cry.
-
recorded by Karin Rosain |
