PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 4



Juba, South Sudan



The teaching hospital in Juba was a single story brick building nestled in the heart of the South Sudanese capital. The streets that surrounded it were hard-packed earth, the dwellings merely shantytowns of corrugated iron and salvaged materials. Juba was a city of poverty despite the wealth of natural resources betrothed to the fledgling nation.

Dr Jess Hutton had been working at the hospital for over a year. Idealistic, free of spirit and fresh out of medical school she had tried to sign on with Médecins Sans Frontières. Doctors Without Borders had turned her down. The rejection letter had told her to gain more experience. Unperturbed, she dipped into her own savings and bought a ticket to Juba. On arrival she had offered her services to a not-for-profit organization providing support to the teaching hospital. Twelve months later Jess was running the small establishment. She managed a cadre of local nurses and took care of the endless stream of victims from the ongoing civil war.

It was four days since the Dinka warriors had brought Garang to the hospital. He had slipped in and out of consciousness during the long drive from Khartoum and by the time they reached Juba he had degenerated into a partial coma. Jess had met them at the gates with a stretcher and orderlies. She did not recognize the battered body when they unloaded the stretcher from the vehicle, the face mangled beyond any form of recognition.

It was Jonjo who had broken the news that the badly beaten soldier was in fact her lover, Garang. With tears streaming down her cheeks she had rushed him into the tiled room that served as their emergency department. Without any of the technology of a modern hospital there was little she could do other than insert an IV drip into his bruised body and wait. It had taken four long days before Garang began to stir.

"Doctor Hutton, Doctor Hutton!" the Sudanese orderly ran yelling down the hospital's single corridor yelling.

Jess appeared from one of the doorways a finger raised to her lips. "Quiet, Samir, we have patients recovering." Dressed in her whites and with her long, brown ponytail the American doctor resembled a star from a TV hospital drama. An uncommonly beautiful woman surrounded by the stench of poverty and the wounds of war.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Hutton," the orderly whispered excitedly as he skidded to a halt. "But it's Garang; he's awake."

The smile that split Jess's oval features filled the gloomy hospital with energy as she hurried to his private room. The two had met not long after Jess's arrival in the country. With their shared American backgrounds, they quickly became friends. It had not taken long for the impressionable young doctor and handsome freedom fighter to become lovers.

Garang was sitting up in bed, his once handsome face still swollen beyond recognition. He turned towards Jess, dull eyes staring as she entered the room. She sat down next to him and took his hand.

"They killed him," he croaked.

"I know."

"They cut off his head, Jess, and I couldn't do anything." Tears ran down his bruised face as he held her hand tightly. "They have it all: the oil, the money, the weapons. What do we have?"

"Brave men like you; men willing to fight."

"Is it enough? When our leaders are fools? They sent us to Khartoum to beg for scraps. Men of courage don't send their bravest warriors into the heart of enemy territory to have their heads hacked off with a rusty saw. They're cowards, not leaders." Garang met her eyes, a pained look on his damaged face. "They're dragging us kicking and screaming down a path of submission, Jess. Khartoum will rape us of our wealth and our leaders will argue over a few drops of oil."

"But we can fight!" A young man of around seventeen stood in the doorway. Dressed in olive fatigues, a battered AK47 slung over his shoulder. Jonjo was one of the few Dinka warriors who spoke good English; a result of his upbringing in a Christian orphanage. "The army can fight and we can beat them."

"The army is finished, Jonjo. They fight amongst themselves for Khartoum's money. The independence movement is drowning in greed."

"Then start again," said Jess.

"What? Build another army?"

"You were in the US Army, Garang, you've had more training than anyone else. Who better to do it?"

"That's true," he agreed, glancing at the young soldier standing in the doorway. "I mean, I taught Jonjo how to shoot."

Despite only receiving basic training in the US Army and having worked in supply, Garang had impressed the soldiers of the SPLA. Many of them had never even been taught how to use the sights on their AK47s.

"The men will follow you. The chief trusted you." Jonjo was still a teenager but his youthful features had seen a lifetime of violence. Like Garang, he had hoped the Referendum of 2011 would be the end of the civil war. With peace would come the oil companies and prosperity, but the beheading of their chief and savage beating of Garang gave the lie to that dream. The only chance now was to keep resisting and hope the international community would pay attention.

"Jonjo, how many men do we have?"

"Thirty or so. More if we can get guns."

"The Arabs won't stop until they have raped all they can from our land," Garang spoke with conviction. The dull throbbing of his wounds was forgotten as his thoughts went to revenge and glory. "If you and the men will follow me, Jonjo, I will lead. We will fight Khartoum and if we hold out long enough the Western world will support us."

Jonjo's eyes lit up in hope.

Garang continued. "We will fight and when the oil companies come to us, then we will inherit what we deserve." He slowly sat upright and swung his legs off the bed. Grimacing in pain, he reached for his boots. "Get the men together. Today will be the first meeting of the Southern Freedom Fighters."

"Yes, Garang," Jonjo replied excitedly, and left the room at a trot.

Garang struggled to get one of his boots on, his arm still too badly bruised to function properly. Jess gently pried it from his hand and placed it back on the floor.

"You still need to rest, Garang. Your body is yet to heal."

"Stop it with your mothering, woman." He reached for the boot again. "There is work to be done. If I cannot build an army then who will protect the villages? I need to get back to the Dinka."

"Fine. Go!" She kissed him on the cheek. "But make sure you rest. Let Jonjo do the running around."

Garang managed to pull the boot over his sock. "I will rest once we have what is rightfully ours and Khartoum is no longer stealing our oil!"