Five Reasons I forgot my Birthday and Thought and Sought to have this Xmas postponed…!

‘The day you die is better than the day you are born,” says King Solomon, Ecclesiastes 7:7; and “It is better to go to the home where there is a funeral than to that where there is a party”. I strongly dis/agree with this biblical wisdom (especially the first quote), for these and other reasons.

One, does anyone know how many people, including the BBC and our very own SSTV, gathered and talked about John Garang or George Athor’s day of birth? Does every one not know his death day now better than his birthday? So I agree with the wisdom but do not agree with its applicability, say, the insinuated context to join that kingdom raw in the pretext of the death day — and not the birthday — being the best day.

By the way, allow me (tongue in cheek) to tell you how many buddies turned up for my birthday today. Only 24, and the venue was only one: on the wall of my Facebook! Thanks buddies for not being busy bodies who blow away their hard-earned cash and valuable time on dancing imaginary days not known even by the ones who pushed us to this world. In advance, Merry Christ’s Mass to all the Maries, including those whose both birthdays and deathdays have been celebrated already. Rest in peace, not in pieces, this time.

“Is that a birthday? Ooh no! I’d rather call it a funeral of the former year, that’s if you wouldn’t mind…live long bro so that mourners lyk me mourn the more as those who call birthday celebrate…wish u well!” said one of my visitors (reminders) on my electronic wall. Thanks Mawut Reec-athooc, and all those who turned up for my birthday when I was elsewhere facing the world behind my wall of Facebook.

Apolo-gees: Please accept my apologies here.  I was just reminded today by my well wishers who said or wrote: Happy Birthday…! Of course, I gave my usually cold shoulder (ignored) my hell wishers. One friend from Kibakiland (Railand, Inshallah later!) called me and said Happy Birthday to you John. First I kept my silence for a while, and went wild, though not without a mild smile for a mile. “Sorry,  I postponed it…I mean, I will call you back.” And with shame, I also postponed to call back my committed Facebook friend, Marie-Alek-Sanyu. Mary Christmas to you Marie!

Secondly, and most importantly, I apologize to Emma J. Chris, whose best day, christened Christmas (Christ’s Mass) was promised to be postponed by somebody whose life was postponed just a day, but two, ahead. Therefore, it is my prayer that Juba (especially Salva Kiir) celebrates this Xmas without the sheer fear of the Khartoum-dubed propagandists.

This is why I thought and sought to postpone this Xmas: Others think it is a Cross-mas, so they want to nail people on a wrong cross. Others suppose it is a Krest-mas, so they only want to over-drink and over-eat and over-react, the rest just believe the way you and I think Christmas is…a Christ Mass (His Birthday, so it’s believed).

However, my apology borders the one of last year, but on a different ground, altogether.


Your Excellency, Emma J. Christ, Undersecretary of the Republic of the Universe, please, forgive us this blasphemy. But we are hereby requesting your heavenly authority that you speed up for us the remaining two weeks, including skipping your Birthday (today), mine (I did yesterday) and the Jallaba’s (1-1-11), just for the sake of our long walking to freedom, including that of worship, which Bashir has replaced — and still wants to replace – with freedom for warship. And if you insist that Christmas is a Christ Must, hence Sacrosant and Sacred, then please, allow me shut down my PC now and head for a trip to celebrate it with Emma Jr. in Kabakaland (Kampala), BUT ON CONDITION THAT YOU JOIN US ON JANUARY 9! AMEN?

So why did I forget…? Correction: So why did I postpone my birthday?


1- It is no longer this…because it got expired before he turned our Christ mass into a Christ mess. “We will ensure this month that Salva Kiir will not celebrate Christmas in peace,” claims Bapiny Monytuil on behalf of his boss, George Athor, on December 15. Four days later, (though I tegret to say thus!) Salva Kiir ensured that week that George Athor celebrated Christmess in pieces. So what is it?

2- Pocketlessness! Never ever think I am a liar when you meet me next time well pocketed everywhere on my outfits. To be honest, I do have them severally, but damn them: those shallow pockets that keep yawning for promises from hollow dockets (the day-to-day to-do lists) that yields nothing. This disease selectively seems to hit (why only) me harder every other day? I mean me, Penn and my penniless fellows. I summed it up in this poem that I penned three years ago but could not get published due to the same dis-ease. I will publish ‘The Black Christs of Africa’ one day when I get rich, Inshallah-ha-a-a! Yes, by the time those who are ‘hummering’ our economy have driven their hummers from our economy and dropped their hammers from our autonomy. The descriptive comparison goes:


Poem 161


Broke and broken!


A black bloke,

From the Haves Clan,

Braked suddenly beside me,

Just to grin at me green,

“How are you bro?”


“I’m broke!”

Retorted I,

Broken bloke,

From the Have-nots Clan,

Cursed his hypocritical word ‘bro’.

“What is that term ‘broke’?”

The Have asked the Have-not.

Lucky you who is never broke.

Let me define as I feel it:

A broke bloke

Is one with too much month

By the end of the money,

Whereas a loaded lord

Is one with too much money

By the end of the month.

Oh my! I’m not only broke,

Oh my God, I am also broken!


3- Daylight Robbery of South Sudanese. One of the reasons I postponed my birthday is a phone call from my buddy, Emma Penn de Ngong. The boy has already had his tongued programmed — thank God — enough to speak out some invitation for his birthday, together with that of his senior Namesake. As  I rushed around amidst Athor’s deathday news, I gathered something enough for my trip. The trip was tripled! By who against whom? By bus owners against travelers. This means we: me and other South Sudanese! Believe you me. The ticket from Juba to Kampala jumped from 50 SSP ($20) in June to 300 SSP (under $100), and somewhere above $100 from Kampala to Juba! This excludes visas. And you think I would only think and seek to have my birthday party postponed alone? That’s why I called for the postponement of Christmas. And even yours, Amen?

Don’t you dare ask ‘by whom?’ I trust Their Excellencies’ speed and addiction with postponement of big days. If they could postpone their one of their national BDs (May 16th), then who am I and Jesus not to have ours chopped by the head or pushed ahead, especially with such heavy excuses? Don’t either resort to saying ‘Blasphemy!’. That department of price control has slept too much to my temptation and damnation at the mercy of some ‘Ugakenyans’ and their likes, not sparing the ‘Southanese’ who have sold our nation away at peanut share of 5% or 10%. To who? To those who come to South Sudan with nothing and go back with somehting! They are economic fishermen. They go out with nets and come home with fish. Woe to the river that gains nothing by giving something.

4- None of the above…

5- All of the above


Poem 162


Very Loanly



I’m left

with a loan.

I am bereft.

I’m very lonely

On a ticking debt

Marked ‘until dead’.

I am in an abysmal depth

Of debts spiraling into death.






I am in shackles,

My house is in shambles.

Of this earth I can’t move an inch,

I am in undefined pain of a pinch,

Of a hereditary infirmity,

A localized calamity,

Framed on me alone.

I can’t even dare a loan,

For lack of collateral security.

My child a victim of food insecurity.

I am in a property island,

In prison with freedom on my motherland,

With none to bail me out.

The whole nation is moving about

In search and display of their wealth.

I beg and dig just to buy a wreathe

For my old man who to poor health succumbed.

This son of man is to blame for all this curse,

For he chose or was chosen for a cattle course.

Don’t ask me why my head is uncombed,

For combing is but for the free heads of the rich,

Who impoverish me for them to flourish.

They know my head only a tool for carrying firewood,

For that is my career imposed upon me from childhood.

O you I curse, have me bailed, god of poverty!

O You I beseech, offload me, God of property,

For not only am I such broke, I am also broken.

But to anybody nothing I spoke, expecting a token.

‘Tis You only, and if You upon my crimes harden,

Then who will unto my cries harken?


Instead of giving the newborn baby (i.e. BABY-NATION or RSS) real birthday gifts, they, our modern Herods, give Him surreal deathday gifts!

Above all, let note not be taken in such a way that I am seemed desperate enough (an idiot) to be calling for the postponement of my Saviour’s Birthday. I am calling for the postponement of all those activities attached to the Big Day, or any of the financial moles that bore thousands of holes in our pockets. So that we remain focused: no drinks, no bling-blings, no nonsense. That is why even my own birth day has passed unnoticed, you see? I regret it. It pains. It nags. I’ve lost it. I just have problem with any so-called Big Day now, especially after postponing mine, except the Jesus’s. I mean the spiritual fasting, not the ritual feasting of Christ Mass’ Day. To hell with them all. Let them pass into the past, very fast. I just want to say Happy New Year while we are happy near here.

Otherwise, why only on Christmas that they shoot up prices of basic commodities in our communities? Why not raise prices also on Mohammedimas? In other words and in other worlds, Ramadhan is a period where self-denial is imposed with spirituality, even to those who do not subscribe to that religion of eventuality. They cut down market prices not by market forces, including closing restaurants, bars, etc. to in/directly save. Come Christmas, the very people (like our Khartoum merchanaries…Correction… Merchants) unanimously shoot prices up at will. I am also afraid of our southern mercenaries, those who exploit us ws if they are passing over. My anticipation is bleak: they will turn into black jallaba’s even after our compilsory independence. Yes, even worse (but forgive my pessimism)!

That is why I snatched with anger my 3 SSP, which a Ugandan woman almost took in exchange for one apple fruit. If an apple, which costs approx. 50 piastres on Kampala streets can have its price increased by 500% in Juba, just imagine how much they (Uganjans) would sell their ‘Adam’s Apple or sodom’s apple’ during this Xmas! Ask me not the meaning of those ‘ape-falls’, any Juban knows what I am implying here.

Somebody, please educate these looters. Have they not heard that Jesus was born on a stable? And by the STABLE, it should not be me to make you think it is a maternity with the state-of-the-art modernity. Ironically, a sty or a stable (donkeys’ dining hall) is not a stable house with a table laid with staple food, chairs, etc. There were neither cheers of the ‘Happy Birthday to You’ that time in Bethlehem. Herod was on his Neck! He cut off 2,000 of innocent 2-year old boys! Could he, modern Kng Herod riding in a false belief of a kind hero, be on mine, likewise? Anywsy, pardon my inwise question. Watch yours, too, and let’s watch out before they wash us out with their fire of anger!


Poem 28


                                                                       Merry Christmess!





am thus

at this end

glad to spend

not, but to send

You this fruity tree;

I am sending for free,

In the name of The Big Three.

Reminder: this is called Christmas,

Be very careful lest you call it Christmess!

As others go to church, others go to maze or mess.

Get set for a holy mass on the birthday of Jesus Christ.

Whoever shall use or misuse it will in a big way be surprised!

Come such is a big day by which you will in any way be recognized.

In other words, I insist, not by Christmess you enter my feathery heart.

In other worlds, I intercede that by Christmas you enter my Fatherly Hut,

But not without prior warning lest on an opaque mind thou shall be hurt!

This is the season in which every creation puts their neck in the noose;

when from the year’s toil trying to snooze

Or from the year’s spoil trying to booze.

But the magi will think of a special gift;

Then, of their age, a balance of the shift.

Oh, the world is rocking us by age adrift!

To my dear Christlets, I wish you a very Merry Christmas.

To my busybodies, I wish you all a very cheery Chris’ mass.

To my boozy buddies, I wish you all a very cherry Christmess.

Alas! And of course, for your souvenir, it’s just happing near here.

At last, to all of you – brethrens in the Lord, Amen – a very Happy New Year,

With a permanent firmament over a firm foundation that henceforth shall never shear!


Relevant Quote

It was deemed a disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he was regarded as lazy indeed, who had not provided himself with the necessary means, during the year, to get whiskey enough to last him through Christmas.

Frederick Douglass (1817? – 1895), U.S. abolitionist, writer, and orator. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave