Adieu legendary uncle, Lual Diing Wol. You are the last of the real SPLM luminaries that have gone! We will miss you like we do Dr. John everyday we make a blunder! Secondly, from my literary world of intellectual liberation, I will miss your book everytime its title is evoked: Who Killed Who (during the war of liberation)? Like any other piece of war literature and your (comrades) legacy that is an insult to some leaders of the day, your book will never see the light of the day, unless in a doctored format!


All our days pass away under your wrath; we finish our years with a moan. Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.” Psalms 90:9 – 10.

Our elder of the nation, Uncle Lual Diing Wol, passed on at Aga Khan Hospital in Nairobi last night’s evening. He succumbed to the call to the next life after clinging onto his life a couple of years. Last year, we just mourned and buried, though with our flag at full mast, Uncle Elijah Mal Aleng. The old duo has joined Dr. Garang and the rest of the clean liberators. He passed on without a single drop of the innocent blood of his own people in his hand that he fought the whole of his life to free from the Jallaba’s bondage.

But Lualdit died an unhappy man. What he and his comrades sacrificed the best of their life time and resources for is now being undone after their people’s independence. This is what he prophetically said when he turned down a decree for presidential adviser in 2010, showing he is one of the fewest heroes not corrupted by the wealth of the people of South Sudan.

“Because of this gross violation, I have decided not to be part of the government that will not see participation of representatives of the people and this is why I have this morning called and told both President of the government of southern Sudan, Salva Kiir Mayardit and his deputy, Dr. Riek Machar Teny, never to consider me as part of their future government. Because I have seen that this upcoming government will not be the government of the people by the people and for the people,” Lual told Sudan Tribune from Nairobi.

He further said declining any future appointment because “this government would be dominated by individuals who came to it as result of violation of SPLM vision which recognizes and promotes people rights to participate in issues relating to how they would like to manage their affairs,” he said.

He went further to say that the “current members were not elected but were forcefully brought by the party against the will of the local people for whom we took arms to liberate from denials to participate in their affairs”.

“This was why we went to war against the central government to correct and transform it to be people’s government. Majority would have not gone to war if they knew we would adopt the same system,” he adds. Complete the news article here:

Personally, I came into the last encounter with Gen. Lualdit on July 7, 2011, in his office in the run up to the declaration of independence. As we were consulting him on the issues like  the Red Army and other concerns of the outgoing war generation, including a fundraiser visit for our ‘Y-GUN’ Conference (Youth of Greater Upper Nile), a project Dr. Riek Machar later shot down in the name of keeping one people under one nation, an independence saluting canon went off…’Tomb! Tomb!…” It exploded without prior warning from near the mausoleum!

As we coiled frozen in our chairs, Lualdit shouted, “Shwak (driver), where are you? Off to the car! Bring my gun” No sooner had he laid his hand on his old SPL-AK47 than the old lion rushed to the window and took his position. Then he inquired, “what is it?” His attendants laughed, “Beny, it is Riek Machar’s committee rehearsing on the independence parade!” So he sighed, “Yea, I know. None but him can do that. I don’t trust Riek Machar.I don’t trust anybody these days.” He left in the morning claiming to be headed for Bentiu, only to leave behind a mock bomb to finish us off with heart attack?”

The ancient soldier joked on how he and ‘Somebody-dit’ almost died in Juba in 2004 when an armoury of SAF (Sudan Armoured Forces) went on flames. “I ran like a mad ram and found myself hanging on a long root of a mango tree in the cliff of the Nile for 3 hours as shells pounded the city. You see, I don’t trust them, politicians and their soldiers,” he narrated to our amusement.

Back the above daring statements on his second round job rejection making him the only one I know among the curSomeone Save Simeonerent SPLM robbers of the nation, to have criticized the system while he is within, I bestow upon him dedication below from my poetry works (to Lualdit) as one among my ‘Black Christ’s of Africa’.

NB: Take note. I have not addressed Lualdit as ‘the late’ because he lives in us as an ideologue and in our history book as a liberator. Just like Dr. Johh Garang de Mabior, Lualdit and the rest will never die. He has lived to witness what he was born man for, the birth of the nation of South Sudanese, which I have likened to that of the wise man, Simeone. He clang on till the Messiah was born in Bethlehem.

Alas, no messiah yet to South Sudan, but the nation is born. Fare thee well, Lanbaar, Baba Africa, Lualdit de Diing de Wol!

Poem #1

The Black Christs of Africa


You, O saviours, I salute,

With due honours absolute

To you, whether here on earth,

Or who weather there in the hearth.


No vain salvation with blood.

We the heirs of your vein flood

Believe our crises have been atoned

By you our Christs that have been stoned.


Being black is not being blank.

Our Herods crucified our heroes,

But their Bloc can’t block the Black.

Hail Jesuses, to heaven your souls sail,

But Hell Judases, to oven your souls sell;


As we, here in Africa, err,

Remain heir in a free care,

Our Martyrs, it’s you we owe,

Our murder land, it’s we you awe,

Our Motherland, it’s you we own.


“I don’t mind if my life goes in the service of the nation. If I die today every drop of my blood will invigorate the nation.”

Indira Gandhi (1917 – 1984)

Indian Prime Minister.

Said the night before she was assassination

Poem #2

The Blood Donors of Africa


The donors of blood

Are redeemers of life

Of patients who cry flood

In bitter search for sweet life…

Till they breathe last—get floored

On their earth deathbeds, they strive.


He who drains a vein

To irrigate your dry life

Is no daring saviour in vain.

Our land is a hospital of strife,

Where a scarlet bannered war van

Is burned with a million donors of life.


Blood is the cocoon of life

And they who do offer blood,

Do donate with it their own life.

So the rivers and floods of blood,

With their multitudes of Christly life,

Have redeemed our dear beloved Bilad



“The struggle for black freedom has been tied to their history by cords of anguish and rivers of blood.”

Vincent Harding (1931 – )

U.S. historian.

The Other American Revolution

Poem #8

In the Noon Moon


When our men got annoyed

By the spirit of racism,

They also got anointed

With the spirit of nationalism,

With which they got drugged

To the extent of betting by their land,

Allowing their valour to have them dragged

Like termites into the swimming parlour of fire.

We owe Bul Koch and the rests who risked for our land,

For which they braved the grave and swore by bonfire,

That they licked as it licked them in the noon moon.


Long live the Anya-nya gallant warriors,

That got drunk

Against the spirit of serfdom.

They stood up to dunk

Their might in the spirit of freedom.

Addicted to national alcoholism,

They challenged rains of fire,

In search of liberty in colonialism.

They spent the simmering summers of the noon,

Enjoying the African heavenly fire

with the romantic feeling of a noon moon.


“Once plagued with a tragic sense of inferiority resulting from the effects of slavery and segregation, the Negro has now been driven to reevaluate himself. He has come to feel that he is a somebody. With this new sense of somebodiness and self-respect, a new Negro has emerged with a new determination to achieve freedom and human dignity whatever the cost maybe.”

Martin Luther King, Jr.

The Testament of Hope.

Poem #9

The Moods in the Woods

When we deserted our town,

And laid our serfdom tool down,

And rushed for our freedom tickets,

In our own native impenetrable thickets,

The machines jangled in the jungle of Jonglei,

With the epic poems of the jungle by jongleur,

Ringing thr’out the vastness of the Africountry.

The war cry and freedom bell of the century,

Rung by the biblical tall and smooth-skinned

Folks, feared far an’ wide as wrath-skilled.

The men that then transpired fire

And perspired scarlet water

on faces making kids falter,

had the moods of doom,

in the woods of boom.

Lo, as if out of tombs

With their bombs,

They dared death

And saved birth.

They saw blood

like the flood

that swept

all bereft

of their lives

and their hives.



“The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his.”

General George Patton (1885 – 1945)