Traumas can be redeemed
By Shelvis Smith-Mather | Presbyterians Today
In 1993 fighting erupted within the small town of Yei (pronounced “Yay”), which was at the time located in the Republic of Sudan. Machine guns mounted atop land cruisers and men wearing fatigues launched shells of ammunition into the air. Mothers and grandmothers hurried out of gunfire with babies tied to their backs and cooking pans seated on their heads. They emptied into forests, pushed through branches and waded through streams, moving up gravel-covered hills and down shadowed valleys. They assembled at border crossings bulging from the influx of refugees. Thousands flowed across the border of what is now South Sudan, the world’s newest nation, into United Nations-sanctioned areas in Uganda.
Once registered, families built semi-permanent homes with white tarps. In each of the homes, the tarps stretched across the wooden beams of the ceiling and hung from the wall to the floor. The modest material flapped when winds blew, yet it was strong enough to provide some relief from the fierce sun. Family members too weak, too young or too old remained close to the small one-room home as other family members journeyed off daily to bundle firewood and haul cans of water from the bush. One plot of land sat next to another plot of land. Plot by plot they sat; family by family they settled. Among those who settled in the sprawling refugee camps were my future co-workers Margret Sadia and Lucy Awate.
Margret and Lucy often tell me stories of war. Some days the mood is somber, but most days the tone is surprisingly upbeat, rich in laughter and punctuated by high-fives. Their stories usually begin one of three ways: “During the war,” “When the bombing started” or “Once in the refugee camp.” Today, Margret and Lucy’s story began with the latter.
“Once in the refugee camp, rebel soldiers came by night in a raid,” Margret said. “Two boys had just been tortured and their ears cut off. My neighbor’s brother was taken, and he saw soldiers moving toward my home, so he shouted, ‘They got my brother! Margret, run for your life. Run! Ruuuuuun!’ ”
“Maybe they would have cut off my ears. I don’t know. Maybe they would have raped me,” she continued.
Margret sprinted into the night as fast as her feet would take her. From the other side of the refugee settlements, Lucy did the same. The soldiers berated those whom they captured, asking them, “Do you want to laugh or do you want to hear?” If the family chose to hear, the soldiers cut off their lips. If the family chose the ability to laugh, the soldier cut off their ears.
While the moment was terrifying at the time, today Lucy laughs as she recounts the memory. She emphatically pumps her arms to show how she ran. The corners of her smile touch the tops of her cheeks. Margret and Lucy’s laughter seems to grow as they recall the 25-year-old memory.
They can laugh at such things now, but their laughter comes only after many years of reflection and attention to healing deep emotional wounds. Margaret and Lucy, who’s among the 2019 international peacemakers available to U.S. churches Sept. 13-Oct. 7, achieved some of their healing through the PC(USA)’s longtime South Sudanese partner, RECONCILE International. They both attended the RECONCILE Peace Institute (RPI) and completed the Community-Based Trauma Healing certificate program. Margret went on to become a prominent advocate against human rights violations in Yei. She was later elected chairperson of the RPI alumni chapter. Lucy has worked tirelessly counseling survivors of violence, as well as those responsible for war crimes. She was hired by RECONCILE years later and has become the first RPI graduate to become an RPI lecturer.
I’ve been blessed to work with Margret and Lucy for several years, but I’m especially honored to have had the opportunity to work alongside them in Africa’s largest refugee camps last year. Both women are committed to helping South Sudanese refugees address the trauma of war and are courageous beyond imagination. They have grappled with their traumatic pasts and are committed to helping others do the same. They are wounded healers.
Shelvis Smith-Mather is a mission co-worker in South Sudan. He is the principal of the RECONCILE Peace Institute. He serves with his wife, Nancy, who is the project manager for the South Sudan Education and Peace Building Project.
Find out more about Shelvis and Nancy Smith-Mather’s ministry at presbyterianmission.org/smith-mather
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