Back then schools were the platoons that often welcomed such personnel– as John Garang’s agenda for an educated citizenry was yet dead. At the time, I was a grade one pupil at Poktap Primary School. I was vocal at a very young age and was one of those set to lead in ushering in the assumed savior through heartfelt songs and poems. The months leading to his arrival had been a culmination of rehearsals to sharpen our presentation at the grand welcome.

For a child naive, bright-eyed wonder, full of ambition, and without much knowledge beyond my little village, I believed meeting him would be a life-changing moment; again what a joke! As fate would have it, all the hard work I had put into this went down the drain through a harsh blow. Just a couple of days before his awaited arrival, word came that no one without a full uniform would join the celebration. Shout out to every fatherless child at a young age– no one understands your struggle more than I do. I vividly recall that moment of exclusion. My mother who had just a small restaurant for merely our survival couldn’t afford the uniform and the last of my hopes was my maternal uncle who broke me with a crushing weight of my own limitations when he said there was nothing he could do to help.

So I went to a dam [Apiir Ajueny and Apiir Wut Bany] and sat by the shore my feet dipped in the waters, as I wept bitterly; surely nothing stings a child more than things beyond his control that he wishes he could change. I spent about two hours at an isolated shore– those moments build strong men. After two hours, the fish started tickling my feet and I started laughing and smiling, I finally got up and affirmed to myself “F**k it anyway, who the hell is Kuol Manyang Juuk in my struggles [A statement I’m so proud of today… because who is he?]. Well, he was received at Poktap airstrip, I never got to see him, all we could see from 300 meters away was just the army and the privileged kids who presented in full smart school attire.

Now back to the present, does anyone adore or even care about Kuol anymore? I doubt… maybe his little daughter who sits in brazen arrogance in the state government looting small chunks of money like a lustful man who can’t last long in bed. The once-revered image of Gen. Kuol is nothing more than a mere joke [less funny than the not-so-funny menth-abaar comedian].

The man who symbolized everything inspirational in my childhood is now a betrayal to the bitter tears I shed on that day.

I can't believe it's the same Kuol who smiles for the men behind the camera in Nairobi with disregard for the values that once defined our hopes, while Luis Lobong slaughters us above the remains of our ancestors in Equatoria over political crops. We fought marginalization to become the marginalized of the marginalized.

Now how about I touch the tail of SPLM’s arrogant lastborn, the one I didn’t even know existed until we went into the transitional government of arrogance and self-interest? Maybe that’s a story for another day. At least Kuol has a history to back him, but this last born… what in the name of Junub has he ever done except run his uncontrollable mouth?

Indeed the SPLA died with Dr John Garang and took along Kuol and all the pure comrades leaving behind a farcical parade of corruption and greed, nothing but a hollow echo of what once was. What we have left are more mouths for the SPLM to feed, coffin sellers, and mortuary attendants with crocodile tears.

Bor will continue to bleed if we do not seek out a new SPLA, and sadly my childhood idol has turned into a mere caricature of his former foe.