Taalim Ku Riääk

Do you not know of our beautiful, fertile plains of Jonglei—from the towering akɔɔt in Duk to the peaceful lääŋ of Paliau, and the mighty Nile that weaves through Madïŋdä? Nothing in Equatoria could ever compare to our own soil, nor replace the earth beneath which our ancestors rest. The floods and cattle diseases may have driven us to wander, but our hearts never left home. Deep through the forests of the east, where now the fish and wild birds roam, we know the path to our homes, no matter how far our cattle roam.

Cattle have been our lifeblood, back even before the people recorded in history. All but a few have fallen to disease—we have asked for medicine, but was it given? What is our weakness in our desire to save what remains of our herd?

Dare you call us cowards? What choice remains for a herdsman when his kraal empties and death sits at his doorstep? We have firmly & resiliently stood through every storm to preserve what is ours—1993 and 2013 did not break us. Murle has time and time again raided us and abducted our women and children, but we have never ceased to fight for ours. But how do you expect us to fight a war with an enemy we cannot see? An enemy that does not fear the echoes of our guns or the bravery of our warriors? How do we fight an enemy without a home? How do you expect us to fight a disease that has defeated our father who sits on the all too mighty throne of J1?

Our steps in Equatoria are not to uproot or displace.

So, ask Lobong, why does he turn his eyes to travelers whose stay is only as long as the storm that drove them, and ignore those encroaching and occupying his villages? If his concern is truly about protecting his land, why does he fight the natives who walk the land barefoot, yet remain silent on the men who march on boots? Why does his spear point toward travelers who pass with heavy hearts and hurts, and not the UPDF planting banners of the crane in his lands?

Denka amulu zede, Denka amulu kide—you chant, perhaps you’re blind, but an eye opener is, you are fighting shadows and the real storm is at your front. Your real war is not with us; this is but politics draped in tribal colors.

No herdsman leaves his kraal with joy—he leaves to protect his livelihood, and soon the floods will subside, the earth will swallow the disease, and the east will call us back home.

Equatoria has tasted the tears of those who fell defending it—from Renk to Bor to Equatoria, the soil knows no tribes. Let the shade of the tree belong to every deserving weary traveler.

Lyrics to Taalim

Akuɔ̈c këdïën ba yïën ŋïnydïït wën cï kër ë Ducïɛ̈k ba baai ɣoi ke luɔɔide! ×3

Atɛɛr ke moc aaye bɛ̈n ë dhuɛ̈ɛ̈ŋ cï wëlkïë riääk wɔ jerɛ̈ɛ̈n ,raan lɔyäŋ yïn cï ɣɛn lɛ̈k lon rɛɛcde käŋ ke wɔ kën yök,Acïëk acï ŋɛk cak ke leer kapiɔ̈nde në cïëkic baai,jam cït ë kënnë karac ke kɔc cïn pïɔ̈ɔ̈th akɛ̈n kɔn piŋ,akuɔ̈c të ye jïëëŋda piŋ ë kä kën röth looi. ×3

Akɔ̈ɔ̈k ke wël aluel keek,bï wɔ cäk tɔŋ baai cï wɔ jɔ̈tkɔ̈th awɛ̈ɛ̈c makëër jɔl ya ŋö jo baai kɔc nuaan ë ŋïny ë käŋ ke ŋic ëbɛ̈n Jiëëŋda ka rek tiɛɛl ke pɛl,jo baai wɔ ŋak thook ë luɛɛl de wël mɔnyjäŋ amac jɔŋ näk e! Cieŋpieth tɔ̈ ke Alëu Manyɔŋ de Deŋ Kuek alëu baai tëdït,adhuɛ̈ŋpieth ë wël kuanyiic cï kɔ̈th ke raau,adhuɛ̈ŋkɔ̈k ka dhäl rïääk.

Cï Taalim ku riäk wɔ lɛlwei ë tiɔmda nhom paanda ka mam,rok ee cï ke bï loi ku akën wɔ tiiŋ,akën lɔ ke jiëëŋ tëdït paanda ka gum riääk,Thän Jiëëŋ acï rɔt mat ë gïrïïc cök paan cï wɔŋ nyaai ëbën,acï weŋ cou ku raau,panpeen,panpeen ca yï cin muk ë raan ril bï ya tak ë mïëth kë lɔ tho,jɔl pïïr kɔc lɔ̈ŋthäär madïna ka pol ë raan kony baai, paanda.×2