Act Now for Darfur - Testimonies
Darfuri Testimonies (Download as PDF)
These are the stories of survivors of the genocide . Read their words during your event. Thank you to i-ACT by Stop Genocide Now for providing these stories.Camp Farchana
Mansur, 10
Mansur takes us to the little hut that is now his room. With mud walls and a straw roof, it is not as hot as the tents in which most refugees live, but it is still very hot. It takes a couple of minutes for our eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then the drawings that cover most of the back wall reveal themselves.
Mansur wants us to see the drawings he has made, representing the last memories he has of his village in Darfur. They show images of war: men dressed in soldier's uniforms, riding in trucks with machine guns, shooting at the village. We see a small body in a corner of one drawing. "It is a baby that was shot and killed," Mansur tells us.
Mansur is now a refugee at Camp Farchana in Eastern Chad, waiting for the day he can return home to a safe Darfur. He wants to be a doctor, but there will be little for him to do once he finishes primary school at this camp. There is no secondary school offered to refugees in the refugee camps. Like other young men living in refugee camps, he wants to find a way to move forward and help his family, but he might instead be driven to join the rebels and try to fight for their land.
After years of living in the refugee camp dependent on handouts from aid agencies, Mansur is forced to make the dangerous journey to Darfur for basic necessities. The humanitarian aid agencies can no longer afford to provide soap or clothing on a regular basis. Instead of staying in the camp, instead of studying to be the doctor he wants to be, Mansur was forced to risk his life and return to Darfur. He was last seen in July 2007.
Camp Kounoungo
Ahmet, 16
"My Name is Ahmat. I have 16 years old. I come from Darfur state. Now, I am a refugee. I live in Kounoungo." That is how Ahmat introduces himself when we meet him on the Chad-Darfur border in 2005. He talks about life in a peaceful Darfur, about being happy, playing football (soccer) and dancing with friends, and about being together with family. Ahmat smiles and laughs when he talks about Darfur, his charisma and knowledge is inspiring. He wants so much to continue his education, but he has finished primary school, and there are no secondary schools in the Darfur refugee camps.
He wants to continue to grow, learn more skills, and improve on his English, so that he could then help his family, who lost all that they had to the brutal violence of the genocide in their land. When asked about what happened he speaks of the Janjaweed, a problem only Sudan has.
When we returned in 2007 to find Ahmet, we only found his grandmother. Ahmet has returned to Darfur, to one of the larger cities in search of a school that was still teaching boys his age. He risked his life. We haven't heard from Ahmet. He may have been forced to join a rebel army, or even worse, he may have been found by the Janjaweed or Government soldiers. Boys his age are considered men and are the first target for death in this genocide.
Camp Kounoungo
Yacoub, teacher and father
Yacoub was a teacher in Darfur. He is now a school inspector. He is also a refugee who now lives in camp Kounoungo in Chad, near the Darfur border. He talks passionately about wanting to return home - when there is peace. He also talks about building "a stronger Darfur," and he sees education as one of the key tools in fighting the destruction of his society and culture.
"The children in his and other camps desperately need secondary education," he explains. Currently, there is only primary education in the camps. The boys and girls that graduate have no possibility of continuing their studies. They, like other young people around the world, wish to become teachers, engineers, doctors, and even the president of their country. They want to be a part of the future in a peaceful Darfur.
Yacoub has a family that he brought with him from Darfur: his wife Faiza, Nagmaelelin (16), Nagma (14), Ousama (12), Islam (10), Emousab (8), Elsair (4), and his youngest Zaineb (1). His youngest children have known no peace in their lives. The oldest children may remember little from Darfur, but are surely scarred from the visions of violence, like so many of the children of Darfur.
Yacoub works hard to build an education for his children and for the children of Darfur that he works for at the school in the camp. He says to all of us, "You give us motivation," to work harder and believe that we will return home.
Camp Oure Cassoni
Farha, 14
Farha's father was killed during the attack that destroyed her village. Sudanese government helicopters and planes broke the silence right at dawn, swooping in, dropping bombs and shooting bullets. Then the Janjaweed rode in on camels and horseback, burning everything that can be burnt, killing men and boys, and brutalizing women and girls. Government soldiers shot at villagers fleeing the attack.
In the chaos her family was separated and she lost her brother. Farha, her mother, and her three sisters were reunited outside of the camp. They walked twenty-five days across the desert to make it to the refugee camp in Chad. On the day we met Farha, she and her sisters had not seen or heard from their mother in 41 days. The mother went back to Darfur to look for a son that became separated during the attack. It is very likely that they will never see their mother again.
The young Farha is in charge of her home at the camp. She takes care of her three younger siblings; she collects firewood and cooks; she washes clothes and fetches water. Going out to collect firewood puts her at great risk of being raped, which happens frequently outside of the camps. She also goes to school every morning.
She would like to continue studying and become a teacher, but in a year there will be no more school for Farha, since school ends after the primary level at the camps. Farha said that, on windy camp afternoons, she and her friends get together to tell stories about their village in Darfur, about the way life used to be. They keep telling the stories, until they weep.
Camp Farchana
Fatna, widowed mother of 7
Like many mothers around the world, Fatna cares deeply for her children. But unlike so many women, her eyes tell of the suffering she has felt since the day she fled her burning village.
She was walking with her husband in the market very early in the morning. First came the airplanes that dropped bombs. Then Arab tribesmen riding horses and in the backs of pick-up trucks rode into town and killed her husband in front her. Gunfire was coming from planes in the sky, and the Janjaweed chased her through the burning homes. There was not time to bury him or the 60 others from her village who were killed. She barely had enough time to retrieve her children before fleeing.
Fatna walked 20 days with her seven children with no food, no water, nothing. They walked at night, stopping only to make a small fire to warm up from the harsh chill. They hid from the militia during the day. Attacks from above and bullets from the surrounding area chased her across the border into neighboring Chad.
Fatna's strength is apparent as she retells this story. Her emotions secured behind her eyes as she repeats, "I am suffering. I am suffering."
Now all Fatna has is a small tent with two small beds made of sticks for all eight of them. One has a small blanket, but the other only has a patch of the tent for protection from the cold.
Fatna hopes that one day she can return to Darfur. Her hope lies in the chance for her children to be educated, and return to Darfur to make a difference. She is waiting for peace. Without peace, she will never be able to return home.
Amira
"We are all from someplace," but where Amira and her neighbors are from, "There is nothing left but a name." One day several years ago they heard that their village was next. A group of women and children were able to escape before the planes rode in that morning. They were hiding in the river bed as Sudanese planes swept in and dropped bombs on their fellow family members and neighbors. See, in Darfur, your neighbors are more than likely also your family; you are all part of their same tribe, with the same leader. So Amira and others watched as men and boys were targeted for slaughter by the Janjaweed. Many orphaned children crying, unsure of what to do and where to go. As women fought to escape, they grabbed little ones and tied them to their backs. They held tight to their hands, and they ran. The lucky ones, many not unscarred themselves, did make it to the river bed where the others where hiding.
By night the women and children began said goodbye to their burnt village, memories of farming and their seeds and grain saved for the year. And they said goodbye to those who they could not give a proper burial. They were forced by violence and hatred to walk away from everything they knew.
Many days had passed before the women of the group were faced with a horrible decision. They had not drank water or eaten anything in many days. They knew of a small village close by that had a well, but they also knew it was controlled by Janjaweed and Sudanese government soldiers. But people in their group would die, if they did not try to send someone. They were on their way to Chad, to safety, but they didn't know how many days it would be,
They could not send the men or young boys for they would surely be killed on sight. They couldn't send the women, most of whom had already seen and felt sexual violence against them. They thought that perhaps who ever was guarding the well, would show mercy on the girls, so they sent 6 of them at night, hoping that no one would be there.
The girls were captured and held in a small, locked hut for 5 days. Their gri gri, muslim necklaces given to them for protection, were destroyed as their perpetrators hung them on their horses and donkeys to show disgust for the Darfur people. The girls were raped. At one point some of the men from Amira's group decided to try and rescue the girls. The janjaweed hid in the village, and when the entered, they were ransacked and each one shot dead.
When the girls finally were released, they were devastated. Not only in their bodies, but their souls, and their minds. Eventually after making it to safety, an NGO sent two of the girls to Cameroon for medical care. One died, and the other to this day has not spoken a word, nor can she see any longer with her eyes.
Amira's story is not the exception, it is the rule.
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