Mysterious journey home Article Comments (0) Email PrintSave --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Steve Paterno June 11, 2011 — The journey started on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. There were only my aunt and myself in the isolation. Then a huge truck drove by and stopped for us to hop on the back, the African style. My aunt went on the passenger side, while I proceeded on the driver’s side of the vehicle. I quickly discovered that there were no any ladder on the side or anything that will make it possible to climb on the truck. The truck was extremely too high from the ground, unlike any I have ever seen. I wondered for a minute how did the driver, who was the only person I could see from my vantage point, got up there. I then held on the bottom part of the truck that I could reach and stretched my left leg as far as it could go. Miraculously, I made it safe on the truck. My aunt also got on top. I noticed, she struggled too, but in her case, she used the help of the door, as I saw the door on the passenger side was opened to make it easier for her ascension. As I discovered, there were few passengers already on the truck, but one cannot see them from the ground. I complained to them that how was it difficult for me to get into the vehicle, when by age eleven, I was already an expert in climbing into fast moving trucks. I even bragged that the first time I ever driven a vehicle, (of course, besides the trees fenced in our home, which I used to pretend as a baby to be my vehicles), was at age eleven. That was when my uncle caught me jumping into speeding pickup truck he was driving. He gave me a couple of beating and forcing me into driving. I went on to tell them that even though the driving test was a failure, I proved to know things about driving and jumping into vehicles, even if they are on full speed. Anyway, those passengers were never seem to be interested into what I was saying. I quietly tell myself, “to hell with them!” They could be people who don’t know how to strike a conversation, or worst yet, they could even be anti-social. One of the gentlemen forced his way, intruding into my personal space. I had to give him the right of way. I was bewildered for his lack of manners, on how he could not even excuse himself. “How can he just intrude into my space?” As I watched him moving, I began to contemplate that may be the guy was motivated with my small talk of jumping off speeding vehicle. I certainly did not want to be responsible for his death, in case he jumped. By some luck, he never jumped, but instead he banged the roof of the cabin. The driver acknowledged him and he made some hand signals and mentioned something about gas. Few distance down the road, the vehicle suddenly stopped. Up to that point, I was clueless as to where we were and even where we were going, leave alone where we came from. My aunt seemed to know the routine. She climbed down and said something incoherently. The only word I understood was “gas.” I seemed to comprehend that she was saying, she will be waiting and after the refueling, she may be able to get herself some gas too. Even though that was not what she exactly said. I was not ready to bother by asking what she was really saying. By then, I remained on the truck as it was turning into a more muddier road than the one where were in. From that vicinity, which include some few buildings, and alleyways, I figured that the truck was just going to refuel and will turn around the circle back to the main road. Feeling with excitement, I was already thinking of the experience of riding on the back of the truck. I could not wait to tell my American friends about the experience, but by then, my mysterious journey ended abruptly. I continued my journey, alone and on narrow muddy alley, footing. I only had a backpack, strapped on my back. I played with clay on my hands ,while walking around and observing keenly. At one point, I was thinking ’what the heck’ I was doing with the clay like a baby. My hands were actually dirty, because of the clay. Well, I was already on the market street of Torit, my home town. There were a lot of vendors, all playing busy. I passed by tailors, who were stretched up along the corridor. Though I was closely watching them, they never seemed to take notice of me. I was concerned a bid, because I didn’t want them to think of me as a thief. I quickly formulated my response, in case they confronted me with questions. I was going to say that, I really do admire their skills and work. I would have loved to posses the same skills and do such kind of work just as they were doing. I was surprised, when most of those teen hustles, those boys who run around in the market, looked different than the native of the town. They got the crawly hair with shade of light skin. I knew they were not Mundukurat, though they can pass for one, judging by their looks. I just concluded that they must have been fathered or mothered by none native, but they were sure belong to the town. The reason is, they were actively doing whatever that they were doing with level of confidence. As I strolled down the street, I ran into a mysterious Mundukuru, who was a soldier of Khartoum armed forces. I immediately noticed this fact, because he was in his uniform. He was sitting on stacked of firewoods and reading a newspaper. Upon seeing me passing by, he immediately stood up and greeted me. He said to me that he usually see me around, but never had a chance to talk to me. I told him “no, sir! I don’t think you ever saw me before. More ever I am just new in town.” He was like, “no, no, no, no! Don’t say that.” He then continued to tell me that it was the right time. That in few days, all the Mundukurat I saw in town will have to leave. He then veered out of context, he said, “you people need to study.” I was like, “say what?” As I continued with the walk, I saw three unattended babies, sitting quietly along the street. They could not have been no more than four years old. I approached them and reached in my backpack to hand them pieces of candy. I felt a pinch on my index finger as my hand was already deep inside the backpack. I pulled my hand out and saw a shrimp looked alike creature, sticking out of my finger. The pain was excruciating. In a panic, I rubbed the creature into the finger of one of the babies. The baby started screaming. I saw the sting sinking deep in my skin as well as on that baby’s skin. I quickly removed the sting, before it went deeper. I then tried to remove the one on the baby. After long struggle, the sting popped out and flew right inside my eye. I was like, “ouch!” I wanted to confirm my worst fear from those babies if they saw where the sting flew and landed, because I knew it ended up on my right eye. All the three babies were telling me that the sting flew out just slightly off my left lower arm. I was like, “what do babies know, anyways?” Well, I did not believe them, because the thing was in my eye and I could feel it. As I was rubbing my eye so hard, I woke up. I have to immediately jot this down so that I preserve the details, before they got lost. Now I can properly examine my eye, because, it is really itchy. I would have appreciated very much someone with insights and powers of interpreting dreams such as a Joseph, a Daniel, a Ngundeng, etc. Steve Paterno is the author of The Rev. Fr. Saturnino Lohure, A Romain Catholic Priest Turned Rebel. He can be reached at [email protected] -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "JFD info" group. 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