The soldiers laughed and admired their work.
The bus driver swept glass from his dashboard and resettled into his seat. Along with his passengers, he watched the fire and waited for the soldiers. On the bench in front of Samuel, a mother with a small child was crying. Samuel looked at a man across the aisle, but both were too stunned to speak.
Eventually, the soldiers retreated to the bus and got on. No one made eye contact with them. The driver waited until he was told to proceed. As they drove away, Samuel looked through his window at the awful scene. His lasting image was the burning bodies.
The road ran straight for a mile or so, and when it swept to the right he turned and saw a tall, thick cloud of grayish smoke drifting high into the air. What would the next bus see as it approached? Who would clean up the mess? Take away the bodies? Report the incident to the authorities?
In South Sudan, many obvious questions went unanswered, and survivors knew to stay quiet.
The soldiers were laughing among themselves and ignoring the passengers. The driver pointed to holes in his windshield, said something funny, and the soldiers laughed at it too. After half an hour, one of them stood and walked down the aisle, looking at the passengers and their bags and sacks of goods. Samuel’s new gym bag caught his attention and he asked, “What’s in it?”
Samuel smiled and replied, “Basketball stuff.”
“Open it.”
The soldier was Dinka—all three were—as was Samuel, and with the endless ethnic conflict raging through the country he felt somewhat comfortable being among his own. Certainly they wouldn’t steal from him? He unzipped the bag and showed it to the soldier, who asked, “Basketball?”
“Yes sir. I’m on the national team. We’re going to play in the United States in July.”
The soldier grabbed the bag and took it up front and showed it to his buddies. They removed the new ball, two practice tee shirts, two pairs of gym shorts, two pairs of white socks, and three caps with a South Sudan Under 18 logo on the front. They examined them, then removed their maroon berets and put on the caps.
One of them turned and looked at Samuel and said, “Up here.”
Samuel walked to the front and took a seat behind them. They asked questions about the team, the tournaments, the trip to the U.S. One claimed to be a fan of Niollo and said he loved the Miami Heat. They asked if Samuel would play for an American college. What about the NBA?
The bus stopped at another village and two passengers joined the ride. Back on the road and still sitting with the soldiers, Samuel asked, “Got time for a question?”
“Sure,” said the biggest talker, undoubtedly the leader of the gang. All three were still wearing the U18 caps.
“Who were those men back there?”
“A band of thieves, some nasty boys who’ve been causing trouble around here.”
“But no more,” said another with a laugh.
Samuel said, “How did you know they would stop the bus?”
One picked up a sat phone and smiled at it. “They use these too and we like to listen. They’re not really that smart.”
“So, they’re not guerrillas?”
“No, just a gang of raiders looking for someone to rob, rape, and kill.”
“They would have killed us?”
“You never know with these thugs. Last week they stopped a bus on the main highway west of Juba. At night. Got everybody off the bus and they lined them up along its side. Made the driver get on his knees and beg, then they shot him. They robbed everyone, took their bags and luggage. There were two young ladies, one with a child. They took them back on the bus and raped them for an hour or so while the other passengers listened. Two boys sneaked off in the dark and escaped.”
Samuel glanced to his left and looked at a peasant woman of about forty. Her teenage daughter sat next to her. How close had they come to a disaster?
The leader continued, “You? A fine young man of, how old?”
“Seventeen.”
“I joined the army at seventeen. Three years ago. You, they probably would not have killed you, but there’s a good chance they would’ve taken you and forced you to join the gang. If you resisted, then they would’ve shot you.” He lowered his voice and looked at the girl. “She wouldn’t have stood a chance. And the driver? Well, they always kill the driver.”
“Standard procedure,” added another.
“I guess we owe you a big thanks,” Samuel said.
“It’s our job.”
They removed the caps and put them back in the gym bag, along with the ball, shirts, shorts, and socks.