Mo parked his works truck behind my van just after I parked up, blocking me in.
His truck was full of stuff for the roadworks. I asked how I would be able to get my van out.
Mo was in a bright orange suit, and I was quite prepared for a bit of hassle.
Mo gestured to me, with a huge smirk. “For you I will always make the road clear. “
I had to laugh, it was very theatrical, his gesture to me.
He had a very familiar way of speaking. I’ve met many folks from overseas but his manner was so very stereotypical.
I got my things from the van and as I walked towards the marsh I had an urge to ask him that really awkward question: Where are you from?
As he was taking something from his truck, I tapped his shoulder. “Excuse me, but would you come from Sudan? Or South Sudan?”
He beamed, “Sudan!”
“Khartoum?”, I asked
“Why yes, how did you know ?“
“I guessed”
We shook hands.
When the Janjaweed terror was unleashed we received a lot of refugees from there. For many years Sudan was a commonwealth country, but with independence we left behind instability and poverty.
Seven years ago I went for a picnic and spent a couple of hours wandering around a lake with the latest arrivals who had managed to get out of Calais, most often hanging on underneath a truck until it stopped after the ferry crossing.
There were 11 of us. We spoke varying levels of English, but those from Sudan spoke it grammatically perfect.
It was one of my most happy and memorable days helping refugees settle in.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“7 Years“ he replied. I knew and he knew I knew what that meant.
And here he was working as the sunset on the roadworks. I could not have been more delighted and we chatted whilst his mates looked on. Before he got back to work we hugged.
My heart breaks with the fear of the terror we might unleash unless we’re very careful.
Rural Reading 