Midnight's children

The following accounts are included in When the Sun Sets, We Start to Worry . . . , published in November 2003 by the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. Since Yoweri Museveni became president in 1986, more than 1.2 million Ugandans have been displaced, and tens of thousands killed, in fighting between the official Uganda People's Defense Forces (UPDF) and rebel factions, including the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA). The use of abducted children as soldiers and slaves has been a major feature of the conflict; since 2002, the LRA has kidnapped more than 20,000 children, usually at night. To avoid abduction, thousands of children leave their villages every night to hide in forests, hospitals, and churches.

Michael, twenty-five, a former abductee:

We had been walking in the bush for weeks, carrying heavy loads, with hardly any food or water. I couldn't carry their things anymore because I was too exhausted, so they beat me on the back of my head with gun butts. They said they didn't want to waste any bullets on me. Then they left me. They thought I was dead. UPDF soldiers found me a week later. Termites had started eating me alive. They had begun building an anthill on my body.

Lillian, twelve:

The rebels abducted my brother first, in 1997. He never came back. We don't know where he is. This year, one of my elder brothers and two younger sisters were also abducted, on the same night. None of them has returned.

Both my parents have died. I don't remember when they died—I was still very small. I was told rebels came to our home and murdered them. I was left with only two brothers. We all come to this center every evening. In the morning we leave for school. There is no feeding program in our school.

I don't think of the future. I don't think I'll go to secondary school. There is no one to help.

Albert, who takes care of eighteen children, seven of them his own:

My family used to have 1,500 head of cattle. We had tractors and other farm machines. All this was spoiled by the war. Three of my brothers have been killed by rebels. I have been left with their widows and children to look after. We manage only through very hard labor. We have been displaced from our village since 1990, and even here we are not safe. The LRA abducted one of my brother's children from this compound. I am always worrying about the children. They are too young to be on their own. There are a lot of dangers at night. This problem is big, and we don't have any hope for the future. We have appealed to the international community to come and help, but we have not seen anything.

We see the children in the morning. They don't get breakfast. The women don't rest. They do all the work, because I am disabled. I cannot walk, and my hearing was damaged when rebels beat me in 1989. They have caused a lot of disability in our area. But there are no programs for people with disabilities, so we depend only on the power of God.

O.R., fourteen, abducted in February 2003:

On the way to Sudan, they forced us to kill many people. One morning a young boy was brought to us. We were told he had tried to escape. They had killed him. His body was swollen and cut from many beatings. We were told to chop the body into smaller pieces. Boys were given the heart and liver to eat. Girls were told to cook and eat the rest of the body parts. We did as we were told.

A few days later a commander called me and said he had a special task for me. He was carrying a newborn baby. He placed the baby in a large wooden mortar, the one we used for pounding grain. He gave me a heavy wooden pestle and ordered me to start pounding. I was afraid, but I did as I was told. All the boys in the group had been forced to do something similar. I knew the baby's mother. She was one of the captives. She screamed when she saw what I was doing. The commanders beat her and told her to shut up, but they did not kill her. They told me to continue pounding until they were satisfied the baby was dead.

I am constantly disturbed by what I did in the bush. I dream about it all the time. Sometimes I hear voices saying things to me. The voices keep telling me, “Pound faster . . . faster . . . harder.” I fear sleep because of the nightmares. I want these dreams to stop tormenting me.

Elijah, seventy, resident of an internally displaced persons camp:

I had fourteen children. Some are dead. Most of them died in camps. They were killed by rebels. We didn't even bury them; we left them where they had been killed.

At night my eight grandchildren sleep in the bush with no blankets. I don't know where they sleep, and they always choose a different spot. Not even your mother is supposed to know your hiding place. Rebels always force parents to show them where the children are hiding.

Life in the camp is very bad. I am seeing a lot of things that I never saw before. I would prefer to die than to see any more of this life. These children live like wild animals. They have to be alert all the time. Their morals are changing. During the day we are relaxed, but when the sun sets, we start to worry. We don't know what can happen.

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