Sam Childers - Another Man’s War: The True Story of One Man’s Battle to Save Children in the Sudan

another mans war

The True Story of One Mans Battle
to Save Children in the Sudan

2009 by Sam Childers

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Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are taken from THE NEW KING JAMES VERSION. 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations also taken from HOLMAN CHRISTIAN STANDARD BIBLE. 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003 by Broadman and Holman Publishers. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-59555-424-6 (tp)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009921619

ISBN: 978-1-59555-162-7 (hardcover)

Printed in the United States of America

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To all the amazing,
courageous children of Uganda
and Southern Sudan

contents

another mans war

The True Story of One Mans Battle
to Save Children in the Sudan

Death hides in the tall grass of Southern Sudan. What looks like empty landscape can explode in a heartbeat with rebels from the Lords Resistance Army shooting, slashing, and burning their way through an unsuspecting village. Government officials and NGOs (nongovernmental organizations, like CARE, the United Nations, and the Red Cross) give these renegade soldiers a wide berth; they usually know where the trouble areas are and steer clear of them. Local residents, left to make it on their own, are constantly on edge, always afraid. There are no peaceful nights in the bush. None, that is, except in one placea forty-acre island of safety and calm in the middle of a hellish, endless civil war. The Shekinah Fellowship Childrens Village.

The struggle to keep it secure never stops.

Gunfire crackles here and there outside the perimeter fence day and night. Whenever I travel in the area, I expect to get ambushed. Ive had my windshield and my side window shot out. Ive had vehicles, including a food truck loaded with groceries for the orphanage, blown up by RPGs. The LRA will shoot at anything, but theyre not used to anybody shooting back. They dont expect to be up against a truckload of soldiers with plenty of guns and ammo, which is what they get when they tangle with us on the road.

When I first started driving around in Southern Sudan, my soldiers and I got ambushed all the time. To any normal person that would be a bad thing, but I thought it was great. I went around hoping the LRA would ambush us because every time they did, it gave me another chance to take one of them outleaving one less LRA soldier to hurt somebody else. Governments cant run and hide forever, and one things for surenegotiating is a waste of time. Who knows how many villagers have been killed while people sit around talking about what a big problem all this is. But when you go out and kill some of the enemy, youre making progress. Youre speaking the LRAs language, and suddenly youve got their attention. Less talking and more shooting would bring this whole conflict to an end a lot sooner and save who knows how many lives.

I once got an e-mail from an Irishman who said that when he first started hearing stories about me years ago, he thought I was a myth. He thought some of these reports were pure fiction and that my work in Africa was all a tall tale. I absolutely agree with him; the stories are hard to believe. If you come into Sudan even today, youll hear what people call myths about this crazy mzunga preacher (mzunga is the local African word for a white guy). As unbelievable as the myths sound, theyre the absolute truth. The important thing to remember, though, is that it was never me doing all these incredible, even miraculous things. It was always God. His power is the driving force behind every victory, every success. Hes always with us.

I say us because whenever I travel anywhere in Africa, I always have soldiers with me. They are not mercenaries, though the news media often call them that. Frankly I dont care what they call them. These brave members of the Sudanese Peoples Liberation Army have been trained, equipped, and put under my personal command by the Southern Sudanese government.

Sam with Commander James in 1999

One day I was crossing the border from Sudan into Uganda with two trucks and four well-armed, well-trained troops. We stopped at the border checkpoint. There were a few Ugandan soldiers standing around a dusty little guard shack that needed a coat of paint. A couple of weather-beaten signs instructed drivers to halt at a zebra-striped board blocking the roadway. By this time all the border guards knew me and they didnt make me go through any of the usual paperwork or luggage inspection routine.

As I stopped beside one of the guards, he said, Pastor, you cant go any further.

Why not?

The LRA is attacking a village just ahead. You must wait until there are enough soldiers to go with you.

Come on, thats nonsense! I said, pointing to my squad of uniformed men and at the AK-47 resting in my lap. Were soldiers. We dont need to wait for anybody.

The guard looked at me with a serious expression. Pastor, theres over two hundred LRA out there.

Five of us, including me, against two hundred. I liked those odds. I figured each of us was equal to forty of them, so it would work out just about right.

Im going, I said. The guard cracked a little smile, shook his head, and took a step back from the truck. He knew he wasnt going to change my mind. As I was about to pull out, I sensed God telling me to prepare for what was ahead. He wanted me to station a soldier named Peter on the roof of the truck with his .30 caliber machine gun. Peter Atem is a tall, regal-looking Dinka.

Peter, I said, grab your .30 cal and hop up on the roof. Without hesitation he got out, climbed up, and sat cross-legged, cradling the big .30 cal in his arms. Another soldier sat next to me in the front seat with his AK. I had my AK across my knees with the barrel pointed at the driver-side door; that way I could pick it up and shoot one-handed while driving. Fully automatic, three- and four-shot bursts. Ive done it plenty of times.

I put another soldier on the roof of the second truck, then heard God tell me, You start driving. I eased off down the road with the other truck close behind. The road was rutted and dusty, so rough that you really couldnt go more than twenty-five or thirty miles per hour, especially if you had a soldier with a machine gun on your roof. Even at that speed sometimes youd think it was going to shake your liver loose.

But plans for that particular day did not include keeping my liver happy. As we bounced and rattled along, God said, Drive faster.

Okay, God, if you say so. I picked up more speed and heard the truck following us rev its engine to keep up.

Faster, God said to me. Faster. Faster. And so I drove faster and faster until I thought I couldnt keep control of the wheel. My hefty Land Cruiser was screaming along across the dirt, pounding into ruts, flying over rocks, shaking in midair like a Chihuahua passing a peach pit.