13/01/2026
There are moments when a nation grows tired not because it has no strength, but because it has carried pain for too long without relief. South Sudan is in such a moment, and that is exactly why this message matters now more than ever. Not tomorrow. Not later. Now.
Some lives do not enter the world quietly, and some destinies do not unfold in straight lines. The story of Paul Malong Awan did not begin at birth, did not begin in uniform, and did not begin in power. It began before breath, before language, before choice. Even before he was born, something was already happening. For more than two years in his mother’s womb, there was a struggle between arrival and delay, presence and disappearance, as if the world itself was being asked a question: are you ready for this child? Elders spoke. Questions were raised. Spiritual guardians were invoked. And when the moment finally came, he arrived marked, already formed, already different, already carrying weight. That was not drama. That was a signal.
His name, Malong, was not decoration. In our language, words are not empty. Long means a matter that cannot be ignored, a subject people must talk about, a force that stays in conversation whether people like it or not. His name announced his future before his future arrived. And he was born into a lineage where leadership was not ambition but responsibility, not privilege but burden. This was not coincidence. This was preparation.
From early life, pain found him. Loss found him. War found him. And instead of breaking him, it shaped him. Paul Malong did not grow into struggle; struggle grew around him. He did not chase history; history chased him. When the liberation movement called, he answered not with fear but with commitment. He fought not because war was beautiful, but because submission was unacceptable. He stood where many fell. He endured where many quit. He rose not because he wanted to be seen, but because leadership was demanded by circumstance.
South Sudan was born through sacrifice, not signatures. Through bodies, not speeches. Through men and women who paid with their lives so that a nation could breathe. Paul Malong was one of those people. He fought for a country that did not yet exist, believing in a future he might never personally enjoy. That alone should tell you who he is.
But here is where the story becomes uncomfortable for some. Independence did not bring honesty. Victory did not bring unity. And power did not bring wisdom. Betrayal entered where solidarity once lived. Fear replaced courage. And those who fought hardest were suddenly seen as threats, not pillars. Paul Malong was pushed out, isolated, exiled, erased from official narratives as if removing his body from the land could remove his impact from history.
They were wrong.
Exile did not shrink him. It expanded him. Distance did not silence him. It sharpened him. Time did not erase him. It matured him. While many assumed exile meant defeat, Paul Malong turned it into preparation. He studied. He observed. He traveled. He learned the world beyond trenches and commands. He reflected deeply on governance, leadership, mistakes, and missed chances. He became not just a general of war, but a student of systems, politics, and people. They tried to bury him, and instead they educated him.
Hope is not weakness. Hope is resistance. Hope is the last weapon of a people who refuse to die spiritually. Anyone can afford hope. The poor can afford it. The exiled can afford it. The broken can afford it. If you think you cannot afford hope, ask yourself honestly: what is the alternative? Giving up? Disappearing? Ending your own life? There is no guaranteed second part. There is no reset. Hope is not optional. Hope is survival.
Paul Malong did not give up because he understands something deeply: you do not abandon what you gave your life for. You do not walk calmly into the slaughter room when you know you can still stand. You do not strike to lose. You strike to win. And sometimes winning is not attacking blindly, but waiting, learning, and choosing the right moment.
He has felt alone. He has carried silence. He has stood in moments where few would have blamed him for breaking. But he didn’t. And that alone tells you everything you need to know. Weak men collapse under exile. Strong men prepare.
His family, his children, his wider household of influence, is not a threat, it is proof. Proof of endurance. Proof of discipline. Proof of continuity. These are not people raised in hatred but in awareness, resilience, and purpose. And yes, that scares some people. Because a family shaped by values, education, and sacrifice cannot be controlled by fear. A generation raised to think cannot be ruled by lies. That is what truly frightens those who prefer darkness to clarity.
Let us stop pretending not to see what is obvious. Paul Malong is not feared because of violence. He is feared because of legitimacy. Because of memory. Because of comparison. Because when people remember him, they remember what leadership looked like when it still had courage.
South Sudanese at home, South Sudanese in exile, South Sudanese in the diaspora, this message is for you. Do not look away because waiting is hard. Do not shut down because hope takes time. History does not move at the speed of frustration. It moves at the speed of preparation.
His story will not end quietly. It will not end weakly. It will not end falsely. This is not a boring story heading toward a boring conclusion. This is a delayed story heading toward a decisive moment. His time is not far. It is close. Closer than many are ready to admit.
And to Paul Malong Awan himself, whether spoken or unspoken, this must be said clearly: you are not alone. You were never abandoned. You are stronger than you know, and stronger than many will ever admit. Giving up would not only hurt you, it would wound a nation that still believes in the meaning of sacrifice. You did not carry this burden to drop it now.
South Sudan is tired, yes, but it is not finished.
Hope is bruised, but it is alive.
Truth has been delayed, but it has not been defeated.
And neither have you.
