In 2020, I was on a long-duration patrol to Mukaya County, Central Equatoria, South Sudan, with fellow peacekeepers. I saw some burned tukuls beside the half-destroyed county office. I got out of the jeep and looked around the empty village, with ruins left by the recent conflict. About 100 meters away from our open area, there was a thick teak plantation.

I noticed a man in that teak bush. He was covering himself behind a teak tree; not a big one, just a little bigger than my travel coffee mug. The man was only a little thicker than the tree itself. He was trying to hide his body and yet not hiding at the same time. I called out, “Hello sir… how are you?” I think I screamed rather than spoke, he was far, and I had no other way to get his attention.

He walked slowly and carefully toward me. I stood waiting, impatient at his slow approach. His short, skinny body was covered with an oversized black jacket and brown oversized pants tied around his waist with a thick nylon string. When he came close enough, I noticed that the jacket was covered with stains and small holes. In one hand, he was holding a black book. I instantly recognized it as the King James Bible.

I offered my hand, and he held it weakly, smiling and showing his brown teeth, trying hard to hide the deep pain behind that innocent smile.

We began talking. Peter was nearly fifty years old, a schoolteacher, though he looked much older than his age. During the conflict between National Salvation Front (NAS), and  South Sudan People’s Defense Force (SSPDF), he had lost his wife and children. It had been almost three months, and he had no idea where they might be. He had no house to live in. Following the conflict, the school was no longer functioning. Villagers and some of his former students were displaced deep into the bush.

When I asked if he had food to survive, he smiled painfully and said, “It’s ok…” I asked again, and he reached into his pocket and showed me a small sweet potato. He smiled and said, “This is enough. I can find some more here.” Sometimes he would make a fire to roast the potatoes, but two days earlier, when he tried, soldiers came and beat him. Now he ate the sweet potatoes raw, not wanting to attract soldiers with smoke.

I listened to his story, trying my best not to let my tears fall.

He didn’t talk much about his food or safety, but he emphasized one thing over and over:

“Please tell the government and UNICEF to help reopen this school. There are so many children in the bush. I want to teach them. I want to teach them… otherwise, they will not have a future in this bush.”

Peter would not be paid to be a teacher. He had no shelter, not enough food, no clean water, and no proper clothing. But none of these were his priorities. He wanted to teach children, to give them an education.

He wanted to teach why we should respect others.
He wanted to teach why we should not destroy Mother Nature.
He wanted to discuss love and God.
He wanted to share his experiences of war and peace with the next generation.
He wanted to share his ancestors’ traditions with young people.

Time passed. I left South Sudan and returned to my hometown. Yesterday evening, I was reading an article by Professor Toh Swee-Hin titled Education for Sustainable Development & the Weaving of a Culture of Peace: Complementarities and Synergies.

In it, the professor noted: “Education that is holistic, participatory, and inclusive is essential in shaping futures where justice, compassion, and peace prevail.”

He also wrote of the transformative power of education: “When linked to the daily lives and struggles of communities, education becomes a powerful means to transform minds and hearts toward building peace.”

I couldn’t finish the article. Peter’s face reflected through my computer screen, and his words echoed in my ears. I have never met him again. I don’t know whether he was able to start teaching again. But I know one thing; nothing can destroy his spirit of teaching, educating, and building a better and more peaceful place for the next generation. That day, I saw it all in his glittering eyes.

I know there are many teachers in war zones, peace zones, and in between, sharing the story of peace with us. Let this article be a tribute to Mr. Peter and all peace educators around the world..