War reporting has its joys, but don’t get killed

War reporting has its joys, but don’t get killed

By Opoka Christopher

Journalism is a profession that comes with its quarks and it’s only those that understand this to the bone that last longer. To be honest with you readers, it was never my intention to become a journalist, nor to take writing and reading as a career.

In Uganda, I hardly coped with the English. In the refugee camps in Oliji, I didn’t learn much. However, I picked up Ma’di quickly and soon started telling stories in a language that wasn’t my own the previous few months.

Then, the big journey came! I would be going to Kampala for studies. My Uncle had warned me that, I shouldn’t expect to study in any of the best schools. I could care less. The excitement of traveling to Kampala was like going to Uganda in Uganda. You bet the whole of Adjumani knew about my preparations! I didn’t wear my best clothes for many months on end. It was a joy I could only equate to winning my first village fight. You see, like many cowards, I wasn’t gifted with the punches, except the stinging tongue and the orature that comes with it. The poor lad had had an operation after falling off a mango tree. One kick to the stomach and his stitches went hey wire and there I was a village champion, but ashamed all the while. I can’t recall his name to date, a sign that it wasn’t a victory by any standards.

The rest is history as they say. My point is that Journalism is very complicated. It chooses you. I have heard at a conference in Nairobi, Kenya, that those in the media are rejects and failures from other fields of specialization. This, I have come to agree with. However, true journalism is rewarding in its own way.

Today, Journalism is facing one of its strongest tests, yet again. Newspapers, radio stations and television as well as the internet have been presented with an exciting story to cover. I am talking about the recent claims by the government and rebels on Bentiu. The story ceased to be about the fighting months ago. It has since taken the twist of a propaganda war. And there is no media in the world that will shy away from such bait.

My fear is that, when we hear the ambulances screaming every twenty minutes from our offices on Airport road, we have not asked questions. We not made follow ups.  I suspect, which is a prerequisite for any good journalism, to never trust anything, until it has been officially denied; that those were severely injured soldiers being rushed to the military hospital. In any form of politics, the casualties are always on the battle fields.

Now, as I said good journalism is all about being accurate. It is about writing an account that will remain true past the test of time. It is about evidence based reporting. I have long swallowed that bitter pill that journalism is also about two sides of a story. No. I disagree. Journalism is about facts, and when there are two sides, facts can’t be balanced. You are either wrong or you are right. And I think the rebels are in control, and somebody is saving face and boosting morale for a demoralized army.

This is our problem today. A field that should have the best brains, instead has half-wits who fear, who can’t think outside the box. It continues to have rejects who have failed in other fields and now wake up to become journalists. It has persons with tribal positions to defend.

This is sad. Luckily for us who take our professions seriously, I came across a newspaper clipping from Saturday, 4^th November 1978 of the Nile Mirror. Apart from the praises showered on General Lagu on the front page, I found two stories striking. One was about confusion caused by nurses at Juba Teaching Hospital. The other was on a donation from the Nigerian Ambassador to Sudan Mr. Salisu Abdalla Yakubu, who presented a cheque of US$ 50,000 to Mr. Abel Alier, chairman of the National Relief Committee, for flood victims.

Today we still have confusion at Juba Teaching Hospital. Today we still have floods. Today we still get money for flood victims from foreign countries. Today we still run out of medicine at the national hospital. Today we still don’t pay salaries of nurses and doctors. Today we still have the same problems and more, problems that if we were a smart people, we should have addressed. The media of 1978 did their part. Today I must do mine in 2014. Journalism is a noble profession indeed!