I received a call out of the blue from a prominent Reverend of one of the southern mega-churches in the area saying she wanted me to talk to a very special man from Southern Sudan about making a film about his life. She said she was referred to me by a number people in the community. When she mentioned this project, my name kept coming up as the "go to" filmmaker. She told me he was a very important person in his community and had an incredible story to tell. I was intrigued so I called him.
When I got him on the phone, I could barely understand what he was saying because of his thick accent. But the one thing he did say that was clear was, "You come here with your camera and film me." I called the very Reverend back and said I had a hard time understanding him and my process was more complex than showing up with a camera. The Reverend instructed me to set a meeting with him and have him bring his cousin who speaks English well.
He asked me to come to him, which was south of the Atlanta airport. I was 20 miles north of the city so with normal Atlanta yuk traffic, we were 2 hours apart. I insisted he come to my neck of the woods for which later, after I learned the horrific details of his journey, I felt deeply regretful. For he had swum across the Nile and Guilo Rivers escaping gunfire on the shores from the land he called home and gunfire on the opposite bank of the neighboring country intent on keeping him out while waves, bullets and crocodiles overtook 5,000 of his People in one day.
I made this request of him before I got a Garmin so it's easy to understand my desire not to inconvenience myself. I did not have to put myself out to earn a good living. Folks who wanted my expertise typically came to me. I had made films on tough subjects before but I admit I wept from a very deep place when I processed my request later in our relationship. This was not a typical business meeting to discuss a project.
Sans Garmin, King Deng arrived with cousin in tow. On this brilliantly sunny day, I came out to greet them and was immediately struck by his exuberantly joyful presence such that we embraced before a word was spoken. His skin a blue-black, his clothes impressively stylish and neat as a pin. His cousin was warm and friendly. They both had infectious smiles. Their demeanor had no hint of what they had been through. King's capacity for forgiveness was palpable akin to Nelson Mandela. A clear and crisp feeling washed over me--this man had the presence of God within him.
We sat and talked about many of my projects. We screened a few of my shorter films and then he shared that a very famous actor who shall remain nameless here had expressed an interest in making his film. This A-lister Hollywood asset was going to play King and King said no to him. King declared in this moment I was the right person to tell his story. I challenged, "You said no to who? Can we call him back and get him on the hook again? I don't have the Hollywood machine behind me. I am an independent filmmaker." He replied vehemently, "I can see here you will tell my story, not your version of my story. The world will finally hear my voice." He concluded by asking us to join hands and pray. While King made recitations asking Muturo (the word for God in his language) to bless this holy union and welcomed me as his new "seestaaa" to the Jurbile tribe of Wulu, Southern Sudan, I was silently praying, Oh Dear Lord, there must be some way we can go crawling on our hands and knees to Mr. X and beg for forgiveness and ask him to please take us back.
I felt the magnitude of the weight of responsibility squarely on my shoulders. I was not going to disappoint my King. The next step was for me to start the immersion process, to completely inhale his life story in gut-wrenching detail. His book was due out in 2 weeks. He said he would send me a copy as soon as he received them. So I waited for my mailman mail to bring me my copy. That was the best place for to begin my journey...
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