From Dusk Until (Will There Ever Really Be a) Dawn

Tonight we did a shoot at dusk for the film. As the sun was setting, we gathered by a river. After setting up the camera, sound checks and getting the lighting just right, King stood at water's edge and spontaneously started singing one of his native tribal songs. The birds were chirping in concert with him; the buzzing of the mosquitos and trickling of the water his percussion. Great joy swept across his face as he sang the words in his native language with pride. But in an instant, as he continued to chant, I could see the devastation of his People wash over him. He was immediately transported back in time. He wept from the depth of his soul for the father and mother he lost, for the senseless murder of his People, and so much more. The abysmal pain of a lifetime of tragedies gripped him.

For a filmmaker to capture this type of unscripted, organic moment is a dream shot, one that inspires them to start writing award acceptance speeches. With cameras rolling, I held myself back as long as I could, my own tears flowing. Then as he knelt down overcome by the memories that flooded his mind sobbing a generation of tears, I could not bear to let him cry alone. I entered the shot, knelt down with him and we sobbed together in silence. I felt his pain. I closed my eyes and saw him running for his life as a boy, starving in the desert sun, watching his tribe members being eaten alive by hyenas and lions. I heard the sound of bombs in my head.

I then stood up and let King have his own time to come back to the present and I did the same. I looked around at the idyllic setting in the wilderness and felt that we were in God's presence. He said he has always felt the presence of God in his life. That even in the darkest moments, he felt he was walking with God. I said my own silent prayer in this moment and asked for Him to hear King's prayers for this second generation of Lost Boys and Girls of Sudan to be spared the atrocities he and his tribemates endured.

The sun was going over the horizon. We were losing natural light. We had to set up our next shot... It is hard to be the person who takes King and his people back to those bad places in their past. If you were sitting with a friend at Starbuck's you would not be incessantly asking them to bring you into the most painful moments of their life. But King acknowledges that I go with them on that journey each and every time and says, "Valerie, it is okay. We have to tell our story. There is no other way to do this. We all understand."


A filmmaker is not a trauma therapist. In this situation for this project, I am the vessel for King's voice and he is the voice of his people. Filmmakers can sometimes work on more than one project at a time that are in various stages of development and I am no different. The switch-up is jarring for me. Today I go from genocide in Southern Sudan to espionage and romance in Europe. Calling in a trauma therapist doesn't sound like a bad idea because you have to be equally present for both.

No matter what I am ever going through as trite or important it may be, King is always there to provide support, inspiration and ancestral wisdom. He has a keen intuition and can cut through all the little details to get to clarity. No matter what his people have been put through, King sees the dawn. He has a love for humanity and a hopefulness that we will wake up...that there will someday be peace in Southern Sudan.