In a vast land blessed with rivers, fertile soil, cattle, and oil, there stood a great house known as the House of Brothers. It was built by their father after years of struggle and sacrifice. The father had only one dream: that his sons would live in peace, share what they had, and protect each other in times of hardship.
At first, they did.
But as time passed, something changed.
The eldest sons, who lived near the granaries and the gates, began to gather the wealth of the land the harvest, the oil, the gold and locked it behind strong iron doors. They told the younger brothers, “Wait. We will share soon. Be patient.”
But the days turned into months. The months into years.
The Younger Brothers Went Hungry
In the outer rooms of the house near the swamps, the broken roads, and the war-torn fields the younger brothers began to starve. Their children cried at night.
Their wives wept.
The elders sat with empty bowls and hollow eyes.
“Help us, brothers,” they cried out. “We are of one blood!”
But the older sons dressed in fine robes, eating roasted meat and drinking sweet wine turned away.
They whispered to each other:
If we open the door, they will take everything. Let them wait.”
They built high walls. Hired guards. Dug trenches. They lived in comfort while their own kin collapsed under the weight of hunger.
The Ghost of the Father Returns
One night, as a storm raged over the house, the ghost of the father appeared in the dreams of the eldest sons.
His voice was like thunder:
What have you done with the house I built with my blood ?
You eat while your brothers die.
You sleep in peace while they perish in war.
You store grain in your vaults while their children chew grass.
Did I raise sons or kings who forgot their family ?
The sons awoke in terror, but still, their hearts remained hard.
The House Begins to Crack
As seasons passed, the outer rooms of the house grew silent.
Entire wings of the home collapsed. The songs stopped. The laughter died.
And one day, the eldest sons looked out from their balconies and saw that they were alone.
There were no brothers left to defend the walls. No cousins to rebuild the barns. No friends to mourn their funerals.
The wealth they hoarded became a curse, for they had destroyed their own future.
The Moral of the Story
This story is not a myth it is a mirror.
It reflects what happens when greed replaces brotherhood, when selfishness devours compassion, and when leaders abandon their people for personal gain.
In every nation, and in every home, a house divided cannot stand. Wealth hoarded while others starve is not success it is betrayal.
Let us remember: a brother’s hunger is our hunger. A child’s cry is our cry.
If we forget this, the house will surely fall.
The writer is a South Sudanese citizen and can be reached on dengolesmo5@gmail.com