Posted on 08/11/2005 7:10:22 AM PDT by dukeman
In Sudan in the 1980s, the Muslim government in the north began to persecute Christians, first by denying them human rights and then by enslaving, torturing, and killing them. Rebel forces banded together to fight back, but the bloodshed only worsened. To escape the genocide, over 12,000 young boys walked out of the country to seek safety in Ethiopia. In August 1987, I was 10 years old when I became one of the Lost Boys of Sudan.
Our first journey took us through deserts and mountains into Ethiopia. We walked for many months with bloody feet. Many boys died from starvation, dehydration, and disease, and from attacks from hostile tribes and wild animals. We finally reached Ethiopia in the spring of 1988.
The Ethiopians did not want to be responsible for scores of starving children. We still lived like animals in the wild with mosquitoes, spiders, scorpions, and snakes tormenting us. As we huddled under the few trees for shelter, bird droppings fell on us and in our food and water, and starvation and disease claimed many lives. Without tools to dig graves, we simply piled the bodies outside our camp. The smell from the rotting corpses attracted flies, vultures, and jackals.
We tried to encourage each other by singing and praying, and three months later, our "angel" appeared: a white woman in a white Toyota. Stepping from the vehicle, she exclaimed, "My God! My God!" and burst into tears. She stared at the starving, naked children, the dead bodies, and the vultures feeding on the carcasses. The woman only stayed about 10 minutes, taking pictures and talking rapidly on her radio. Later, we learned she worked for the United Nations office in Addis Ababa.
After a few days, the UN trucks arrived. Workers cooked porridge and distributed food, clothing, cooking utensils, blankets, and bath soap. We could not believe what was happening. We kept asking, Are these mine? Can I take them with me? Will I use them and bring them back, or do I get to keep them? After all our hardship, we were finally able to smile again. Health workers arrived to bury the bodies and bring us medicine. In April 1988, the UN workers brought tools, so we could cut trees and grass to build our own huts. We felt proud of our homes, even though most of the roofs leaked and some collapsed. During our second year, some older Sudanese boys arrived who were able to teach us Arabic, mathematics, and a little English.
Life was good until April 1991 when a new dictator took power in Ethiopia. He sent the army to drive out the refugees, so we had to return to Sudan. We walked for seven days to Gilo, where the chief gave us one boat to cross the river. By afternoon, many boys were still waiting when the Ethiopian ground troops found us and began shooting. Those on the shore had no other choice but to jump into the river full of crocodiles as the troops continued to shoot from the bank. More than 2,000 boys died that day. The rest of us reached Pochalla in three days. In June, UN staff and the International Committee of the Red Cross came to help us, but we were not safe yet.
In October 1991, the Sudanese militia attacked Pochalla, so we set out again and walked for five months to Kenya. We reached Lokichoggio and camped west of town, but the local people kept stealing from us. Finally, in July 1992, the UN moved us to a new refugee camp in Kakuma, Kenya. At last, we were safe from our enemies.
In 2000, I was scheduled to be resettled in the United States, but I had heard many frightening rumors about America. We had been told that immigrants cannot become permanent residents and that they must work all day for only a little food and a few coins. We also heard that many people are shot on the streets, so less than half of the Lost Boys agreed to register to be resettled there.
Then, some who had gone to America began sending money, photographs, and letters back to us, describing a second heaven filled with food, schools, and people who love them. The photos showed the beauty and the wealth of America: boys lying on green grass outside their apartments, boys lying on big mattresses in their bedrooms, boys holding fruit and vegetables in bright kitchens, boys eating at beautiful tables with white families. Convinced that I was wrong about America, I applied for resettlement again in 2001.
As we waited to hear from the immigration service, my friend Aloung was killed one week before he was to leave for America. He was celebrating his resettlement in his hut with his friends when five gunmen heard the music on his radio and came to take it. Aloung was killed because he was standing by the door singing, offering food and drink to his guests. We mourned the loss of such an honest and wise friend who had been one of the encouragers during the trip of the Lost Boys. When he was only 9 years old, Aloung had given us hope by telling us that God is not a murderer who would kill all the children of the same generation in one day. He predicted some of us would die but some will live long, good lives. His words are still remembered.
On Sept. 10, 2003, I flew into Fargo, N.D. Workers from Lutheran Social Services (LSS) greeted us with flowers and money and settled us in our own apartment in a strange, cold land. Many wonderful things were given to us: furniture, a TV, and a washing machine. At first, I worried that I would have to return them but they were ours to keep.
Those first three months of adjusting to a new culture were challenging. Having only lived in grass huts, I did not know how to live in such a nice home. My bed had always been the hard ground, so I could not sleep on the soft mattress. I slept on the floor for many weeks. Making meals was another problem because the only American foods I knew how to cook were rice and chicken.
I got a job at a factory because I had already graduated from the UN school in Kenya. I wanted to go to college, but it seemed impossible—until I prayed and God answered. After I passed the college entrance exam, I qualified for financial aid, so I was admitted to North Dakota State University where I am working toward a degree in criminal justice.
Since I came to North Dakota, I have adjusted to many aspects of life. I do not know exactly what the future holds, but I trust that God will continue to guide and protect us as He did in Sudan, Ethiopia, and Kenya. My Christian faith has been tested and strengthened, so I can face whatever comes next with courage and joy.
Do something? Like, take in all the people from places that suck? Somehow, I think that's going to be a finite solution.
Wow. That kid is roughly the same age as I am. There, but for the Grace of God, go I.
That's odd. Reading this, it seems some Africans don't care to celebrate diversity.
I thought America was the sole source of evil in the world...
Do something, like show a little love.
holy moley
A friend of mine adopted a little Ethiopian girl just last month and brought her home to MA. two weeks ago. She's 8 and had been in an orphanage, one of nine siblings, both parents murdered, and the grandmother simply couldn't feed and keep them all. She sent them to the orphanage, where through the internet and other channels, many have been adopted not just by US citizens, but around the world.
Somebody on FR posted a sane solution for Africa a few weeks back, and it included, among other things, a basic upgrade for the human genome in Africa. They're still stuck at the tribal thinking level and have no regard for life unless it's someone they know personally. So half a million can be slaughtered and as long as it happens over the horizon, it doesn't impact their thinking. As things stand, fixing things there is well nigh impossible. Of course, rampant corruption, AIDS, meddling from outside...Islamofascists...the entire witches' brew of horrors exist there, as well.
No, this has to do with Islam, not tribal thinking.
Take out the dictators.
Amen! It is soooo much easier to be a Christian in America than in many other parts of the world. These persecuted believers in other countries are our brothers and sisters and we need to help them.
My ancestors came from a place that "sucked" too. Odds are yours did too.
I agree! Unless I remind myself, my human nature makes me lean toward being dissatisfied unless I get more and more comforts. I occassionally take "perspective moments" with my 16-year old daughter to let her know how fortunate we are to live in America and to not have to fear for our lives as soon as we wake up in the morning. She hates it! Tough, just doin' my job....
Actually, mine would rather have stayed where they were. They were deported to Virginia for poaching.
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