the town. There they splashed and played with shrieks of laughter—like normal children—until nightfall.
Ayuel and his group then filled their containers with water and joined the thousands that made up their wave of migrants. When they were all well out of Pibor, Officer Chol took out his microphone and assured all of them: “The Ethiopian border is not too many days away. There we will find food, shelter and security. And all of you can go to school.”
Thus, with renewed energy, refreshed in body and soul, Ayuel and his chosen family picked up their meager belongings and headed toward the “promised land.”
SIX
INCHING FORWARD
The last leg of the journey took much longer than Ayuel or anyone expected—three weeks of endless plodding. Mercifully, a great downpour of rain provided water. The only other excitement came one night when a herd of zebras suddenly burst through the crowd as they walked. The racing animals knocked down several children nearby, leaving them with cuts and bruises, but no one was killed. Again, the seventeen miraculously escaped injury.
The larger group had diminished to around 3000 and split into three groups to follow different routes. At last, Ayuel’s band arrived mid-morning at the town of Pochalla, near the Gilo River. On the other side lay Ethiopia. Ayuel noticed two men on the bank, each tying up a wooden boat, apparently used to ferry passengers across the river. He and his friends watched as Officer Chol approached them.
“Peace to you, my good men,” Officer Chol said. “As you can see, I have many starving children here who need to cross the Gilo to find refuge in Ethiopia.”
The men grinned and rubbed their palms together.
“We have no money, but the God Almighty will bless you greatly for your kindness…”
The men’s faces fell as they resumed tying up the boats. “We have a business here,” snarled one of the men. “There is no god but Allah, and he blesses us by sending paying customers.”
So they’re Muslims, thought Ayuel, but black like us.
The boys all watched Officer Chol as he slowly removed his rifle from the sling on his back, then cocked the hammer. “I demand that you provide transportation for these innocent children to cross,” he said in a calm but firm voice.
“We have nothing to do with either side in this war,” said the man who had spoken before, as he yanked a tight knot in the rope.
Officer Chol shot once into the air and stepped closer to the men.
“We have no choice,” the spokesman hissed between his teeth at his partner. “They have us.” The silent man shrugged his shoulders and slowly began to untie the ropes.
“Get in!” the spokesman yelled at the boys standing nearest. Five boys gingerly crept into the boat, fitting comfortably on the planks around the sides. The man laughed, but not with humor. “We can stuff a few more in. It’ll take a week at the normal load.” He grabbed the arms of a couple of children and shoved them toward the boat. “Add two more to these. Move along. Save me my place to row,” he hollered.
His partner followed his lead and counted off nine more passengers, including an SPLA soldier, to climb into the other boat.
After the two boats had left the shore, Officer Chol turned to his followers on the bank and spoke over his microphone, “We’re almost there. You are the survivors. We won’t have far to go to the refugee camp after we get across. We will be safe from the Arab government there, as they don’t dare invade another country. Have faith, be strong a little longer.”
The throngs of people sat down in their various groups, scattered over a wide area next to the village. The seventeen filled their containers with water from the river and found shade under a baobab tree. Ayuel sat between Gutthier and Malual, his heart full of hope. Life will be better now, no more attacks by the government or wild animals, no more hunger or thirst. And something to wear besides this worn-out, dirty T-shirt.
“Somehow I feel like I’m home now,” he said to his friends.
“Me too,” Malual Kuer said. “Except there is no mother to fix food for me.”
Ayuel missed his family. But for the first time since that horrible night of bombing, he felt a tinge of happiness. All seventeen in his group had stayed together and survived.
“Look,” Madau said, pointing toward the village. “Look at all those women coming this way. They seem to be carrying food—maybe for us.”
“Someone said the Anuak tribe lives here,” Donayok pointed out. “At least the Dinkas are at peace with them.”
The local women spread out as they came closer, each bringing some food to a single group. One woman approached the seventeen and sat a large bowl of boiled maize on the ground. Ayuel accepted a loaf of millet bread from her hand. She said something in the Anuak language that he didn’t understand, but her smile spoke the intended message. Again she smiled when they all said, “Thank you, Mama,” in Dinka, even though she did not know their words.
Ayuel pulled off a bite of bread and passed the loaf to the next child. Without fighting or shoving, each dipped the bread into the maize. Still warm from cooking, it tasted and felt on their tongues so much better than raw leaves. They finished by scooping their hands into the meal and licking them. One of the soldiers came by while they ate and told them to divide into groups of nine. He said he would tell them when it was time for them to go to the boats.
Finally, they passed the bowl for one last swipe apiece. Afterward they all lay in the dry grass and slept. When evening came, the usual time to begin walking, they went to the river to watch the last crossing of the boats before morning.
“I think there are more than nine in that boat,” Malual said, pointing. It was too far out in the river to count the people, but it appeared weighed down. They watched the boat on the shore as the owner packed in the children.
Ayuel counted them. “There are eleven. That’s too many,” he said. “They don’t want to take us across because we can’t pay.”
“Look how low they are in the water,” Chuei said. “Maybe they want to drown us.”
“I don’t think so,” Ayuel said. “The owner would drown, too. Have courage, Chuei. We’ll all get to Ethiopia. God has brought us this far.”
Early the next morning, Officer Chol woke the seventeen. “You are the first to cross this morning. Go over and wait by the boats. I made the two men stay here all night so they wouldn’t desert us.”
“Where are those men?” asked Gutthier.
“The guard soldier took them to get breakfast tea. We owe them at least that much.”
“I think they overloaded the boats yesterday, sir,” Ayuel said.
“Yes, I know,” Officer Chol said. “I told them nine was the limit, only eight if there was an adult or a large boy. We’ll watch more closely today.”
The children didn’t have to wait long in the warm, foggy morning. When the men arrived, still looking
