fourteen had become separated from one another when the assembly rushed to get in the lines. Now, near the end of the day, they gathered at their new home at the foot of a dead acacia tree. One of the boys had found a woman’s shawl, which they stretched out from the tree branches and attached the ends to two poles. This made a shade for a few children at a time.
Since Gutthier and Madau had been first to finish the questioning, they brought water from the river for everyone. When Ayuel arrived, he fell exhausted under the shelter. After a while, he sat up and slowly drank the boiled and cooled water from Gutthier’s plastic bottle. “We don’t have any more food, do we?”
“No,” Madau said. “We finished our supplies last evening. Let’s go gather some tree leaves. This old acacia tree probably died because people ate all the leaves.”
“I’m too tired from standing so long,” Ayuel said. He lay down and closed his eyes, but could hear the rest of his group gather and talk about the day’s experience. He recognized each voice and automatically counted off the names as he had done so many times in an effort to keep track of everyone. He drifted off to sleep and when he opened his eyes, it was nearly dark.
“We’re all here except Akon,” Donayok said with strain in his voice. “Did anyone see her today?”
Ayuel sat up, wide awake. “I haven’t seen her since we boiled the tea this morning. Maybe we should go search for her.”
“No. She knows where to come,” Madau said. “I saw her in another line, talking to some other girls. They’re her cousins on her father’s side. Her mother and mine are sisters, so we are cousins, but on our mothers’ side.” The explanation was not unusual for a Dinka child who learned to recite the relationships of his relatives at a very young age.
Just then, Akon appeared with two taller girls, one on each side. The boys all stood up, “We were worried…” Donayok said.
“Here, I brought you some bread,” she said and handed out some dried scraps, obviously from the dump. She smiled broadly, showing real happiness. Ayuel thought she had invited the girls, whom he recognized as Akon’s cousins, to join their group. That would be great; they needed some mother types.
“These are my cousins,” Akon announced and then choked up, unable to speak.
One of the girls said, “We found Akon this morning in the lines. Our mother is still with us. And our little brother, about your age.” She pointed to Ayuel.
“Our father was shot. Right in front of us,” the other girl said without showing emotion. “Akon is going to live with us.”
The boys remained standing in stunned silence. No one had just left since forming the group of seventeen. Akon had always been a comfort to Ayuel. “I’m happy you have a family,” he finally said. “But we can still see you every day.”
“Where is your family’s base?” asked Madau. “I’m glad you will have a mother.”
“Didn’t you hear?” Akon said as she wiped tears with the tail of the new T-shirt that she wore over a flowered skirt. “They are putting all the families on the far side of the field. I have to go now. It’s getting dark.”
Map of Ethiopia, courtesy of the CIA World Factbook
EIGHT
HUNGER’S LESSONS
The thirteen remaining boys still had each other to depend on. They missed Akon’s gentle ways but they were glad for her. The officials began moving the families the next morning, separating them from the orphan boys. All the girls, they discovered, were being placed with families.
“Akon is really lucky to find her aunt,” Madau said. “Most of the orphan girls will just be put with strangers.”
“Let’s go see if we can find her and greet her aunt,” suggested Ayuel. “I want to see her one more time. She really looked happy.” Maybe Gutthier and I should have gone with our uncle when we had the chance. He offered to take Malual, too. Maybe I made a bad decision. Staying didn’t keep him and Chuei from dying.
He and Gutthier searched for their cousin Akon every day, but never found her. The officials would not allow them to mingle with the families who had already been identified.
It took five or six days to relocate the families on the other side of the camp. Some boys tried to sneak in with them, but the officials checked every name and orphaned males were turned back. Ayuel again felt abandoned by adults, even though he knew none of them. He thought of the time the women and girls had turned back to their burned villages rather than walk to Ethiopia.
The next few weeks passed slowly. Food remained sparse. The boys watched the points of tents rise up in the far corner of the field. A rope stretched across, dividing the two societies—orphaned boys from families with mothers, sisters and brothers, and sometimes fathers. Soon a high pole fence replaced the rope. We must be less important, less valuable, they concluded. The thirteen took comfort in remaining together. They too, were a family.
The Ethiopian officials vanished just as the SPLA soldiers had disappeared when the boys arrived. Men in uniform wearing light blue caps appeared. Instead of the one microphone, these men talked over two huge microphones shaped like bells that sat on top of their trucks. The person speaking hid in the truck cab so no one could see him. But his voice came out loud and clear.
“Good morning, boys,” the hidden voice said. “We are here from the United Nations. Now that we have the families and girls settled, we are going to make life better for you, too. As you know, there are several different clans and tribes here. We must all get along. Already we’ve seen fights break out—Dinkas against Nuers, Equatorians against Dinkas, boys from one town fighting against another town. The remedy for this, the U.N. has decided, is to form new “families” of about thirty to fifty boys each that we are calling villages, mixing up the clans, separating relatives and forcing all to live together in harmony. This, we believe, will prevent gangs from forming. Then several villages will be put together to form twelve larger groups.”
“This is the end of our little family,” Madau said. “I don’t like their idea one bit.”
“I don’t either,” Ayuel said as he sat surrounded by his friends and listened to the voice coming from the bells. I’ll be alone again with a bunch of strangers. “But what can we do? At least we have a little food here, and they have promised us schools.”
“You can still visit your friends,” the voice said in a softer tone. “But you are in this camp to keep from being hurt anymore by the war in your country. We don’t want small wars to break out here.” After the low grumbling of the assembly faded, the voice continued. “From now on the supplies will be distributed to the new groups, which we will be forming immediately.
“Please, get in one of the lines in front of these officials to find out which group and which village you are in. Let’s do this in an orderly fashion. Move out of the way when…” The voice droned on, but Ayuel had stopped listening. “At least we can still see each other,” he whispered to Madau.
Since Madau was his cousin and Gutthier his half-brother, Ayuel knew they would not be put together.
