from the Duk region. To keep peace, they avoided children from other tribes and regions. One of the older boys had a cooking pot, which would be put to good use from time to time.
Ayuel and his four age-mates—Gutthier, Madau, Malual Kuer and Chuei, who had grown up together—stayed. Everyone accepted Donayok—another cousin of Ayuel and the oldest at fourteen—as their leader, though they all looked after one another. Six boys were between eleven and thirteen, the others younger. And the only girl, Akon, was ten, a cousin of both Gutthier and Ayuel. Though she was as tough and strong as the boys, they all kept a protective eye on their “sister.”
Almost daily now, Ayuel found cousins and other relatives among the different groups or heard news of the dead ones, but no word of his parents or blood brothers and sisters.
In the evenings, just before the walk began, Ayuel could hear the Animists practicing their religion, dancing and chanting prayers to the spirits. His people had left the traditional beliefs two generations ago, when his grandfather converted to Christianity, but he hoped the spirits of trees, rocks and sky would help them all.
One night seemed especially tedious. Ayuel tried to pray to God as he had been taught by his mother and also in their Episcopal church, but his mind could not form the words. His stomach felt hard as he put his hand to it—swollen from lack of food. Don’t ever give up. His brother Deng’s words throbbed in his head—his advice from their last day together. How could he keep going? What good was it?
There was little talk among the group of seventeen now. Every bit of energy must be saved to move one foot after the other and not fall. Some in other groups had dropped and not gotten up. Death happened daily, but so far none of the seventeen had gone down. Chuei was keeping up or sometimes Donayok would carry him on his back. Chuei, the jokester, never said anything funny anymore.
Cold came with night. Poisonous scorpions and cobras hid in the darkness, ready to strike and kill. Ayuel could hear them, or thought he did. Terrified of dying, he tried to keep alert at all times. The evening before he had seen a girl not too far away screaming from a snake bite. He hoped someone helped her, but knew she probably died. He had walked on and hugged his skinny shoulders with chilled, bony fingers in an effort to bring warmth.
Map of Sudan, courtesy of the CIA World Factbook
FOUR
FEAR LURKS
They were crossing a large field now. If life were normal, it would be called a beautiful place—open with waving grass. A fine area to play soccer or have wrestling matches. A few scattered trees stood out against the gray sky of early morning. Soon they could rest, but he knew sleep would not come easily. During the day, mosquitoes came to draw blood and leave terrible sickness. Burning heat would replace the cold. Bad dreams and lurking dangers would torment him.
The dawn sky began to turn a rosy pink and Ayuel could see a grove of trees ahead. Just a few more steps.
Suddenly, seven or eight soldiers in drab-green uniforms, carrying long guns, emerged from the trees. I’m dead now, Ayuel thought and stopped as did everyone else. Maybe they were being kidnapped so they could be taught how to fight in the war. He didn’t want to kill anyone.
As they all watched, the soldiers halted and laid down their guns. The tall officer in front stepped forward and raised both arms. He had several things tied around his waist—a black box and some bags—and a belt of bullets across his chest. He took a short metal stick with a black ball on top out of the bag. Ayuel watched as he held the ball in front of his mouth.
“I come in peace,” he said. It sounded like God speaking—very loud and important. The words echoed from the trees at the right of the field: I come in peace.
The crowd of thousands moved closer—merging the groups tightly together. Ayuel’s seventeen were near the front and could see the man clearly. The children stood like statues, stunned. When Donayok sat down, the rest of his group wearily followed, sitting cross-legged and leaning forward. They all respected him as leader and mentor.
“That stick makes his voice sound like that,” Madau said and poked his elbow in Ayuel’s ribs. Ayuel noticed his cousin’s muscular frame had withered like the others.
“How does it do that?”
“Shush.”
“My name is Chol Aruei,” the officer said to the stick. “We have been sent here by John Garang to guide you.”
“Who’s John Ga-rang?” Ayuel could hardly say the words, his mouth was so dry.
“I don’t know. Listen.”
“Colonel John Garang, as many of you know, is the leader of the Sudanese People’s Liberation Army, the SPLA. He is leading the fight against the Islamic Fundamentalist government in Khartoum—in the North—so we may again worship whatever gods we choose and not be forced to follow Islam’s sharia laws with their harsh punishments, like cutting off hands and stoning.”
Ayuel remembered hearing his father talk to men in the village about sharia. He knew it was something bad, but the officer’s big words meant little to him.
“Only Muslims, Arab fundamentalist Muslims, can hold government positions now. And a company called Chevron has found oil under our land. That is why the North has bombed our villages. They want to impose a strict Islamic government and they want our oil, but we are fighting back!” The officer turned to talk with the other soldiers in a low voice, not using the stick.
The Arabs have killed my father, because he had a government job, Ayuel guessed. He was a good father and a good commissioner. Anger surged up for a moment, then mixed with the sadness he always felt, but he remained still and listened, trying to understand.
“They don’t look starved like us,” Gutthier said. His ears stuck out more prominently in his starving condition. No one called him “Funny Ears” now.
“But I don’t think they have any food with them,” Madau said, always one to thoughtfully consider a situation.
“Chol Aruei is very handsome in his uniform,” Malual Kuer said. “I’d like to be a soldier.”
“Not me. Hush.” Ayuel was now fascinated by this new turn of events. Maybe he was going to live after all. And wouldn’t be captured, either.
The officer held the stick in front of his face again. “Colonel Garang cares about you. He says you are the hope for rebuilding Sudan after the war, after we have won back our rights and our way of life. I care about you also. That is why these soldiers and I have agreed to make this journey with you.” The officer paused and looked out over the crowd of children. “And also, I believe two of my young brothers are here among you. If so… ?”
Two boys not much older than Ayuel got up and walked to him. Officer Chol knelt down and hugged them, an arm around each. When he stood up, the boys leaned against him, grinning. The officer wiped his bare arm across his eyes and sniffed. The funny stick made the sniff especially loud, and everyone knew he’d cried. The age-mates giggled.
“I—I’m here to help you,” he said. “I couldn’t bring food for all of you—there
