be cut by grown men – and all the men had gone to join the army. One day a group of Ethiopians arrived with some poles and offered to help us put up our shelters. But as there were not enough poles for both groups of boys nothing was built, until some newly arrived adults were instructed to cut more poles and build huts for us. In the meantime, to facilitate the distribution of food, the children had been divided into units of five hundred. Each unit was now allocated a long triangular hut with a thatched roof resting on poles. There was just enough space for us all to sleep inside, although on rainy nights only the boys in the middle kept dry.
We had scarcely finished these structures when additional accommodation was required. More and more children like us kept arriving. A third group of boys was formed, with eighteen elders to take care of them. Soon there were seven groups, then eight . . .
My cousin Dut had been placed in my group, but in Unit 6. I was in Unit 1. We rarely saw each other.
Chapter 5
Two and a half years had now passed since my arrival. We were growing up. We had learned a great deal and boys who had initially stood by helplessly were now working as hard as the others. I had grown strong enough to carry a five-litre jerry can, so every day I ran to the river with the other boys whose duty it was to supply the cooks with water.
Panyido was as hot and dusty as ever. There were patches of white dust and patches of red. You could guess where a visitor came from by the colour of his feet. Ours, in the minors’ camp, were white. I remember how we used to make fun of the boys from the surrounding communities who sometimes wandered through the camp on their way to fetch water from the river. These boys were often orphans who lived with families who used them to perform the most unpopular chores. “Slave!” we would taunt them. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m not a slave, I’m a minor like you!” they would reply.
“Liar! Look at your red feet!”
Then something happened that upset our routine. The camp administrators decided to reorganise the groups. In some groups, they argued, such as in Groups 7 and 8, the children were all very young, and unable to take care of themselves. So, first Groups 1 to 4 and then Groups 5 to 8 were brought together, mixed, and then divided up into new groups. At first we were disoriented – boys from our former groups, boys who had been close friends, suddenly disappeared – but, gradually, new friendships were formed.
Dut was back! Dut Mayout, my cousin! The quiet one, the frail one. He was afflicted by some disease which caused him a great deal of pain. I recall his mouth in particular; the encrusted lips which always looked so very red and dry. As there was no proper hospital, he received no treatment, and although I loved him more than anyone else – he was the only relative I had left – there was nothing I could do for him, apart from being his best friend.
The elders next turned their attention to education. We were going to learn the alphabet! A call went out for teachers, anyone who had attended an English school would do. One man came forward, a man called Bol Deng Tach. Some Ethiopians from a nearby village also volunteered, but we could not understand them, so they withdrew again.
We had no exercise books, pens or blackboards. In our unit there were more than five hundred boys and only one teacher.
Bol Deng Tach started to sing in a strong voice: “ABCD . . . EFGH . . . IJKL . . . MNOP . . . QRST . . . UVW . . . XYZ . . . XYZ.”
This was fun! We joined in.
Next our teacher selected a small bunch of boys. He wrote the letter A on a medicine carton and taught them to write the letter on the ground. As soon as these boys could copy the letter perfectly, they were told to go to the next group and teach them the same lesson – they had to earn their position as the chosen ones before they could return to our teacher to learn the letter B.
While the first class was practising their Bs, our teacher moved to the second group to check on their progress with A. Once he was satisfied, he sent them off to teach more children, and before long a throng of children could be seen scratching their letters in the sand. However, if he wasn’t satisfied a child could quickly be demoted from B to A, while others triumphantly reached C and then D, and eventually XYZ!
Once we had learned the capital letters we started all over again with the small letters, and finally to spell the names of animals, places and objects. Later, some students were given USAID boxes to write on with charcoal. We were given books – in English! Only the boys who really couldn’t manage were given other duties, like carving stools for our teachers or collecting firewood.
Being educated meant a great deal to me. I recall a conversation I had with Marco Akec Deng, with whom I shared a blanket:
“Let us always be brothers, you and me,” he said.
“Yes. I will be here for you, and you for me,” I replied. “Your problems will always be mine.”
“And yours, mine.”
“I want to be educated,” I said.
“Me too, for a good future.”
There was lots to do. The camp was improving in many ways. Donors occasionally paid us a visit, and we were taught to welcome them with songs in English: “Welcome, welcome, UNHCR! Welcome, Americans, Congress men!” (Congress men? Concrete men? Whatever. To us it meant “strong men”.)
They brought blankets, clothing, cooking utensils and tools. Each boy was given a blanket, a pair of trousers and a shirt. It was an exciting time! Now we could sleep anywhere as long as we carried our blankets with us. Unfortunately, the children who were too young to take care of their belongings promptly lost them, some on the day of distribution. Fighting broke out – “This is my blanket! I left it here when I went to the river!” – and the strong robbed the weak, who in turn waited until lines were forming for food and then grabbed an article belonging to anyone who was not watching. It would be his for a day or two until, in an unguarded moment, he would lose it again.
One day writing materials were delivered. There was now an exercise book and a pencil to be shared between every three boys who were able to write, but having to make do with a third of a book and one third of a pencil was declared an insult by some students, who used it as an excuse to skip school and help with grown-up jobs.
Perhaps it was to take our minds off our missing mothers that the authorities allowed us to participate in the projects that were now underway – the building of more shelters as well as classrooms – but whatever the reason, when the school term ended we were all given tasks. The older boys were sent to cut down the tall, slender trees that grew in the forest. They were given an axe, but some boys would get impatient waiting for their turn with it and start carving away at the tree trunks with sharp stones. In this way many a tree was felled. We younger boys carried the tree trunks back to camp, where we helped to join the poles together with wild vine and erect the frameworks for the shelters and classrooms. Then we would flatten bundles of grass and tie them to the poles to form walls and a roof. We did all the work ourselves, except when something was too heavy to carry and teams of grown-ups would assist us.
Military discipline was now maintained. Sixteen grown-ups were put in charge of each group, two per unit. We called them teachers. Units worked together as teams. Leaders were appointed and made responsible for the younger boys. Each morning they would get the boys to line up. Even the littlest ones had to be present. Then the teachers would allocate tasks to those capable of performing them. The children who were too young to work would remain in the compound with the sick. After lunch, we would work in or near the camp, cleaning and tidying.
