Most of the talk centered on who had survived and who had not. Like all Dinka children, Ayuel had been taught the names of his relatives, living and dead, and how they were related to each other—even those he’d never met. It all made sense now, all those names that had seemed so tiresome when he’d recited them for his father. Now he said them to ask if anyone had seen or heard of them. He learned about several aunts, uncles and cousins who had been found dead. Someone had seen one of his father’s half-brothers alive. Groups from his village began to travel near each other. Sometimes they mingled to ask about loved ones.
Three weeks passed. The hundreds became thousands walking across Sudan—a sea of people in columns moving east. No one seemed to know what happened to the man who had said to go to Ethiopia, but they still followed his orders to walk at night and sleep by day. Some boys carried bundles on their heads, unashamed to do as the women did. Food and water became scarce. There were always children crying, if not nearby, then in the distance.
At first when they passed through bombed villages, they’d found the dead, lying out on the ground. Now, as they crossed the desert, bodies lay under an arrangement of dried weeds and small branches—apparently an attempt at burial. And these corpses were the people who had gone ahead of them. Walking just like them. The awful stench of death was everywhere.
Arguments broke out continually, followed by shouting and fist fights. Mostly the Dinkas fought with the Nuers, who had always been enemies. Equatorians clashed with both of the other clans. Those who didn’t fight whined and complained. For Ayuel, weary from hunger, thirst and fatigue, a sense of hopelessness set in.
Many of the grown-ups began to say, “I can’t do it. I would rather die here.” Those words scared Ayuel for he knew that meant they were giving up. In Dinka culture, you must stay strong. You must take care of your body so you will have strength. But how can you take care of yourself with nothing? And with no one to tell you what to do?
One evening, as they prepared for the night’s walk, Ayuel and his age-mates watched in disbelief as the women formed new groups and started walking back the way they had come, toward the setting sun, not toward Ethiopia. Back to the burned villages? There had never been many men along, but most of those remaining left with the women. Ayuel had heard stories that the men were first to be shot in the attacks. They may have killed my father at his office in town, he thought. He tried not to think about how that would happen.
As they stood watching the adults leave, Malual Kuer turned to Ayuel and recited a common proverb they all knew: “To quit is a shame on future generations.” Others around them nodded agreement or repeated it in low voices.
Ayuel remembered what the religious leaders had said in teaching from the Holy Bible: “God punishes the children and their children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation.” Surely it is wrong for the grown-ups to leave us children to find our own way. We will be punished for their wrong, he thought, but said nothing.
Most of the girls, in keeping with tradition, chose to go with their mothers or with women they knew. A few of the boys hung onto their sisters or mothers and quietly pleaded with them not to give up. Not to leave them to walk alone.
The abandoned children stood in silence as the setting sun dropped out of sight, leaving streaks of red across the western sky. The outlines of their grown-ups diminished and disappeared into the dusk. With the rest of the boys Ayuel turned and walked into the gathering darkness.
The two women and all but one girl had left Ayuel’s group. Other boys joined. The reshaped group numbered seventeen, all of them Dinkas 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