“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 must be about 4,000 children here. There are thousands more ahead of you and thousands more being chased from their homes behind you. With our guns, we will try to protect you from the Arabs.
“You are right to travel east, but you are too far north to reach the refugee camps in Ethiopia. I will lead you through the bush. There will be water soon. And probably some wild fruit. We will shoot any animals we find, and the different groups can cook them.” His voice was gentle and kind.
“Why would they bomb us for oil?” whispered Gutthier. “I never saw any oil in Duk.”
“My mother uses oil when she cooks the maize.” Chuei grinned and put his hand over his mouth. It sounded like a mock confession, as if her cooking had caused all the misery.
Ayuel laughed and pushed his cousin. The old Chuei was back with his funny sayings, but Chuei suddenly turned angry and pulled away. He dropped his face into his hands and sobbed.
In the bush they found water and berries. The group of seventeen cooked a small antelope—shot by the soldiers—over a fire. In their cooking pot, they boiled roots and leaves, which together with the meat made a real feast. There was enough to satisfy all seventeen with leftovers for another meal.
As they sat licking their fingers, Ayuel said, “Officer Chol is very smart. I think he speaks the truth. Do you think Ethiopia is on the other side of this forest?”
“Nah, but I think we will be there in two or three days,” Malual Kuer said as he sucked on a bone. “Then we will have milk to drink, bread and maize to eat, chicken and rice. Maybe mangoes.”
The sun became hot. Ayuel lay down next to his friends in the shade, his heart full of hope and a better kind of hurt in his stomach. Wrapped in a newfound security, he fell into deep slumber, muttering, “Abba Father, I am thankful…”
Ethiopia was not on the other side of the forest, nor two or three days away. Nothing but barren land stretched for miles and miles. After another two weeks, there was no food of any kind. Nor water.
Officer Chol called the assembly together using his microphone—the name the boys had learned for the talking stick. “My brothers and sisters, you are brave and courageous. You must never give up. You can and will survive anything. Anything, trust me. When we come to trees or bushes, pick and eat the leaves. Carry leaves and bark with you to eat later, for, as you can see, this is desert land with very few plants.
“We are just now leaving the larger region of Bor to start a long journey east. It is not a short distance to Ethiopia. It will take us two, maybe three months to get there. You will be safe in Ethiopia, and there will be enough to eat for everyone. Be strong.”
But Ayuel was not strong. Madau, his cousin, and Malual Kuer, made him walk between them, his arms across their shoulders for support. His knees refused to stay straight to support him, and the heat made him dizzy. Ayuel felt ashamed of his weakness, but he would not give up. He knew Madau and Malual were using up their energy to help him.
When they came to some scraggly plants, his friends picked leaves for him. No one knew if they were poisonous or not. Who could tell by moonlight? But they needed to eat. So they nibbled the half-dried leaves that stuck to the inside of their mouths. The strong taste was unpleasant and lingered a long time.
“We need leaves with moisture in them,” Donayok, their fourteen-year-old leader, said. He squatted down beside the younger ones, sniffed the dry leaves and pitched them away.
No one answered him. Of course they needed moisture.
Toward morning, as they walked, the ground was not so dry. Tall grass came up to the boys’ knees. Here and there grew a few green vines. Ayuel’s friends laid him down gently in the dry grass. He could hear his own breathing rattle in his chest. He closed his eyes and rested.
“Here, chew on this,” said Malual, who sat beside him and offered the leaves from the vines. They weren’t dry, but they could be poisonous. Ayuel chewed slowly, drifting in and out of sleep.
“Madau and Gutthier have gone to find more leaves—and water might not be too far…”
Malual’s voice faded away and Ayuel slept.
By noon, the sun was too hot to lie out in the open to sleep, so they continued the journey. Ayuel felt a little better and could walk by placing his hands on his friends shoulders.
When evening came they discovered a jungle up ahead. They ate some of the lush leaves and drank from puddles of swamp water. The long, thick vines that hung from the trees were scary in the dim twilight. Ayuel thought some might be snakes, from the way they moved.
The screeching of hawks warned of danger. There were also sounds that the boys did not recognize—strange bird