by Dave Eggers
Deng drew a line with his finger from my temple to my ear.
—He said it was from a bomb. He became my father. He said I would be a soldier soon, that he was going to train me. I became his assistant. I fetched water for him and cleaned his sunglasses and turned his radio on and off. He liked to tell me to turn it on instead of doing it himself. Then we would listen to the rebel radio together, and sometimes the BBC World News. He was a good father to me, and I was able to eat the same food he, a commander, ate. I thought I would just be his son forever, Achak. I was happy to live with him as long as I could.
The thought of staying in one place seemed very appealing to me that day.
—Then one day the government army came. Malek was not at home when I heard the tank come. All the rebels scattered and got into position to fight and a second later the tank burst through the trees. Everything exploded and I just ran. I ran alone and ran until I got to a truck that was burned. It was just this truck that had been burned out. So I hid in the truck that night until I didn’t hear any more guns. In the morning I saw no one. Malek was gone, the rebels were gone and the government soldiers were gone. So I walked in the direction I thought the rebels would go. And eventually I found a village that had not been attacked and I met a woman there who was very kind and who was going to Wau. So I got on a bus with this woman. I was planning to go to Wau to live there with this woman. She said it would be safe there, and that I could be her son. So I got on the bus and we drove for a time and I was asleep. Then I was woken by yelling. The bus was stopped. I looked out the window and it was rebels. There were ten of them, with guns, and they were yelling at the driver. They made everyone get off the bus. They made everyone explain where they were going. Then they took—
—Where did you get that shirt?
Dut had found his way back to the end of the line near us, and took an interest in Deng. He was amused by Deng’s shirt.
—My father gave it to me, Deng said.—He got it in Wau.
—Do you know what that shirt is worn for?
—No, Deng said.
Deng knew Dut was laughing at his shirt.
—My father said it was a very high-quality shirt. Dut smiled and put his arm around Deng’s shoulder.
—It’s a shirt they call a tuxedo shirt, son. It’s worn when people get married. You’re wearing the shirt of a man getting married.
Dut laughed with a snort.—But I have never seen a pink one, he said, and laughed loudly.
Deng did not laugh. It was cruel of Dut to say that, and, realizing this, he tried to brighten the mood.—What a good group we have here! he yelled to all of us.—You really are an exceptional group of walkers. Now keep walking. We have to walk till dark. There’s a village we’ll reach by nightfall and we’ll get some food there.
I forgot then that Deng had been telling me his story, and I forgot to ask him to finish it. Every boy had a story like this, with many places they thought they might stay, many people who helped them but who disappeared, many fires and battles and betrayals. But I never heard the end of Deng’s story and have always wondered about it.
It was strange land we passed through. We saw fields that had been scorched, goats disemboweled and headless. We saw the tracks of horses and trucks, beautiful bullet casings in their wake. I had never walked so long in one day. We had not stopped since the morning and we had eaten nothing. What water we had been allowed we shared from one jerry can that Dut had brought and which we took turns carrying.
We had walked all day when we came upon a bustling village I had never seen. It was a perfect village. Everywhere people moved as we used to move in Marial Bai. The women carried kindling and water on their heads, the men sat in the small marketplace playing dominoes and drinking wine. The village seemed utterly untouched by any conflict at all. I followed the group into the center of the town.
—Sit down, everyone, Dut said, and we sat.—Stay here. Do not get up. Do not bother anyone. Do not move.
Dut went off into the village. Women walked by us, slowing for a few moments and then walking on. A dog trailed them and sniffed its way to where we sat. Its fur was short and spotted, strangely colored, almost blue in some areas.
—Blue dog! Deng said and the dog came to him, licking his face and then plunging its nose between Deng’s legs.—Blue dog! The blue dog likes us, Achak. Look at the blue dog and its strange spots.
Deng scratched the dog, which truly did seem to be colored blue, behind its ears and soon blue dog was on its back and Deng was rubbing its tummy with great intensity. The dog’s legs jerked this way and that. It was strange to be stopped, resting in a village I had never seen, petting a happy blue dog.
A group of older boys approached us. The largest of them immediately chased the dog off and stood over Deng and me, so close that I had to look straight up to see the underside of his wide face. He was wearing brilliant white shoes. They looked like clouds, as if they had never touched the earth.
—Where are you going? he demanded.
—Bilpam, I said.
—Bilpam? What’s Bilpam?
I realized I did not know.—It’s a big town many days away, I guessed. I had no idea what size it was or how long we would be walking but I wanted our walk to seem definite and important.
—Why? the boy with the cloud shoes demanded.
—Our villages were burned, Deng said.
I did not want to tell this boy about what had happened to Marial Bai. Seeing this village, unaffected by any fighting, I was ashamed anew that we had not fought better against the Arabs, that we had allowed our homes to be burned while this village was unharmed. It was not the end of the world at all. Perhaps, I thought, the Arabs had ravaged only the towns where the men were the weakest.
—Burned? By who? the boy asked. He was skeptical.
—The Baggara, Deng answered.
—The Baggara? Why didn’t you fight them?
—They had new guns, Deng said.—Fast guns. They could kill ten men in seconds. The boy laughed.
—You can’t stay here, another boy said.
—We don’t plan to, I said.
—Good. You should keep moving. You’re just walking boys. You look like you have diseases. Do you have malaria?
At that point, I was finished with these boys. I didn’t want to hear anything else from them. I turned my back to them. Quickly I felt a kick to my back. It was the boy with the cloud-white shoes.
—We don’t like beggars here. You hear that? Don’t you have a family? I did not react but Deng now was on his feet. His head reached the cloud-shoe boy’s chest. Next to this well-fed older boy, Deng looked like an insect.
—Boys!
It was Dut, booming his voice over us. The boys who were harassing us dispersed and Dut emerged from the market with a large older man dressed in a blood-colored robe. The new man carried a staff and walked with a brisk, contented sort of pace. At the edge of the circle of boys, he stopped, startled. He sighed a long confused sigh.
—I told you we were many, Dut said.
—I know. I know. So this is what’s happening? Boys walking to Bilpam?
—This is our hope, uncle.
The chief sighed again and surveyed our group, smiling and shaking his head. After a short while the chief took his staff with both hands and tapped it determinedly into the ground and walked back into the village.
—This is good, boys. The chief has agreed to feed us. Please sit where you are, and don’t ask for anything from these people. The chief has some women preparing some manioc for us.
Indeed, very quickly there was a great deal of activity in the huts near our group. Women and girls began to busily prepare food and when they were done, we were given food, portions dropped in our hands; there were not enough plates for the dozens of boys and Dut had insisted it was unnecessary. After we had eaten and the chief had given Dut two bags of nuts and two jerry cans of water, we were back on the trail, for we were not permitted to stay.
I had
felt weak and heavy-legged that day, but now I was fortified, and I found myself in a good enough state of mind. I wanted to see what would happen next. Though I worried about my family, I told myself that if I was safe, they were safe, and until we were reunited, I would be on a kind of adventure. There were things I wondered about seeing. I had heard of rivers so wide that birds could not fly across; the birds would drop midway and be subsumed by the limitless water. I had heard of land that rose so high that it was as if the earth was tilted on its side; land that was shaped like the contours of a sleeping person. I wanted to see these things and then to return to my parents, to tell them about my journey. It was when I imagined doing so that the strings inside me felt taut again, and I had to breathe heavily to loosen them.
We walked through the twilight and passed women and men along the path, but when the night fell on them we were alone and the path was erased.
—Walk straight, Dut said.—The path is very new.
I had walked in the dark many times before. I could walk under a moon or in the blackest night. But so far from home, without a path, the strain was extreme. I had to lock my eyes to the back of the boy in front of me, and to maintain my pace. Slowing down for even a few moments would mean losing the group. It happened through the night: a boy would fall off the pace, or would step out of line to urinate, and then would have to call out to find the line again. Those who did this were scorned and sometimes punched or kicked. Making noise could bring attention to the group and this was undesirable when the night had been retaken by the animals.
Deng walked behind me, insisting on holding my shirt. This was a practice favored this night and on later nights by the youngest boys—holding the shirt of the boy ahead. Deng and I were certainly among the smallest of the walking boys. The most accommodating boys would remove an arm from its sleeve and allow those behind them to use the sleeve as a leash. Many boys did this with their younger brothers. There were many pairs of brothers in the group, and in the morning, when roll was called, when I heard their names called I felt such envy. I knew nothing about my brothers now: whether they were alive or dead or at the bottom of a well.
That night we stopped in a clearing and boys were sent to the forest to find wood. But the boys Dut chose did not want to go. The forest was wild with noises, squeals and shifting grasses.
—I won’t go, one strong-looking boy said.
—What? Dut barked.
It was clear that he was tired and hungry himself and had little patience.
—You don’t want a fire? Dut asked.
—No, the boy said.
—No?
—No. I don’t care about any damned fire.
This was the first time Dut hit a boy. He struck him across the face with the back of his fist and the boy fell to the ground whimpering.
—You, you, you! Dut stammered. He seemed as shocked as the boy that he had knocked him down. But he did not retreat.—Now go. Go!
Dut quickly chose three more boys, the fire was built, and when it was strong we sat around it. Quickly most of us fell asleep but Deng and I stayed up, staring at the flames.
—I didn’t want to hit that boy, Dut said.
Deng and I realized he was talking to us. We were the only boys still awake. We said nothing, for I could not think of anything proper to say to such a statement. Instead I asked Dut about what the old man had said—that the horsemen had fallen to the level of the animals. No one had yet explained to me why it was that Marial Bai had been attacked in the first place. I told Dut about what the man had said, that the Baggara had dropped to the level of an animal, had been possessed by spirits and were now lion-men.
Dut stared at me, blinking with a hard smile.
—He really said this? I nodded.
—And you believed this? I shrugged.
—Achak, he said, and then stared at the fire for a long moment.—I mean no disrespect to this man. But these are not lion-men. They’re ordinary Arabs. I’ll tell you boys the story of how this happened, though you won’t understand all of it. Do you want to hear this?
Deng and I nodded.
—I’m a teacher so this is how I think. I see you sitting like this listening and I want to tell you about this. You’re sure you want to hear? Deng and I insisted we did.
—Okay then. Where should I start? Okay. There is a man named Suwar al-Dahab. He is the minister of defense for the government in Khartoum.
Deng interrupted.—What is Khartoum?
Dut sighed.—Really? You don’t know this? That’s where the government is, Deng. The central government of the country. Of all of Sudan. You don’t know this?
Deng persisted.—But the chief is the head of the country.
—He’s the head of your village, Deng. Now I’m not sure you’ll understand this.
I urged him to try, and so Dut spent some time explaining the structure of the government, of tribes and chiefs and the former parliament, and of the Arabs who ruled Khartoum.
—You boys know about Anyanya, yes? Snake Poison. They’re the rebel group that came before the SPLA. Your fathers were probably members of this group. All of your fathers were.
Deng and I nodded. I knew that my father had been an officer in the Anyanya.
—Well, now we have the SPLA. Some of the goals are the same. Some are new. You remember the first attacks of the helicopters? We said we did.
—Well, the helicopters were the governments. They came in response to the actions of a man named Kerubino Bol. He was in the Sudanese Army. Remember when the army was made of Dinka soldiers and Arabs, too? Achak, you remember this, I know. There were many deployed in Marial Bai. I said I did remember.
—Kerubino was a major in charge of the 105th Battalion, stationed at a large town called Bor. Bor is in the south of Sudan, the region called the Upper Nile. The people there are like you, but different. We’re all Dinka, but their customs vary. Many clans scar themselves when they reach manhood. You probably have heard of this. There’s another town where all the men smoke pipes. We all have different customs but we are all Dinka. You see this? This is a vast land, boys, bigger than you could ever imagine, and then twice as big as that.
Deng and I nodded.
—Good. Now, Kerubino and his men had been there in Bor for some time, and they were content there. Giving power like this to a southern Sudanese was part of the peace agreement with the Anyanya. In Bor, Kerubino and his men were among their people, most had moved their families to the town and they were happy there. They didn’t have to work too hard. You have seen these soldiers. They don’t like to move much. Then one day, rumors came down that they would be transferred to the north, and this didn’t sit well with them, to be stationed so far from their families. This was made worse by the fact that Khartoum wasn’t paying them what they’d been promised. So things got worse, and finally loyalists to Khartoum, knowing that Kerubino was planning a mutiny, attacked the 105th Battalion. Kerubino Bol took the whole battalion and fled to Ethiopia. This is where we’re going, boys. Bilpam is in Ethiopia. Did you know this?
We stopped the story there. Deng and I had not heard the word Ethiopia before. We didn’t know what an Ethiopia was.
—It’s a country like Sudan is a country, Dut said.
—If it’s like us, why is it somewhere else? Deng asked. Dut was a patient man.
—In Ethiopia, he continued,—Kerubino was joined by a man named John Garang, a colonel in the Sudanese army. He had fled, too. And then the 104th Battalion, stationed in Ayod, also fled to Ethiopia. By this time it was a movement. There were hundreds of well-trained soldiers there, mostly Dinka, and this was the new rebel army. This was the SPLA. And so began this stage of the civil war. Do you understand these things so far?
We nodded.
—When John Garang began the rebel movement, General Dahab was very angry, as was the entire government in Khartoum. So they wanted to crush the rebels. But the rebels were many. They were armed well and they had something to fight for. For th
is reason, they were very dangerous. And Ethiopia was helping them, which made them even more of a threat.
—So the rebels have guns? I asked.
—Guns! Of course. We have guns and artillery and rocket launchers, Achak.
Deng laughed a giddy laugh and I smiled and felt proud. I convinced myself that the men who had beaten my father were different than these rebels. Or perhaps the rebels had learned better manners.
—The government was very angry about this new rebel presence, Dut continued,—so this is when the helicopters came. The government burned the villages to punish them for supporting the rebels. It’s very easy to kill a town, yes? Harder to kill an army. So as men left to train in Ethiopia, the SPLA continued to grow and they even won battles. They occupied land. Things were looking bad for the government. They had a problem. So they needed more soldiers, more guns. But raising an army is expensive. A government needs to pay an army, to feed an army, provide the army with weapons. So General Dahab used a strategy familiar to many governments before his: he armed others to do the work of the army. In this case, he provided tens of thousands of Arab men, the Baggara among them, with automatic weapons. Many were from across the Bahr al-Ghazal. Many thousands from Darfur. You saw these men with their guns. These guns shoot a hundred bullets in the time it would take to shoot a rifle twice. We can’t defend ourselves against these guns.
—Why didn’t the government have to pay these men? I asked.
—Well, that’s a good question. These Baggara had long fought with the Dinka over grazing pastures and other matters. You probably know this. For many years there had been relative peace between the southern tribes and the Arab tribes, but it was General Dahab’s idea to break this peace, to inspire hatred in the Baggara. When he gave them these weapons, the Baggara knew they had a great advantage over the Dinka. They had AK-47s and we had spears, clubs, leather shields. This upset the balance we’ve lived with for many years. But how would the government pay all these men? It was simple. They told the horsemen that in exchange for their services, they were authorized to plunder all they wanted along the way. General Dahab told them to visit upon any Dinka villages along the rail lines, and to take what they wished—livestock, food, anything from the markets, and even people. This was the beginning of the resurgence of slavery. This was in 1983. We had no concept of years.